Page 9 of Pretty Heartache

“I am.” Like the prick I am, I hold out my hand in some sort of mock greeting, as if she wasn’t just attempting to stick her tongue down my throat or fondling my dick a few minutes ago. “Micah Harding.”

She doesn’t take my hand. Instead, she lifts her worried, pleading gaze. Her face has softened.

“I know who you are and what you being here means. I promise, I pay the rent,” she squeaks between her pale lips, as if her explanation will make a difference. “I give my boyfriend money every week so he can make the payments. The pub’s been struggling, but we have plans to fix it. That’s why he’s not here tonight. He’s talking with a strip club owner here in the city to see if he’s willing to invest.”

I lean forward, bringing my face close to hers to look into her eyes, keeping my hands pressed to the walls. My tie is now unraveled from her hand, no longer binding her to me.

“Your boyfriend may be going to the strip club to network, but if he isn’t using your money to pay the rent for this shithole, then I doubt his networking is strictly business related.”

Her chin dips to her chest as she swallows, placing her hand on her stomach. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol making her nauseous or that my speculation has made her put two and two together. Her brown eyes flicker back and forth as she keeps her head down. My business card slips from her hand, landing on the floor beside the mildew coated toilet.

Call it being numb.

Call it unfeeling.

But business is business.

I’ve come to terms with this being part of my job. Hardings have always been known for their ruthless business tactics. Ever since our father died ten years ago, and my older brother Lennon took over the company, the sharp bitterness that once haunted our family is gone, but we still have a reputation. A reputation for buying companies a second before they’re seized by the bank or the city. It doesn’t matter who is at the top or the face of the company, the nature of the beast never changes. To the city, this is an ugly business.

For a moment, I dig deep, scrounging up even the slightest bit of pity or remorse.

The woman standing in front of me doesn’t know her boyfriend hasn’t made a single payment for this shithole in months, or that he’s been stealing her money, most likely to pay for strippers at the club he’s been going to every week. Or that he’s keeping a secret he doesn’t care will cost him his business or relationship.

Even if I weren’t numb to the emotions that go with this job, the sympathy I’d have for this woman wouldn’t go very far. She was willing to cheat on her boyfriend before she found out who I was.

“Harding Holdings has bought your boyfriend’s business out,” I say, matter of fact. My words linger in the tight, damp air. “I’m simply here to deliver the message out of courtesy.”

“Courtesy?” she practically spits with anger, but her face is still pale. “You call this courtesy?”

“Yes. You should consider you and your boyfriend lucky this place didn’t go straight to the bank. They wouldn’t have been as kind and considerate.”

She laughs, lifting her chin and squeezing her eyes shut, a loud cackle escaping her throat before she slowly narrows her eyes on me. Leaning forward, her hooded eyes stare straight into mine. “You call this being kind and considerate?”

“Don’t take it personal. It’s just business.”

Our connection to the major banks lends Harding Holdings the privilege of knowing what businesses are set to go into foreclosure, giving us the opportunity to buy them before the bank seizes them. We pay a slight premium for snagging them early, but with our wealth and success, it’s a small price to pay.

“If you were strictly here for business, you wouldn’t have come in here with me. Why did you?” she asks.

I give her a blank stare, suddenly aware of my breathing. The claws inside my mind sink deeper, refusing to retract. Flipping this woman’s world upside down may have been business, but following her into a dirty stall and hoping for a quick fuck isn’t, but the reasoning behind my decision is something I refuse to acknowledge.

Declining to answer her question, I bend down and pick up the business card I’d given her and hold it between us, the goldlettering glimmering under the dim yellow hue of the light above us.

“My boyfriend’s apartment is upstairs. He’ll be homeless if he loses this place. But if I had your job, I guess I would have to tell myself the same things you do just to be able to look in the mirror without hating myself.”

Heat simmers under my skin, bubbling and boiling over. Darkness clouds my vision. Suddenly, it’s as if thick, gray clouds have surrounded me, drowning me in their darkness. I clear my throat, unwilling to let it take hold, once again.

Memories and images of the man I used to be flash through my mind. Time is a construct I haven’t been able to understand. The life I once had seems so far away, yet there are parts of me left dormant, like a pile of ash at the bottom of a fire, the slightest bit of smoke drifting from it. But the smoke isn’t enough to relight the fire. It exists only to remind me of what once was. Of what’s lost.

I stare at the woman in front of me. The way my father taught me.

“You might want to tell your boyfriend it’s in his best interest to call me before he shows up for work one day and finds himself without a place to go, aside from that strip club he seems to love so much.”

She doesn’t take the card. Instead, her hand flies to her mouth. I didn’t notice before, but her skin has turned from ghost white to a pale green, clammy, glistening in the faded light. The echoing thud of the classical rock song playing from the bar fills the stall we’re standing in.

A grumble climbs up her throat, then she shifts on her feet and lurches forward. Panicked, I reach behind me, fumbling to find the handle to the stall. My back is pressed against the door, leaving no room for me to move. I press myself against the door as much as humanly possible and turn my head to the side. Ican’t find the lock. Unsure of what to expect, my heart pounds, knowing I’m stuck. I peek to the side just as her eyes widen and her hand flies away from her mouth.

Vomit streams from her open mouth as she bends over. A mixture of dark yellow, brown liquid and red chunks cover my brown suede shoes. Wrapping her arm around her stomach, she hurls again, the sound causing my stomach to wobble.

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