"Hello, Miss Caldwell."
Cole already had a good idea why she was calling. He didn't bring it up himself though — walking in eager was the last thing he needed going into a price negotiation.
"Mr. Harmon, I'm sorry. I spoke with the owner and the best he'll do is five percent off."
No small talk, straight to it. He appreciated that about her.
"Miss Caldwell, you know Fairview Heights better than I do, and the owner knows it too. Those buildings are from the eighties — no mortgage options, cash only, aging infrastructure, a buyer pool that's basically nonexistent. Someone willing to take all four off his hands at once is not a common occurrence. If he wants to hold the line on price, I'll find other listings. There are over a hundred units available in that complex alone."
"Mr. Harmon, I could arrange a sit-down between you two. Sometimes these things go better face to face."
"Miss Caldwell." Cole kept his voice easy but firm. "A face to face meeting when we're fifteen percent apart on price is just an opportunity for someone to talk me up. Tell the owner twenty percent off or I move on. My time is worth something."
A short pause on her end.
"I understand. I'll go back to him."
"Good. Call me when there's movement."
He hung up.
He knew how this worked. He'd spent six months at Bright Key Realty in his previous life — long enough to understand that the first counteroffer was never the real one, and that a buyer who seemed indifferent always got a better price than one who seemed interested. The owner would come around. The alternative was watching those four units sit on the market indefinitely.
Besides, he wasn't in a rush. The demolition wasn't happening for two months. He had time, and he had something more pressing to work on — the eight million needed to become significantly more before he started spending it on property. Once he made his moves in the stock market next week, the math would look a lot better.
He grabbed his toiletries and headed for the bathroom, checking the door was open before he went near it. Last night had left a mark.
As he passed Dana's room he heard music through the thin wall — something slow and a little sad, a love song he half recognized. He paused for just a second, then kept moving.
After a quick wash-up he came back to his room and his stomach made its position known immediately. He'd eaten dinner with Ava around six the previous evening and hadn't touched anything since. That was close to twenty-four hours.
He changed his shirt, grabbed his wallet, and headed out.
He stopped at Dana's door.
He owed her an apology — a real one, not the panicked hallway version from last night. And she probably hadn't eaten either, if she'd been in her room all day.
He knocked.
A few seconds passed. The door opened and Dana stood there in pajamas, looking mildly surprised to see him.
"About last night," Cole said. "I genuinely am sorry. I wasn't paying attention and that's on me."
Dana's cheeks went pink almost immediately — not angry, just flustered. She looked at a point somewhere near his shoulder.
"It's fine. Really. I didn't take it personally."
"I'd like to take you to dinner. As an actual apology, not just words."
"Oh — no, that's not necessary. I'll just make something here."
"So you haven't forgiven me."
Dana blinked. "No — I have, I just meant—"
"Then let me take you to dinner. It'll help me feel better about the whole thing." Cole said it simply, without pressure, and meant it.
Dana looked at him for a moment. Then she sighed quietly and nodded.
"Give me a minute."
The door closed. Cole waited in the hallway.
When it opened again she was wearing a light blue dress, hair down, a clean subtle fragrance coming off her. The girl-next-door quality she had in work clothes somehow came through even stronger like this — something unself-conscious about it, like she hadn't thought too hard about any of it and that was exactly right.
"Ready," she said.
"Let's go."
---
They walked out of Elmwood and onto the main street. Dana stopped almost immediately and pointed at a ramen shop on the corner.
"That place is good. Simple, quick."
Cole glanced at the sign in the window. *Every strand pulled with heart for you.* His appetite quietly excused itself.
"There's a steakhouse up the block. Come on."
Dana stopped walking.
"Cole, steakhouses are expensive. We don't need to—"
"It's my apology dinner. I'm handling it. Let's go."
He kept walking. After a beat she followed, though not without a small noise of protest that he chose not to acknowledge.
The restaurant had the kind of entrance that made you stand up slightly straighter — two staff members at the door, a proper greeting, the door held open before you reached for it. Dana slowed down and lowered her voice.
"This is too much. This is at least a thousand dollars for two people."
"Order whatever you want. Don't worry about the price."
He walked in. She followed, somewhat helplessly.
The confidence that came with eight million dollars in your account was genuinely something. Six months ago — in this life, not the previous one — he would have walked past a restaurant like this without slowing down. A single meal here would have been a third of his monthly take-home. He would have done the math automatically, the way people without money always do the math, and kept moving.
He didn't do that math anymore.
The waiter led them to a table by the window, set two menus down, and disappeared with the smooth efficiency of a place that charged enough to afford good staff.
"Miss Mercer." Cole set his menu down and picked up a wipe from the little dish on the table. Crestfield in summer was relentless — ten minutes of walking and he'd worked up a sweat. "Order whatever looks good. I mean it."
Dana opened her menu. Her eyes moved to the prices first, which he noticed, and her brow did something small and involuntary.
A steak. Three hundred and ninety-eight dollars.
She was working out whether she could reasonably order the salad and call it even.
"Don't look at the right side of the menu," Cole said without looking up from his own.
Dana looked at him.
"Just pick what sounds good."
She was quiet for a moment, then turned back to the menu with something that was almost a smile.
Just then, a man in head-to-toe designer clothes walked into Cole's line of sight, moving between the tables with a woman on his arm, heading directly toward them. His eyes were fixed on Dana with the particular expression of someone who has just spotted something unexpected.
"Dana Mercer? Is that you?"