Page 17 of Scrooge

“Where did you get this desk from?” I ask.

“It was my father’s. Why?” My eyes don’t leave the wood as I feel him moving toward me.

“My dad has the exact same one,” I tell him, looking over it, seeing the familiar markings and branding.

“Really? This is decades old. I am sure they just look similar.”

I nod. He is probably right.

“I don’t want to rush you, but I have a meeting to get to,” he says, stiffening again, and I swallow as I meet his piercing eyes.

“I came here to beg you…” I start to say, straightening my shoulders.

“Beg me?” he asks, one eyebrow rising as his arms cross over his chest.

“Your company owns the building that houses Tucker Toys. Recently, you have increased the rent, and it is now too much. We can’t afford it.” It takes everything in me to keep a steady voice.

He nods as I see him think about what I’ve said for a moment before he comes to understanding.

“I asked my leasing manager to review all leases and bring them up to market rates.”

“But that is just the thing. Our rent hasn’t increased in years. Literally decades. And now it is astronomical.”

He remains rooted to the ground, his frown deepening.

“That is business.” He says it like it is just a matter of fact.

“I understand that, but we are going to go out of business if you raise the rent, especially by that much, so suddenly. Maybe over time, we can make it work, adjust our cash flow and reallocate our budgets, but to increase it so much and so quickly, we can’t manage it. We will need to close, and Tucker Toys is an institution in this city. We can’t lose it.” My tone has turned pleading, imploring him to understand.

“Is that why you called me a dickwad?” he asks, and I internally groan. It’s enough to have my nerves lessening and annoyance sneaking back to the surface.

“No. I didn’t even know who you were then. That was just me being me,” I tell him honestly.

“So I am a dickwad?” he asks, and I frown in confusion.

“Yes… I mean… you were that day, yes,” I stutter out, thinking back to the moment we ran into each other in the street. It feels like a lifetime ago, not just a mere week.

“You were having a seizure…”

I roll my eyes. Why is he bringing this up right now?

“I was not having a seizure. I stubbed my toe and almost ran into you. Or you almost ran into me,” I continue, getting animated as my hands start waving around.

“And now you want me to save your shop?” he asks, and I stall.Shit. That’s why he’s playing this little recollection game. The woman begging for help is the same one who called him a dickwad.

My hand goes to my ear, and I pull as I take in a breath. I feel a little out of my depth here in his office in the sky, but I can’t mess this up. It is our only chance.

“Yes, but I mean, then I got to know you, and we talked some more—” I’m cut off by his assistant's voice over the intercom. I was so in the zone, it jolted me a bit. My heart’s now racing all over again.

“Alexander, Sheridan and Laurent are here, as requested.”

“Send them in,” he replies, and I wonder who Sheridan and Laurent are.

“If you would just consider leaving the rent as is…” I start to talk faster, knowing he is about to kick me out of his office.

“Alexander?” A voice sounds from behind me, and I turn, seeing a woman in sky-high black stilettos, a corporate black dress, with hair that is long and glossy, the complete opposite of my bird’s nest. She is absolutely stunning.

“We can come back,” the man next to her says, and my eyes flick to him. He is wearing what looks to be a tartan suit, very colorful, and his shoes are shiny, his hair also perfect. I squeeze my ear to the point I think it is going to disintegrate in my fingers.

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