He grinned. “You think if we play nice, you won’t wind up with my cock inside you anymore.”
I shifted in my seat. “Must you be so vulgar?”
“What did I say?” He seemed genuinely confused.
I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Cock. Do you have to say it like that?”
He grinned. “I’m sorry. Can you say that again? I didn’t hear you.”
I squinted. “You heard me. I know you did.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Maybe. But I really liked hearing you say cock.”
A busboy walked by our table just as Weston spoke. The guy looked our way and smirked, but kept going.
“Keep your voice down.”
Needless to say, he didn’t. “Is it just my cock you don’t like talking about? Or is it all cocks in general?”
I rolled my eyes. “God, you’re such a twelve-year-old boy.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I know what game you’re playing now. You think no fighting equals no fucking.”
“I do not,” I lied. “I’m merely trying to maintain a professional relationship that started out on the wrong foot.”
Weston plucked a breadstick from the middle of the table. “I like the foot it started out on.”
“Regardless, we’re going to do things my way.”
He bit off a piece of the breadstick and waved it at me. “We’ll see.”
Over dinner, I somehow managed to steer our conversation back to business. While we were waiting for the check, I said, “I had Len, the head of maintenance, join me to show the contractor around this afternoon. He was gone before you got there, but I was glad I’d invited him. He was able to walk Sam and Travis through where things were left off with the electric and sprinkler systems that I wouldn’t have known. I asked him to join us tomorrow for the other contractor I have coming in. Perhaps you should invite him to the eight-AM meeting with your guys.”
“Alright, I’ll do that.”
Talking about this afternoon reminded me just how late Weston had been to the meeting. Since we were getting along and doing so well at sharing information, I figured I’d press.
“By the way, why were you so late this afternoon? You never mentioned what your appointment was for.”
Weston’s eyes jumped back and forth between mine before he looked away. “You’re right. I didn’t.”
I sighed. “Whatever. I just hope you’re not playing games, like when you went to the union behind my back.”
“It won’t be a problem.”
The Countess was five blocks from the restaurant, so we walked back together, side by side. On our way, we passed a bar called Caroline’s. I noticed, and immediately looked over to see if Weston had noticed it, too. I found him staring at the illuminated name above the bar. His eyes slanted to mine as they lowered. It felt odd not to say anything.
“I was very sorry to hear about your sister,” I said quietly.
He nodded. “Thank you.”
Caroline Lockwood was two years older than Weston, but only a year ahead of us in school because of how frequently she was absent. She’d suffered from leukemia from the time we were kids. I knew there were different subcategories of the disease, and wasn’t sure exactly which type she’d had, but she’d always looked tired and too thin when we were in school. When we were about eighteen, right after we graduated, I remembered hearing she’d had a kidney transplant. Her family and friends seemed very optimistic that things would get better from there. But about five years ago, while I was living in London, I’d heard she passed away.
Weston stopped when we arrived in front of The Countess. He looked up at the beautiful façade and smiled. “Caroline would have loved this place. She studied architecture at NYU and got a job at the New York City Historic Preservation Society. She thought it was her personal duty to protect the character of the City’s oldest buildings.”
“I didn’t know that.”
He nodded, still looking up. “She was also obsessed with Christmas—thought it was her job to sprinkle it on everything for two full months each year. If she were here, she’d have us both already in planning meetings about how we were going to decorate The Countess at the holidays.”
“I know a little trivia about Christmastime at The Countess, actually. And it involves our families. When I was researching the hotel, I came across some old pictures where there was an enormous Christmas tree in the lobby. I also read a few hundred of the hotel’s reviews on Tripadvisor so I could get a sense of what people thought about their recent stays, and I noticed there were quite a few reviews written during December where people noted that the hotel had no tree and very few holiday decorations. I asked Louis about it, and he said the first few years they were open, our grandfathers would go out in search of the biggest tree they could find, and the three of them would personally decorate the tree from top to bottom. It was one of Ms. Copeland’s favorite things to do. After everything happened between the three of them in 1962 and they parted ways, there was never another tree lit in the lobby. Grace loved having a big tree, but couldn’t bear to put one up because of the memories it brought. She always felt bad that she’d caused the destruction of our grandfathers’ friendship, and she hoped one day they’d bury the hatchet and a tree would again be lit in the lobby.”