Free Falling

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The door clicks shut behind me as I stare at him.

Christopher Bellamy is back in Pointe Hill, and I didn’t even warrant so much as a text.

My body is still working faster than my mind. I want to punch him and hug him, crumple into the chair in front of me and turn and run from the room. When my eyes dart to the paperweight on the desk and my fingers twitch at the thought of hurling it at his head, my mind finally takes control and sends a message to my mouth. “You’re C. J. Eubanks?”

The boy I knew as Christopher stands behind his pristine desk in his perfectly tailored pinstripe suit with not a hair on his dark curly head out of place and watches me, his eyes unreadable, his face expressionless. He is ice.

But I’m fire, and I want to burn that blank expression off his face. I open my mouth, ready to spit flames, when he finally speaks.

“Freedom, it’s good to see you.”

He says this so calmly, so matter-of-factly, I glance at the paperweight again and contemplate adding an assault charge to the trespassing charges I’m probably already racking up.

“Seven years. Seven years, and a ‘Freedom, it’s good to see you’ is the best you can do?” I clench my fists so tightly my fingernails bite into my palms. The pain reminds me why I’m there, and I reach into my bag, pull out the papers, and toss them on his desk. “And what the hell is this?”

“I thought you’d want to catch up on old times first, but we can dispense with the niceties if that’s what you’d prefer. This”—he points to the papers—“is business.”

“Business? Don’t tell me you actually buy that bullshit company tagline about growing communities. The commercial district CHI is developing will force half the tenants in that section of the Old Sixth Ward out of business. There’s no way any of us can afford a rent increase, and you know it. You want us all out so you can move new tenants in at what, double what we’re currently paying?”

Christopher folds his arms across his chest. “It’s business, Free. Pointe Hill needs this project. None of this is personal.”

“All of this is personal. That restaurant was my father’s whole life. Dad ran Cecelia’s for twenty years. He is—was . . .” I pause, still not used to referring to my father in the past tense, “a fixture in this community. Cecelia’s still is. And if you think I’m going to let you take that restaurant away from us without a fight, you’ve got another thing coming.” I wave a hand in his direction. “The suit and tie might fool some people into thinking you’re some upright businessman trying to help the community, but I know better. I fell for your lies once. I won’t make that mistake again.”

If the callback to our past fazes Christopher, he’s an even better liar than I remember, because my comment gets nothing out of him. When he remains silent, I add, “I’m glad Dad’s not here to see what you’re doing.”

“Mr. Spalding would have wanted—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what my father would have wanted. You lost that right when you decided to have a hand in dismantling the thing he spent his life building.”

At last his eyes reflect something other than cold disinterest. “I was sorry to hear about his passing. And I’m sorry he won’t be here to experience Pointe Hill’s progress. Our family’s goal with this project—”

“Our?”

“CHI is my father’s company,” Christopher says, nodding. “We’re headquartered in New York with branches in London and Atlanta. This office in Pointe Hill is the first of many satellite offices we hope to open in smaller cities around the country. Jason has been handling our properties in the southeast while I’ve traveled between New York and London. He recently asked for my help here.”

“Wait, Jason is in Pointe Hill, too?” I ask.

Jason is Christopher’s older brother. They weren’t close when I knew them as teenagers, so I’m surprised Jason would ask him for help now. I’m even more surprised Christopher would give it, especially after everything that happened.

Christopher narrows his eyes. “Apparently, he’s not as averse to this place as I am.”

I shake my head and toss my bag on the chair in front of me. Jason’s back in Pointe Hill, and I didn’t know about that either.

“Jason was never great at keeping in touch,” Christopher says as if reading my mind. “And I’ve never had a good reason to come back.”

His features harden when he says this, and that look reminds me I’m not talking to the Christopher I once knew, but to C. J. Eubanks.

“So, screwing me over once wasn’t enough. You come back to finish the job? That’s rich, even for you.”

His skin colors under the collar of his white dress shirt, and in one fluid motion he walks over to his desk and presses the intercom. “Melissa, you can call it a night.” He disconnects the call without waiting for an answer, and loosens his tie, his eyes trained on me the entire time. “You really want to go there, Free? Wanna talk about screwing people over? Then let’s talk. How about we start by you telling me why, if you cared so much about me, you slept with Jason.”