Sharing Her

“Demolishing the house?” I gasp, feeling rage build up inside me. I thought they were just buying it to sell, not to destroy it! This place, with all its memories and history, knocked down into rubble… I won’t stand for it. I storm back into the house and yank my long reddish-blonde hair back into a ponytail, pull on a sweater over my tank top and jeans, put on my boots, and head out to my car. I look up the address for the realty office online, punch it into my GPS, and get on the road. I’m fuming, my heart pounding so fast I feel like I might be sick. I am not about to let these bastards destroy my house!

I’m amazed that I don’t get stopped by the police for speeding so much, but it seems like luck is on my side for the moment. I hit almost entirely green lights as I rocket into town, leaving the woods behind. I pull up to a historic-looking old building with a brand new sign that reads WILSON & WARREN in large gold lettering. This is the place.

I hop out of the car and march straight into the office, where a petite brunette is sitting behind a receptionist desk. She looks up to smile at me, but her smile fades when she sees the undoubtedly scary look on my face. “C-Can I help you, miss?” she says nervously.

“Yeah,” I answer, going straight up to the desk and leaning forward. “You can tell me where I can find Wilson or Warren or whoever is the guy trying to destroy my house.”

“Oh. Um, ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Mr. Wilson and Mr. Warren have very full schedules. They have meetings booked up all day. All month, actually,” she says meekly.

“I don’t care. I demand to speak to whoever’s in charge here,” I say, folding my arms over my chest defiantly. “In fact, I’m not leaving until I get that meeting.”

The receptionist looks petrified. “I-I understand you’re upset, but there really isn’t anything I can do to help you except make an appointment for you to meet with someone, perhaps next month?” she offers, wincing already in anticipating of my anger.

I hate being like this. I’m not usually the type to cause drama, and I know I shouldn’t direct my anger at her. It’s not her fault. But I have to stand my ground.

“Next month won’t cut it. I need to speak to somebody now,” I tell her firmly.

I hear the click and creak of a door opening down the hall and then heavy footsteps. A tall, impossibly handsome man with dark hair and dark eyes, a square jaw, and broad shoulders comes walking up to stand beside the desk. He’s looking at me quizzically, but with a faint hint of amusement on his face that makes me even angrier.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asks coolly.

“You are!” I shoot back. “You and your pa

rtner are trying to tear down my house, and I will not stand for it. That house is a piece of history. It’s an antique beauty. It’s the most amazing house in the world and I will not let you destroy it.”

He nods slowly, taking in my words. Then he gives me an affable smile. “Okay. My partner and I will meet with you. But it’ll have to be after business hours because, as Janet here informed you, we have very busy schedules. What do you say we meet at the Blue Ridge Grille around seven o’clock tonight?” he offers.

I have half a mind to keep shouting, but I force myself to be calm. “Yes. Okay. Sure. We’ll do that then. Seven PM at the Grille. I’ll see you there,” I tell him. I turn tail and march out of there, get back into my car, and drive home, wondering what the hell I’m going to say tonight that could possibly change their minds.

It’s seven o’clock, and I’m sitting in my car, in the parking lot outside the Blue Ridge Grille, trying not to have a meltdown. I got here way too early in my eagerness to get this meeting over and done with. I wasn’t sure what to wear, so I just put on a little black dress with black tights, black heels, and a cherry-red peacoat. Of course, it wasn’t until arriving here that I realized my outfit is probably better suited for a first date than a meeting with the two evil men who are plotting to tear down my family home and wreck my dreams. I don’t want them to think I’m trying to impress them even though, well, I guess I am trying to impress them. Anything to make them reconsider their plans.

Finally, I force myself to open the car door and get out. I take a deep breath and stride into the restaurant, looking around for the table. The maitre’d looks me up and down and says, “Emma? Is that you?”

I glance over distractedly to see a guy I went to high school with. I give him a smile. It’s always nice to see a familiar face. It’s part of what I love about a small town. “Hi, Dave. It’s good to see you. I’m looking for a table… might be under the name Wilson. Or Warren.”

He points over at a corner booth, where two men are seated. “Just over there. Don’t keep them waiting, we can catch up later,” he says with a wink.

I hurry over to the table, trying not to feel sick with nervousness. Both men stand up when I approach, like true gentlemen. I’m stunned to see that both of them are jaw-droppingly hot. There’s the man I met this morning, with his dark hair and brown eyes, and next to him is an equally sexy guy, with blond hair and green eyes.

The man with the dark hair extends a hand and says, “Hi. I’m Travis Wilson. This is my business partner, Jake Warren. And judging from our short conversation this morning, I have a feeling you must be Emma Reed.”

I nod, looking back and forth between them. Suddenly I feel very vulnerable and… weirdly, annoyingly turned on. I have a feeling it has something to do with my sexy dream last night. But I have to ignore that. It’s business time.

“Yes. I’m Emma Reed,” I tell them, taking a seat. “And I am here to beg you not to destroy my house.”

“Cutting right to the chase, I see,” says Warren. “I like that.”

“She’s very confident,” adds his partner, both of them eyeing me approvingly.

I blush, half with shyness and half out of anger. “I need you to take me seriously, please. Look, that house is my heart and soul. I have so many wonderful memories there. It’s been there since the turn of the last century and it would be a travesty to lose it. Not just for me but for the community. It’s a beautiful house. And I don’t know what your plans are, but--”

“Our plan is to tear it down, clear out the forest, and build a golf course,” Warren interrupts. “It’s a deal that will bring in millions, possibly billions, in revenue. Both for us and for the community. Tourism would skyrocket. Wealthy businessmen and playboys would choose this place over Boca Raton, Malibu.”

“But--but--” I splutter, losing traction. “That’s not what we’re known for. We already have tourists here every year to hike and fish and enjoy nature as it is. We like the peace and quiet. A golf course would just be… unnatural.”

“Unnatural?” Wilson asks, raising an eyebrow. “So this is an ecological issue?”

“No. Yes. Well, partly. But mainly I am here to ask you-- beg you-- to please just let my house remain. I know my parents owe money, but I’m doing my best to help them pay it off. This house is the last thing we have left. Please don’t take it from us. Please,” I ask them passionately.