“What’s going on, Spencer?”
“You said a few things the other day that, upon second thought, made me a little nervous about loaning you the money.”
“Like what?” My hands flex at my sides as I try to stay calm.
“For one, because I’m carrying your loan, I’ll need to be insured on the property. That means I have something to lose.”
“I get it. Cut to the chase.”
He opens the folder and shoves a stapled stack of papers in my direction. “You can obviously have your attorney, if you have one, look at these.”
“My sister is an attorney at Litchfield and Sparks in Chicago,” I say, not giving a fuck what that means, but knowing it’s a big deal to people who care. “I’m sure she’d love to see these before I sign them.”
“Oh. Well, okay,” he says, straightening his already straight tie. “She can tell you what they say then.”
I cross my arms over my chest and ignore the fire smoldering in my stomach. “I’d really like to hear it from you.”
“Fine.” He picks up the document. “This part says you have to be closed to all underaged people by eight o’clock on school nights and ten on the weekends.”
“What? Why would you do that?”
“With all due respect to your business plan, I’d rather not have a bunch of kids here at night tearing the place up.”
I hold my hands in front of me. “That’s the exact reason I’m doing this. So they don’t go tearing shit up.”
He takes off his glasses and holds them near his mouth. The way he looks at me, down his nose as though I’m some kind of fucking idiot, makes me see red.
“Kids aren’t inherently bad, you know,” I say.
“Machlan. You own a bar. You know people, in general, are inherently bad.”
“Don’t tell me what I fucking know. That’s not true. And if you want to know the real ridiculousness of those hours you’ve written in there, it’s this: most juvenile crimes happen in the hours right after school lets out. Not at night.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
I think he’s a cocksucker too, but I’m not going to say it.
Pacing a circle, I try to settle myself. I take in all the potential this place has and remind myself of the end result. That if I can deal with this asshole and get this building, I can do something real and valuable with my life. That I can be more than bar owner. That I can give back to a community I’ve fucked with relentlessly in my life.
“Tell me this,” I say. “What did you do after school when you were growing up?”
“I either went to golf practice or went home.”
“And who was there?”
“My mother. Why do you care?”
“Because when I was growing up, both of my parents worked. I came home to an empty house. And when my parents, who were good fucking people, mind you, died when I was a teenager, my grandmother had to chase me around. My best friend, Cross, had basically no one. His dad didn’t give a fuck.”
He looks at me as though I’m telling him the weather forecast.
I blow out an exasperated breath. “When you have nothing to do, no one waiting on you, you get in trouble. From the hours of eight to three on school days, even if you hate school on the surface, you appreciate the routine of it all. People who care where you are. People who shove a lunch in front of your face. Somewhere warm and dry and, for a lot of kids, that’s more than they get at home. Once that bell rings, they have nothing. Do you know what that feels like?”
“No.”
“That’s my point.”
“Their parents should do better.” He chuckles. “I love your passion for this project, but it’s … Quite frankly, it’s a waste of time.”
I try to stay calm, but my nerves bounce, ready to explode.
“If Hadley hadn’t been in there that day, I probably would’ve pulled the deal completely,” he says.
Hearing her name on his tongue doesn’t help, nor does the way he grins after he says it. As though lewd thoughts are spilling through his pussified brain.
“Let’s leave Had out of this,” I say.
“Had, huh?” He quirks a brow.
“Leave her out of it.”
“Let me give you a piece of advice.” He tosses a pen on the papers. “I don’t know how well you know her, but she’s a little rough around the edges. A sweet girl. Great tits. But she’s basically the same kind of customer you want in here, and those people don’t make you any money unless you own a strip club.”
I’m so shocked that I’m certain I misheard him. I expect my brain to filter it all out and make it make sense at any moment. Instead, he laughs, licking his lips, and makes it absolutely clear.