Chapter Two – The Hustle

Lance

I still can't believe it.

I don't know what I can't believe more – the way she talked to me, so hostile and yet with that same Kennedy class she's known for, or the fact that she still hates me after all these years.

I can't say that I blame her, but you would think after sixteen years, she would have softened a bit.

I stand at my huge window, from the tenth story of the building, and look down on the bustling streets of New York City from my office at Bass and Associates. My hands are stuffed in my pants pockets, and I'm just thinking. There's a million things I should be doing. I have a deposition in two days I should be preparing for. The Carlisle contracts are haunting me, waiting for my approval. Then there's the big account, the biggest one in the history of Bass and Associates, that my father shouldered off onto me and has been breathing down my back for the last week to work on.

But I don't care. Right now, all I can think about is her.

It's not the first time I've run into her. After sixteen years of living in the same city, or at least in close proximity, I gave up trying to avoid her. I don't go out searching for her specifically but every now and then, we have an encounter. Sometimes I cross paths with her on the street. Sometimes I have to pass by her desk, since we do both work in law and our law firms are natural competitors. And, being part of the Kennedy-Carrington-Bass social circle, and such good friends with Katherine, I'm bound to run into her socially now and then.

When we run into each other alone, we either glance at each other and avoid all other contact, or at the very most, give a polite smile or a cordial, quiet “hello”. Around Katherine, we have to muster the courage to give a little more – a bigger smile, a louder hello, even a “nice to see you” once in a while. I know she does it for the sake of Katherine. They're best friends, attached to each other at the hip, and Sarah would sooner chew off her own arm than let a little thing like me come between their friendship.

I do it because after sixteen years, I still can't let Sarah Kennedy go.

She owns me; every piece of me.

For a moment, I thought maybe she was considering taking me up on my offer. It was just a scotch; not a date or a marriage proposal. And then she said those words...go to hell.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. She could have said worse; she should have said worse. I did her dirty. She always deserved so much better than what I gave her. She deserves an explanation.

But how am I supposed to tell her that we couldn't be together because precious Daddy Kennedy threatened to kill me if I ever touched her?

I was a pretty bad guy back then. Granted, I could have been a lot worse, from stories I've heard in the inner circle about hooligans in public schools; but in “high” society, I was the smokin', drinkin', motorcycle-ridin' nightmare of every father with a little girl. I mean, I never smoked; I only had a beer or two occasionally; and I didn't even own a motorcycle. But I was that guy – that guy every girl wanted to bring home, and every father dreamed of pulling a gun out on.

I dated a few girls, sowed my wild oats, but it was never anything serious because Sarah was always “it” for me. The girls I dated knew it, too, because every one of them hated me hanging around Kate and Sarah so much. It was usually the reason for my break-ups, because I refused to stop.

By the time Sarah had turned fifteen, she was blossoming into this beautiful creature. She was always beautiful, but in those two years since I had met her, she had turn from a silly, immature thirteen-year-old into a charming, sophisticated young woman. Long, flowing blonde hair, bright blue eyes, sun-kissed skin, and – I was never one to focus on a woman's figure only – a body that could have stopped traffic. I was always going to ask her out, but I was afraid. I also thought she was too young; she needed to have fun, break other boys' hearts, experience life at its fullest. I wasn't the best man I could have been back then – I didn't want to be the one to break her heart.

And then she turned sixteen. Her parents held a huge Sweet Sixteen party for her at the biggest hotel in all of New York state, owned by Carrington-Kennedy of course, in the luxurious banquet hall. She personally invited me. A Sweet Sixteen party wasn't really my thing, but I knew it meant a lot to her that I attend, and part of me couldn't turn down seeing her celebrating such a big milestone. It was an overly-done formal event, so I wore my tuxedo and drove up with Katherine, putting up with her over-excitement of the event the whole ride over.

And then I saw her in that ball gown. And I fell in love.

That night, I decided that one day, I would marry Sarah Kennedy.

But her father had other plans. He never was thrilled about my presence, always knew there was something about me that he didn't like. Something wild, something more dangerous than he wanted around his little girl. I guess that night he sensed that something changed between me and his daughter, and he decided to put a stop to it.

He pulled me aside that night and told me that if I ever put my hands on his daughter, he would make certain that I would never touch another woman ever again.

With Sheldon Kennedy, that is most certainly a death threat.

I'm sure Sarah has no idea of half the things her father has done, or is capable of doing – and in my opinion, she shouldn't be made aware of them. My father has been his lawyer for over a decade and now that I'm a partner, I handle a good fifty percent of the business that Carrington-Kennedy does, so I'm obligated to know – and obligated to not tell her. But I can't be sure she doesn't already, knowing that he disowned her two years ago.

I have no idea what happened. Katherine has never told me the whole story, and of course Sarah hasn't and wouldn't, since she tries not to talk to me if at all possible. It all happened after Sarah and I stopped speaking to each other. I had been away for eight years, getting my law degree two hundred miles away at Harvard. I was always so busy studying and trying to do well in school that I was out-of-touch with reality when I finally came back to New York to take the bar and come to work in my father's law firm. After I became a partner, I was still out-of-touch, too busy at work to know what was going on outside of depositions and briefs.

All I know is that one day, suddenly, Sarah was engaged. And then not long after that, she wasn't; there was a canceled wedding, and she was dethroned as a Kennedy.

I had my hopes that she would come to me and profess that the reason she broke off her engagement was because of me, because she had always been in love with me and couldn't stand to marry anyone else. But that never happened.

I'm lost in thought staring down at the city streets and the tops of buildings when I hear my door open, and shortly after, a short rap on the wood. I turn around to see my secretary, Heather, standing at my door.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Bass,” she says, “but there's a woman out here who says she needs to speak to you.”

“I don't have any appointments coming up, Heather.”

“I know, sir. But she says she's a friend of yours and needs to speak to you immediately.”

I'm about to dismiss her with orders to send away whoever it is, but then I see Katherine, her fancy sunglasses over her eyes and her purse thrown over her shoulder, push her way past Heather and into my office.

“Ahh, yeah,” I say, smiling at Heather. “It's fine. Please hold my calls, Heather.”

“Yes, sir.”

She nods cordially and closes the door quickly, and Katherine smiles at me before she places her sunglasses on the top of her head and seats herself across from my desk.

“Well, isn't that one a little pip,” she says. “Yes, sir. No, sir. Mr. Bass, can I blow you, sir.”

“Katherine, my dear,” I say. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Can it, Lance,” she says. “You know why I'm here.”

I can't help but smile.

“Well, aren't you a big ball of sunshine today,” I say.

“You're a dickhead,” she says. She throws one leg over the other with attitude. “Thirty seconds. You get one jab and you have to hit that one nerve.”

“Oh, spare me, Katherine,” I say. “It's not like I hurt her feelings. Sarah Kennedy has the skin of a turtle's shell and the bite of a piranha for the comeback. She always knows how to tell me to stick it and is never afraid to follow through.”

“And so she should,” she says. “I can't believe you brought up her job. You know she's sensitive about it. You know she hates it.”

“And that's my fault, because...?” I ask. “What do you want me to do, give her a job?”

“Novel idea. She'd be a good replacement for Miss Yes Ma'am out there.”

“Oh, yeah,” I say, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. “I see that going well. Today she told me to go to hell. Give her five minutes and a chance and she'll poison my coffee with antifreeze.”

“Sarah has class,” she responds. “I think cyanide is more her style. Ooh, or arsenic.”

“As interesting as discussing all the ways Sarah has come up with to kill me is,” I say, “I'm sure you didn't crawl away from daddy's credit card to talk with me about it. So Kate, what do you really want?”

I see a mischievous smile come to her face.

“I heard through the grapevine that you're in a little trouble,” she says.

“And which grapevine would this be?”

“Richie has a big mouth,” she says. “And these days, he doesn't only use it to suck up to daddy and his partners.”

I purse my lips slightly. Richard, Katherine's big brother, always has had it out for me.

“Ahh yeah, the old boy isn't in prison yet then?”

“Not yet,” she says. “But one day he'll need to use his big mouth for that, too.”

She smiles, but I can't.

“What do you want, Katherine?” I ask.

“Lance, I want nothing,” she says, bringing her hand up to her chest to feign innocence. “How can you even think that about me? I only care about you, want what's in your best interests.”

“As long as it's also in your best interests.”

“It may be,” she says.

“So what have you heard?” I ask.

“I've heard you need a lot of money,” she says. “I've heard you need it fast. I've heard if you don't get it fast, you may end up best friends with a roommate named Big Bubba. But prison orange isn't your color, you know? You'd look like a big traffic cone. Your skin and hair, you need a more autumnal shade...”

“Get to the point, Katherine.”

“Tax evasion is pretty bad,” she says with a smile. “Fifty thousand. I mean, damn.”

“Actually, forty-three. But go on.”

“Daddy won't help you out of this one,” she says. “For a lawyer, he's always had outstanding morals, which is a bit of a surprise considering he works for my family. But maybe I can help.”

I can't help that my eyebrows perk up. Katherine has an uncanny ability to always know too much, especially about dirty laundry or skeletons in the closet. I'm not surprised she knows about my...predicament.

“And just how would you be able to do that?” I ask.

“Well,” she says, “I do have a trust fund.”

“You mean, you're willing to give me forty-three thousand dollars out of your trust fund?” I ask, surprised.

“You are my friend, after all,” she says. “But, as previously established, I only do things if they're in my best interest or I have a motive.”

“And what would your motive be, exactly?”

It seems like forever that she stares at me before she finally speaks.

“I want you to repair things with Sarah,” she says.

“And how do you suppose I do that?”

“You're going to live with her.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “Say what?”

“I will give you fifty-thousand dollars, guilt-free and no strings attached, if you agree to live with Sarah in the same house for a hundred days.”

I take a moment to soak in the information, confusing as it is, and only have one thing to say.

“Well then, I'll see you on visitor's day in prison, Kate.”

She stands. “Lance...”

“Kate, it's not going to happen,” I say. “I'm sorry. Aside from the fact that is too weird for words, Sarah is never going to go for that.”

“You let me worry about that,” she says. “She will not only agree to it, she will be under the same contract as you will be.”

Again, my eyebrows perk.

“Contract?” I ask.

“Well, as a lawyer yourself, I feel I should warn you that it's neither professional nor admissible in any court.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a small stack of papers. “Of course. But I feel that it will pass your standards, Mister Big-Time Lawyer Boy.”

I walk over to her and grab the papers, unable to help myself; I just have to find out what she's up to this time. And as I begin to scan my eyes over the paper, I realize it's nothing like she's ever come up with before.

“I, James Lance Bass,” I say, reading from the paper, “agree to spend a period of one hundred consecutive days cohabiting with one Sarah Madeline Kennedy. Under the terms of this agreement, I understand I will be provided with a stable, comfortable living environment in which I will live with Ms. Kennedy for no less than a period of one hundred days.”

I find myself pacing, circling a one- or two-foot space in front of her, as I read, my eyes growing wider as I read on.

“The terms of this contract are as follows: One, I agree to not move any other persons into the house without prior permission from Mrs. Katherine Carrington. Two; I agree not to move out, leave, or otherwise break these terms to which I have agreed to before the one hundred days is up. Three...”

I stop, and look up at her.

“Katherine, this is insane,” I say. “For one thing, I have a job, I have responsibilities, I can't afford to play stupid little games with you.”

“There's a clause in there,” she says, walking over to me. She looks over my shoulder at the paper and points out a small paragraph about halfway down the page. “See? Six; I can leave the house for regular work and social duties.”

“I have a house,” I say. “I'm not going to play house with someone so you can get your jollies off by screwing with me and Sarah.”

“I'm not screwing with anybody,” she says. “I know you and Sarah can mend this, if you guys will just bear each others' company for a little while.”

“Tell me, why do you feel the need for Sarah and I to mend anything?” I ask her. “What concern is it of yours?”

“Because Lance,” she says, frustration in her voice. “I know you have feelings for her. I know she has feelings for you. It drives me crazy to see you two so crazy in love with each other, and yet so stubborn that you keep living the same miserable life trying to convince yourselves that you're not in love with each other!”

“We're not in love. In fact, I don't even think Sarah is in like with me!”

“That's what you see,” she says. “I, on the other hand, see something entirely different.”

She sets her purse down, and starts walking back towards me.

“I see the sparkle in her eyes when she sees you walk towards her,” she says. “I see the hurt that still lingers from whatever happened to tear you two apart. I see the frustration that she can't repair things with you.”

She approaches me, and adjusts my tie.

“Look at it this way. You need money. You're desperate for it. If you don't get the money you need, you're going to spend a lot more than one hundred days locked up in a worse place than a house with Sarah.”

I lock eyes with her. Unfortunately, she's got me there. A hundred days locked up in a cramped house with Sarah Kennedy would be less life-threatening than five years in prison with riff-raff.

“Read the clause at the end,” she says, her voice low. “That's the part that benefits you, my friend.”

I sigh and flip the sheet of paper over to the next page, and my eyes land at the bottom.

“In exchange,” I read, “I will receive fifty-thousand dollars to pay off my debt, payable a week after my move-in date. If I complete the one hundred days in full, without breaking any clauses in the contract, and I still have not repaired the relationship with Ms. Kennedy, I will receive a bonus of twenty-five-thousand dollars, payable two weeks after the move-out date, for my efforts.”

“Hmm?” she says, her eyebrows raised, looking at me.

“You're willing to pay seventy-five thousand dollars to not only bail me out of trouble, but force me to make up with Sarah?”

“I'm paying a hundred-and-fifty-thousand, darling, because Sarah is getting the exact same contract, with the exact same clauses, as you are,” she says. “It's a small price to pay for happiness for the two of you.”

“Or a small price to pay to watch this blow up in all our faces,” I say.

“I promise you,” she says. “You won't regret it. Just give it a chance.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets and return to my window. I look down at the city streets again as I ponder the situation.

Prison would be miserable, I know that. And if I don't take care of the situation I've put myself in soon, that's exactly where I will find myself. But...can I possibly live with Sarah for that long?

On one hand, it's everything I've ever wanted – even if it's only a fantasy I'll be living. On the other hand, I know all too well how Sarah feels about me, and knowing the two of us, we'll make each others' lives miserable.

But is it possibly worth it?

I lower my head, close my eyes, and sigh.

“When do I move in?”