Possessive Best Friend

“Hiya,” she says.

“Hey.” I step aside. “Come on in.”

“Here it is,” she says. I glance outside and spot a black sedan parked in the driveway, the driver still sitting there, reading a book with the interior lights on. I shut the door and follow her in. “Love what you did with it.”

I shrug a little. “What can I say. I call it bachelor chic.”

She laughs. My house is fairly small, nothing special, about the best I could afford. There’s a little living room that flows into a dining room with the little kitchen in the very back. I don’t have a whole lot in the way of decorations, but I do have a few decent houseplants that I’ve kept alive somehow.

“I like it,” she says. “Seriously. I can’t believe you own a house. How old are we again?”

“Old,” I say, grinning. “And it’s really not much. Two bedrooms, one bathroom. Barely 1,500 square feet. It’s more like a big apartment than a house.”

She gives me a look. “Do you know what I own?”

“No, tell me.” I lead her into the kitchen and take out a bottle of white. I open it up and pour two glasses.

“I own nothing,” she says, taking a glass. She takes a big swig and I smile at her a little uncertainly. “Seriously, Dean. I own nothing.”

“Come on. You’re rich. I know you have a ton of stuff.”

“Stuff,” she says, making fun. “Sure I have stuff. I have clothes, jewelry, a couple laptops. That sort of stuff. But I don’t own anything, you know what I mean?”

“I guess.” I lean against the counter and tilt my head at her. “What do you want, then?”

“That fucking warehouse.” She leans against the counter next to me.

“I take it negotiations didn’t go well.”

“No, they didn’t.”

“What happened?”

She sighs. “Uncle Ron is a dick, that’s what.”

“Right, that’s a given.”

“He wants $2 million for it. The truck was just to get him to negotiate.”

I whistle, eyes wide. “No shit?”

“No shit,” she says. “And look, I won’t lie to you, I can probably pay for it from my trust. But that means I won’t be able to take out any money for a while, assuming my mother approves of a big up-front withdrawal, which she might not.”

“So how do you plan on getting the money?”

“I don’t.” She takes another long drink. “I don’t at all.”

I let out a breath. I can see the anxiety all over her. I know she wanted this and wanted it badly. I hate that she’s let down right now and not getting what she wants.

“Maybe I can help,” I say.

“No offense, but I doubt you have that kind of money lying around.”

“No, I don’t,” I say, and nudge against her. “And quit calling me poor.”

“Sorry.” She sighs.

“I can help though,” I say. “We can brainstorm some ideas. The money’s out there. We just need to find the right investors.”

She frowns at me. “Investors?”

“Sure. We get some people that might be willing to help out in exchange for a percentage of the profits. That sort of thing.”

“Huh. Right. Investors.”

“You really don’t know anything about this, do you?”

“Art motherfucking history,” she says, gesturing with her wine. It sloshes and nearly spills, but she knocks the glass back and holds it out for another.

I hesitate then fill her up. Shit, if she wants to get drunk to blow off some steam, I won’t stop her. I’m not about to take advantage, but I’ll help her out at least.

“This is a setback,” I say. “It’s not the end.”

“Feels like the end. Two million!”

“I know. It’s a lot.”

“Who the hell is going to invest in some indoor fun park in some little rundown town for that kind of cash?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But we’ll think of some people. How much of that money can you come up with, do you think?”

“Half,” she says. “And that’ll be rough, but manageable. It’ll leave me about seven months without any money from the fund. But I could survive if I kept living at the manor.”

“How much money do you get paid every month?” I ask, incredulous. I could do the math but I choose not to.

She grins at me. “A lot. Rich, remember?”

“Yeah, well, not rich enough.”

She rolls her eyes. “Half, and only if my mother is willing to approve it. I don’t have full control yet.”

“Think she will?”

She nods. “I think so. She seemed into the idea when we spoke to her, at least.”

“Okay then. So we just need another million. That should be easy.”

She groans and shakes her head. “It just isn’t worth it. Imagine we buy the warehouse, right? There’s two million gone. Then we’ll need to refurbish the space, install the games and stuff, hire staff, do all that. It’ll be forever before we ever see any profit.”

“Hm,” I say, nodding. “True. There are things we can do to speed that up though. Corners we can cut.”