Tell Me You Want Me

I respond to them both immediately. To my father: I signed it.

To Wyatt: At the office.

My father: Fuck. Call me now.

Wyatt texts back at the same time that my father calls. Clearing my throat, I glance at the closed office door and then turn my back to it, facing the office windows.

“Adrian.” My father greets me and before I can do the same he says, “Tell me you didn’t sign it.

“I already told you I did.”

The tone in his voice is unsettling, enough so that my entire body tenses. There’s desperation I can’t help but to feel pulling at me through the line.

“Whatever he’s gotten himself into, I’ll help him out.”

“It’s not just him,” my father grits out between his teeth. “Did your lawyers not change the fucking clause? You’re on the hook for his investment in the building.”

“What?” My pulse races and I’m quick to open up the drawer, pulling out an unsigned copy, a previous version Wyatt had given me. Andrea has the signed copy. Signed, sealed, delivered.

“He made the purchase this weekend for the real estate not two days before the city announced the fucking highway would be built across the street.”

Wyatt’s deal, his big idea, was high-end residential builds. It’s what his father made his name doing. They’re builders and damn good. “A highway?” I can’t fucking believe it. “How did he not know?”

“The more important question is, how the fuck does he sell it now and how the hell do you get out of this contract? If not, you’re going to have to sell as much as you can. It’s to the tune of twenty million.”

“Twenty million,” I repeat, bracing myself on the desk. The numbers run in my mind, all of the companies, all of the holdings and deals I could maneuver just to cover a short like that.

“Twenty fucking million.” Every way I look at it, one company stands out above the rest. Worth eight million for a single client list.

I could fucking throw up.

“You’ll sell if you have to, hold on to the best investments only. I’ll help where I can, but I don’t see a way out. You’re going to have to shift money and hold out for the right timing.”

“I need at least a hundred grand a month for a different investment.” All the numbers for payroll and transitions tally in my mind. The company will earn it back, but not in the first quarter. Probably not for the first year. It has to float.

“For what?” My father’s tone is exasperated. “You’ll be lucky if you have enough for your personal expenses.”

“I’ll leave those numbers to my financial manager,” I bite out, irritated but also fucking terrified. I saw what happened to my family years ago when my father lost it all.

As if reading my mind he states clearly, “You might be fucked, but you’ll survive this. You’re going to have to sacrifice a number of things, but I’m calling the lawyers, I’m calling everyone. I will do everything I can, but I’m not sure there’s much we can do but sell. Take the hit. Reinvest when there’s time. At least it’s only twenty million lost.”

I can barely swallow, my eyes closed as I realize what I would do if things were different. A quick eight million is right there.

“Fuck,” I say and breathe out. I promised her. I promised her she didn’t have to worry.

“I can’t fucking believe I signed.”

“I can’t believe he was that fucking stupid.”

“It’s his first on his own.”

“Even still, he should have fucking known to talk. He could have made fucking sure there weren’t whispers and deals in the making. If he’d told his father, at the very least, he could have been given a heads-up.”

Investors talk. Politicians are paid. Deals are made. It’s how this business is run. But only those in certain circles are privy to high-level information. Wyatt’s father would have known. He would have stopped him from buying property whose value was days away from plummeting.

“If the sellers knew”

“Do you know how long litigation would take? And that’s if you can prove it.” I swallow thickly. There’s a reason they say the business world is run by crooks.

He got fucked over. And I signed the dotted line to come along for the ride.

Just then, the office door opens, Andrea calling out behind Wyatt.

With my phone pressed to my ear, my father cursing and repeating lines of the contract. Wyatt stares back at me, his eyes rimmed in red and looking like hell. His light tan skin is blotchy like he’s barely keeping it together.

“I fucked up. It’s a lot of fucking money.”

“Sir,” Andrea starts, a nervous energy around her.

“It’s fine, Andrea.” I wave her away as Wyatt takes hesitant steps inside the barren office, his hand running down his face. “I’ll call you back,” is all I say to my father without taking my eyes off my good friend, who just made a horrific deal … one for the both of us.