Possessive Best Friend

“I can’t decide if it’s funny or horrible,” I say, laughing. “But I guess it’s funny.”

“When he looked at me, I was about to say… this isn’t my fucking thing, talk to her.” He throws an arm around my shoulder and we walk down the sidewalk together. It’s a beautiful afternoon and his truck is parked down the street. “God, we’re doing this, aren’t we?”

“We are,” I confirm. “And listen, we need to discuss something important.”

“Oh, yeah?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Your title within the company.”

“Ah,” he says, smiling. “I was thinking ‘Grand Lord of All Things’ or something like that. You know, nothing too dramatic.”

I roll my eyes. “I was thinking manager.”

“Yeah?” He smiles at me.

“I mean, I was thinking co-owner, but… I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

“Huh. You want me to be co-owner? Or manager? Pretty different positions.” He smirks at me and I feel myself blushing.

“Sorry. I’m just… I’m trying to figure this out. You know what I mean?”

He stops and turns to me. I take a step back and run into the wall of the building we’re in front of. “I’ll tell you what this is,” he says, head tilted. “I want you and I want this. So if I get to choose, I choose co-owner.”

I bite my lip, heart rate spiking. “Really?”

“Really.” He stares at me for a long moment and I can see the desire in his eyes. “I won’t pretend like I share your dream, but I know I’ll do anything to make it real for you.”

“I believe you,” I whisper.

“Good. If you want me, I’ll step up.”

“I want you.”

“I know you do.” He kisses me gently, and god, he tastes good. “Now we just need your uncle to sign those damn papers.”

“I think he will,” I say. “At least, I hope so.”

“Let’s go find out.” He takes my hand and leads me away toward the truck. I follow him, feeling silly, feeling stupid, but knowing I’d follow him anywhere if he asked me to.We spend all afternoon fine-tuning the business plan we started the other night, and by five in the evening, the papers arrive from Richard’s office. I print them out and Dean goes over them with a frown.

“These look good to me,” he says. “But then again, I’m not a lawyer.”

“I trust him,” I say. “He’s been the family’s lawyer… Forever. He used to come around at Christmas when I was a little girl and give all of us presents.”

“Sounds like a nice guy.”

“My mom pays him like he’s a prince,” I admit. “And I think he does the work of twenty men for her. So this is no big deal, and I’m sure he wrote it to be as favorable for us as possible.”

“I think it’s pretty reasonable.” He frowns at the paper and sighs. “All right. So what’s the plan?”

“The… plan?”

“To get your uncle to sell. What are you planning on saying?”

“Well, I was just going to… you know… tell him how much money we have.”

He shakes his head. “Can’t do that.”

“What?”

“Can’t just tell him how much we have. Gotta start lower.”

“You’re joking?”

“No, start lower. But not so low that you’ll insult him. We can change the pricing around in the contract if he actually does bite at a lower price, but I doubt he will.”

“Dean,” I say. “Let’s just play this straight. I mean, he’s my uncle.”

“True, but you said yourself that doesn’t mean much.”

I take a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, fine,” I say, shaking my head. “You have a good point.”

“Just trust me. We’ll go at this sideways. I think he’s the kind of man to appreciate that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He just shrugs, a grin on his face. “Let’s go find out.” He stands up, papers in his hand.

I groan but stand and walk to the nearest intercom. I buzz Archie and ask him where Uncle Ron is.

“In his room,” Archie says. “Shall I ring him and tell him you’re coming up?”

“Yes, please,” I say. “And tell him I’m bringing Dean as well.”

“Very good.”

I release the talk button and glance back at Dean. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Let’s get it done.”

I lead him through the house and up the main stairwell. Uncle Ron’s room are at the top of the steps toward the back of the house. Aunt Louise is usually in there with him, but she’s been in Barbados for the last two weeks, and doesn’t plan on coming back anytime soon as far as I can tell.

I reach Uncle Ron’s door and stop just outside. Dean hangs back as I knock and we wait together until he answers. He’s puffing on a cigar and is wearing a white button-down shirt tucked into slacks. He chews on the cigar and eyes us both.

“Hello, Lora,” he says. “And who is this young man?”