“Maybe I should talk to him,” Ryan said. “Symanski and I could do it together.”
“No,” I said immediately, reaching out to stop him as if he was going to leave right away. “Don’t. I’ll do it.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “What good is that going to do? He’ll just lie to you. Or more likely, run again. Though maybe that isn’t a bad outcome. Or, I could just call someone, say the FBI, and tell them I know the location of Carson Grieves and let them decide if Jake is him?”
“Come on, Ryan. Stop being a dick for five minutes.”
“Stop being so naïve for five minutes,” he retorted.
Despite what Ryan and Jake thought, I wasn’t some naïve babe in the woods. I knew Jake hadn’t spent the last fifteen years selling Girl Scout cookies. Jake hated to admit it, but he and Ryan actually had more in common then he thought. Total disdain for what they called an ordinary unimaginative life being one of them. They both wanted more, believed life should be more. They made me dream a little bigger. The main difference between them seemed to be that Ryan was intrinsically more selfish.
Now that I was finally allowing myself to look at our relationship with my blinders off, without fear, I realized that Ryan didn’t respect me. I wasn’t sure he ever had. I think at the beginning I had been a prize for him to win from Jake, and a potential door into a glamorous rich life as the partner of an NHL player. As that scenario became more and more unlikely, I think I became his security blanket, a safe relationship that could protect him from ever having to be alone. I couldn’t cast any stones at that, as I’d built that glass house for myself as well.
I needed to talk to Jake. Carson. Whoever he was. I didn’t want to believe he was a criminal, but Ryan had planted the seeds of doubt. Planted them in soil Jake had fertilized, to stretch a metaphor. There had to be a reason Jake was so shady about what he actually did. “What else did Symanski say? And what makes him the expert on who’s a con artist or not?”
Ryan’s eyes darted away from me and then back. “In his line of work, it behooves him to know, don’t you think?”
What I thought was that anyone who said ‘behooves’ was a dick. No matter what happened between me and Jake, I was done with Ryan. “I think everybody needs to just take a step back and breathe. Jake hasn’t said anything about money. Hasn’t even asked for a nickel. And I don’t like your friend that much either. He’s pushy.”
“He’s pushy because he’s good and he hates sleeping on a great opportunity. As a matter of fact, if we agree to go into business with him, get the deal finished so there is nothing for Grieves to stick his fingers in, I bet he would be more receptive to keeping the information about his location to himself. Provided, of course, that Grieves leaves town right away.”
So, that’s how he wanted to play it. Blackmail. I realized I was already assuming the worst of Jake, and that was stupid. “I’m sure Symanski is wrong. Let me talk to Jake, and find out what he has to say.”
Ryan frowned and tapped his fingers on his knee. “I think I can hold Symanski off for another day. But he’s going to want an answer by end of day tomorrow. I know I’m in, and Bob will agree if you do. He’s a professional investor. I don’t know why you won’t just listen to him.”
I stood up and walked in front of the desk. “Because regardless of what you seem to think, Ryan, I’m not an idiot. And I don’t feel comfortable with it yet.” I leaned against the desk, crossing my arms and glaring at him.
He stood up. “Fine. But decide. Sign and Symanski leaves Grieves—”
“Jake. Who is not a criminal.”
“You’d better hope he isn’t,” Ryan said. “Think how sad Sammy would be to see his brother go to jail.”
“Fuck you. That’s low even for you.”
“Stop being such a child, Eric. Do this deal with me. We’ll buy a nice house somewhere with the money. Everything will be fine.”
“Just go,” I said.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later tonight when you’ve realized I’m right.”
I held my breath until he left, then let it out in a long