The Change Up (4 page)

“Yes, but I don't. Risky doesn't begin to describe this investment. What happens if Dad gets worse while I'm sitting on the team? What if they need money for his treatment or care? Do you want Mom to sell other assets, like the house, or me to sell the team?”

Helen Anne frowned. “They have plenty of money, Rachel. They don't need millions of liquid assets right now. I'm not asking you to never sell it, I'm asking you to buy him some time. That's all.”

“I don't have that kind of time. Commercial deals take several months to close in ideal situations. In these circumstances, God only knows. I'm expecting it to take the better part of a year. Plus, I've had two investors breathing down my neck ever since Dad told them he wasn't fit to carry out the five-year plan they agreed upon. Neither of those guys is interested in running the team. In fact, they want their money back as soon as possible. So, as much as I would
love
to buy some time for various reasons, I have to follow Dad's directives and do whatever it takes to secure a lucrative and timely sale. That's my only goal here.”

“Your only goal? Nice, Rachel. Really nice.” Helen Anne's eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head. “God, I don't know why I expected anything else from you. You're heartless.”

Then why did Rachel feel the sting of those words deep beneath her breast? “Thank you for the compliment,” she said softly.

She didn't expect her younger sister to understand what it took to thrive in the business world—under the watchful eye of their father. Helen Anne had the luxury of being the wanted daughter, while Rachel had been the daughter her father had never expected. Wasn't the firstborn of a powerful man supposed to be a son? Silly. Archaic even. But he'd told her exactly that over a few glasses of whiskey and a rare failed deal. She probably should've forgotten it by now. Surely, after forty years, she'd proven herself capable of achieving anything a son could have achieved. But it lingered, powering everything she did … just in case he still wished she'd been someone else.

With Helen Anne retracing her steps down the hall, Rachel swung open the door to her father's office with renewed vengeance. To her surprise, the light was on in the wood-paneled room, and her father was sitting behind his regal desk wearing the same Pirates robe she'd seen him in yesterday. A cell phone was pressed to his ear. The flick of his wrist drew her attention to his leather folio and legal pad. He glanced up and nodded once. It was his usual acknowledgment and silent permission that she could stay as long as she didn't interrupt him—like she had as a child.

Rachel slipped into one of the leather club chairs to watch him work, struck by how much older he appeared since she'd seen him two months ago. Probably because he wasn't showered or dressed. A weak smile tipped her lips as she took in his frantic scribbling and noted the deep creases on his forehead. Complete concentration. She leaned forward, hoping to learn something about the call, but his handwriting had always been sloppy, and reading it upside down was an even greater struggle. Something about … trees.

“Can you repeat that?” More writing followed a frustrated sigh.

“Dad,” she whispered, tapping her hand silently on the desk. “Put the call on speaker.”

He looked at her and nodded, despite the tension on his face.

“I figured you would want to know Sutter came in here,” said the voice on the phone.

Usually that last name conjured images of Luke Sutter in tears when Rachel had announced she had no plans of settling for a life in Arlington. With him. She hadn't said that last part, but it was clearly implied, and she had no regrets. Luke had been a good high-school boyfriend, but she'd been a confident eighteen-year-old with plans to take over the business world. Knowing he was back here waiting for her would've been nothing but a distraction to her grand plan. Just like his little brother was now.

But there was nothing little about Sam Sutter anymore.

Distant memories of Luke yielded to a stark image of Sam. Surely she'd seen him a time or two over the last twenty years, but if she had, he hadn't made an impression like this. Rough and rugged. Denim and flannel. A raw masculinity that was untempered by tailored suits and MBA-honed manners. She would have to be dead not to appreciate that. She would also have to be a teenager again to let it take up more than a passing thought.

Rachel spun the legal pad around and read the chicken scratch, putting the pieces together. Sam was complaining about the parking lot because he didn't want the trees cut down.

“He has no grounds for a protest,” she said with certainty. “It isn't his property. I have the surveys committed to memory. I walked the grounds with Wes, and I've done the math. We'll be well within the fifteen-foot setback.”

The voice on the other end of the phone stuttered with surprise.

“That's my daughter, Rachel. You're on speaker.”

“Okay. Uh, the property line isn't the issue,” the man said. ”Sutter mentioned something about endangered balsam poplar trees and migratory bird patterns. We have to get an expert to look into those things.”

Rachel swore under her breath. “How long will that take?”

“A couple weeks.”

“No. A couple days. Tops. If there's nothing in the local ordinances to stop us from expanding on property we own, then we're moving forward as planned. We aren't going to go looking for obstacles.”

“Suit yourself, but you might want to work it out with Sutter before you fire up those chainsaws. All he needs is a neighbor or two to back him up in filing a formal complaint. Then I'll have no choice but to halt the cutting until the experts have had their say.”

Wonderful. Helen Anne might be getting more time after all.

“Okay. I'll talk to him,” her father said, and it shocked the hell out of Rachel, because Reeds didn't pander to anyone. Where was his famous edge?

When he hung up, Rachel said, “We aren't really going to talk to Sam Sutter. Right? We don't owe him anything. It's our property. Once the two days pass, if the city gives us the go-ahead, we clear the lot and move on. Worst-case scenario, they fine us.”

He steepled his hands and bounced them off his lips. “Give one, take one, Rachel. Remember?”

She did, and she was comforted he remembered, too. “The golden rule of closing a deal.”

He nodded. “The success of this team is going to hinge on the people of Arlington getting behind it. And the sale of the team could very well hinge on the success of the team. We don't need bad blood between us and the Sutters and however many people Sam can get behind him.”

It made sense. In fact, if not for the pajamas and the unorganized, written thoughts on the page in front of him, Rachel would've simply sat back and admired the cunning business prowess of the man she'd spent the last twenty-plus years emulating. Instead, she wondered how long before conversations like these were an impossibility. Could the doctors have been wrong? And if they weren't, was her father powerful enough to conquer the unconquerable?

A knock on the door saved Rachel from answering the gloomy questions.

When Danny called out, “Come in,” Liv poked her head around the doorjamb. “Oh,” she said to Rachel's father, “Mr. Reed, people are looking for you.”

“What people?”

“These people.” Rachel's mother walked in. “You scared the life out of me, Danny. I went to check on you in bed, but you were gone.”

“I'm here.”

“I see that.” A smile replaced the worry. “Now, will you please get dressed? Liv doesn't want to see you in your pajamas.” Under her breath she added something about eating and taking medication.

Rachel watched in surprise as her normally autonomous father followed his wife's lead.

“Everything okay?” Liv asked when the door closed.

“Fine,” Rachel said, but the second she said it, she remembered Sam. “I hope. Apparently Sam Sutter has a problem with us cutting down trees to build a bigger parking lot.”

“Who's Sam Sutter?”

“The brother of a guy I dated in high school. So, in other words, nobody important—except, he might be a credible threat to moving forward with this expansion, so we need to neutralize him.”

“Ooh. Sounds exciting.”

“Hopefully not.”

Excitement with Sam Sutter was the last thing Rachel needed.

Rachel's Tuesday had started off a lot like her Monday—drinking a lousy cup of something you couldn't call coffee while she sat on her bed at the Uncomfortable Inn looking over to-do lists and timelines for the upcoming baseball season. She gave up just a few sips in, dumped the bitter brew, and headed out to Starbucks with Liv in tow.

Big mistake.

“Maybe it would be faster to go inside?” Rachel stared, bleary-eyed, at the snaking line of cars and trucks in front of her.

“Maybe it would be faster to go to Buster's Bagels.” Liv pointed across the street where the empty drive-thru lane beckoned.

“There's a reason everyone is in this line.”

“Yeah. People are lemmings.”

“No. Buster's coffee is mud water.” She glanced into the rearview mirror and saw the line growing behind her. “They keep right on coming.”

“Lemmings,” Liv said again. “Don't forget we have a meeting with Arlington Staffing in twenty minutes.”

Rachel growled a muddle of swear words as she overheard the boisterous driver of the car at the front placing his order for a triple-foam-no-fat-half-cap-latte whatever. “Straight coffee should be the only thing they serve in the drive-thru,” she said, drumming her fingers on the wheel.

Edging the car closer to the bumper of the pickup in front of her, she debated her options. Wait and possibly be late, which was incredibly unprofessional and completely unlike her. Skip the coffee altogether, which meant the edge she was feeling now would carry through the meeting and bring along a headache that would last all day regardless of how much coffee she managed to drink later. Or … She watched one lonely car roll up to the drive-thru at Buster's Bagels. The driver received his coffee in record time. Maybe the mud water had gotten better over the years.

“Fine.” She whipped the steering wheel to the right and pulled out of the line. “You said you wanted the Arlington experience while we were here. We're getting Buster's.”

Liv laughed as Rachel wound erratically through the crowded plaza parking lot. “How bad can it be?”

“Remember you said— Shit!” Rachel slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing a huge black truck that cut across the empty spaces at the top of her aisle. “Idiot.” An idiot who looked familiar, but she'd only had a split-second peek at his profile. “There are lines in this lot for a reason!”

“I think that truck said ‘Sutter' on the door. Isn't that the name of …”

Of course it was!
Rachel floored the gas and raced toward the exit.

Liv let out a terrified laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Exiting the right way and showing Mr. Sutter you don't have to cheat to get ahead.”

“But you're speeding. Isn't that cheating?”

Rachel tuned Liv out and, while fully staying inside the lines, managed to cut off Sam at the exit. She looked into the rearview mirror and made smug eye contact with him. “Ladies first, asshole.”

She shared a victorious laugh with Liv, but her satisfaction didn't last long. Sam sped past her at the light and then turned left through the intersection, leaving her staring at the massive Sutter & Sons Landscaping logo on the tailgate.

“So is
that
how you're going to neutralize him? By beating him out of the parking lot?” Liv asked.

“No, but …”
Ding, ding, ding.
Rachel's eyes widened. “We need a grounds crew, don't we?”

Liv looked momentarily confused. “Uh, yes.”

“Sutter & Sons Landscaping.” Rachel grinned. “That's an interesting coincidence, don't you think?”

“I suppose.”

“It's kind of hard to bite the hand that's feeding you, isn't it?”

Liv nodded slowly. “I think I see where you're going with this.”

Rachel, flushed with pure adrenaline, pulled into traffic and eyed up Buster's. “I'm going to get my mud water first, then I'm going to get the stadium staffed with ticket sellers and vendors, and then I'm going to make Sam Sutter's father an offer he can't refuse, thereby neutralizing his pain-in-the-ass son.” She high-fived Liv.

• • •

Three hours later, Rachel strolled into the office of Sutter & Sons Landscaping with one eye on the lookout for her ex and the other eye watching for Sam. This meeting would go much smoother if their father, Paul, was the only one home.

“Can I help you?” The elder Sutter walked into the reception area from another room. His hair was thinning, and the skin around his eyes and mouth sagged, but he still managed to look soft and approachable like he had when she was in high school.

“Mr. Sutter, it's nice to see you again.”

He looked at Rachel, looked at Liv, and then back to Rachel again. A slow smile balled his cheeks. “Well, I'll be …” He opened his arms to her as if she'd never left Arlington, never broken his oldest son's heart. “Rachel Reed. Get over here!”

Something about jovial Paul Sutter made hugging your ex's father completely normal, so she did, and then she introduced Liv, and he hugged her, too, like he'd known her all his life. “What brings you two beauties to my office today? Luckiest man in Arlington right here.” He patted his chest and kept right on talking. “Can't remember the last time I saw you. Years.”

“A long time,” Rachel said.

“Seems like yesterday. You never age. Me, on the other hand.” He rubbed his beer belly and smiled.

The door behind them opened, and Rachel turned to see Luke come to a screeching halt. His familiar blue eyes went wide, as if he hadn't seen her in the last twenty years. In actuality, he had. A handful of times. And while he was much worse at hiding his surprise than she hopefully was, she did feel a jolt each time she saw him. His eyes might be familiar, but the rest of him had changed. He was unmistakably middle-aged. Heavier, balder, and … happier, somehow. A lot like his father.