Page 87 of The Renter
“Big day at the office for me,” Adam whispers, breaking our kiss. “I’m unavailable all day.”
I nod, understanding the demands of his work. As he gets ready, I slip out of bed and decide to use the time alone to clear my head. The pool is the perfect place for reflection. Swimming lap after lap, I use the rhythm of my strokes to sort through my thoughts, weighing each option carefully.
The thought of moving in with Adam is tempting, but it’s too soon. I haven’t even been his official girlfriend for a month. I’m not ready for that step. If I move in, will Adam continue to push the fast-forward button on our relationship? We need time to adjust to both of us working full time and being in the city.
Then there’s the option of moving into an apartment paid for by Adam. The luxury high-rise we toured is still fresh in my mind with its stunning views and prime location. It’s amazing. I love everything about it. But how independent am I if a man is paying my rent?
Finding a place of my own and paying my way is the most daunting yet exciting. I’ve never truly lived alone. From my parents’ house to dorms to shared apartments, there’s always been someone else in the picture. The idea of having my own space, answering to no one but myself, is my top choice.
But what I could afford on my own, actually afford, without being rent burdened, saving for retirement and full-on adulting, wouldn’t be in River North. It would be in a neighborhood with a thirty-plus minute commute to come downtown for meetings.
As I continue to swim, my thoughts drift to Adam’s generosity. His offer doesn’t come from a place of control; it’s a gesture of support, a way for him to invest in me and my future. I know the rent for the apartment is insignificant to him financially. He lives in a world where a year’s rent is less than the cost of one of his watches.
But it’s more than the rent. I can already foresee his next moves—offering to furnish it, making sure it has everything I could possibly need or want.
Breathless from the swim, I rest my arms on the edge of the pool.
If I’m going to make this work with Adam, I have to come to terms with his wealth. It’s a part of who he is, just as my drive for independence is a part of me. I don’t want to become dependent on him. But I also need to learn to accept his help without losing myself in the process.
71
Muting the conference phone, I look over at Declan. The governor’s push for an unrealized gains tax and changes to crypto investing disclosures and financial reporting is a clear threat. “Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to right now?” I rhetorically ask.
Forcefully unmuting the call, I tightly say, “I didn’t give you twenty million dollars to fuck me.” Smashing the end call button, I shake my head, processing this unexpected pivot in his plans. It was harsh, but the situation called for unequivocal clarity.
“This cannot be happening,” I huff. These changes could significantly impact our operations. “Do you know what this means?”
“My summer meetings were more than speculatory,” Declan responds, correctly—confirming my worst fears.
“Exactly. We have to find a new governor.”
I look at Declan, my mind racing with strategies and contingencies. Declan leans forward. “Who’s your favorite?”
I pause, considering my options. “Your neighbor on Geneva Lake.” My thoughts turn to the political landscapes, the chess game of influence and power.
Declan cynically laughs. “Handling things in the business world can be so tedious.”
I can’t help but share in the laughter, albeit bitterly. “Twenty million fucking dollars down the drain. I could kill him myself.”
Tapping Greg’s number on my phone, I put him on speaker when he answers. “New project for you: divest all the governor’s interests from our firm, blackball him from future opportunities, and tell all our strategic partners that he’s on our shit list. Watch him come crawling back to us.”
“Ruthless. Glad to have you back,” Greg booms. “I’ll have this done within the month.”
“Harsh?” Declan asks.
“No.” The decision is final, a necessary move in the game we’re playing. We both lean back in our chairs, lost in our thoughts.
“What’s the status on Real-ity?” Declan asks.We haven’t talked about this new deal since Summit.
“No progress. He’s out of his mind.” I huff at how nothing is going to plan. “What do you know about Gideon Stone?”
“Impressive. Formidable.”
“I’m learning. He thinks we should pay three hundred million dollars for forty-nine percent.”
“What was the original idea? Two hundred? Two hundred and fifty tops?” Declan asks.
“Plus majority ownership.”
