greeted her. She surveyed the eight guests in front of her, and the eight at the next table. “Anyone have special needs?”
“I need a car.” A guy smiled at his joke.
Millie laughed and the group did, too. She knew it might be the only time some of them laughed today.
She served the food, and one woman scowled at the plate. “What is it?”
“Ground beef.”
“I’m vegetarian.”
“I’ll get you a vegetables and potatoes when I deliver these to the others.”
“I want it now.”
She glanced around, caught Emerson’s gaze and motioned for him to come over. “What do you need?”
“A vegetarian dinner.”
He left to get it and she told the guest her meal was on the way. At her next table, a family with six kids took up eight seats. Two needed high chairs. The mother and father were attentive to them, and the children were well behaved. One little boy tugged on her arm. “Anymore juice?”
“You know, I think there is. I’ll get it as soon as I serve your family.”
His cuteness balanced out the vegetarian.
Like always, when she finished two hours later, she was in a much better mood and told herself to get a grip. It didn’t matter what Finn was doing with his life. It mattered what she did in hers.
* * *
When Finn arrived at the store on Tuesday, Millie came out from the back and walked toward him. Her color was pale and her expression bleak.
His heartbeat sped up as he met her at the entryway. “What’s wrong?”
She held up an envelope. One of her managing duties was to answer official snail mail and email, and send him a summary of what the store received. “This.” She handed the missive to him. “It’s too important to wait till the end of the day.”
He took a registered letter, pulled the single sheet of paper out and opened it. Read. Now his heart turned arrhythmic. His gaze snapped to her. “A conglomerate is planning to buy our building and not renew Fitzgerald’s lease? Why?”
“I called the other tenants.” The twenty occupants of the four-stories above them had formed a community of sorts, and met every month to discuss any concerns. “They got letters like this one.”
“Hell. I wonder what they’re planning for the building.”
“I did some research on Markham Management. They’re mostly condo developers.”
Finn stilled. “This is horrific.”
She sighed and clasped her hands together. Periodically he realized the kind of investment Millie had in his store and this was one of them. So, he moved closer. Lifted her hands and held them in his. “I won’t let them put Fitzgerald’s out of business. There’s got to be a way to stop this. If we can’t, we’ll open elsewhere.”
“This is an historic section of New York. If we don’t prevent a development like this, condos will ruin the whole area. And a lot of people’s lives.”
“Mil, we’re not even sure this area is zoned for condos.”
“They must know it is or why would they send the letters?”
The front door opened before Finn could answer. Keeping his own panic at bay, he turned to see Dylan O’Neil had entered. Finn struggled for poise. “Hello, Dylan.”
“Finn.” They shook hands. To Millie, he said, “Hello, Ms. Morrison.”
“Mr. O’Neil. We keep running out of your books. I can’t wait to read the next one.”
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to schedule another signing here.”
Dylan O’Neil was famous in his own right, as the bestselling author of political thrillers, which Finn devoured. Millie liked them, but she preferred his more personal books. That Dylan was the brother of a past first lady, brother-in-law to a past president completed his mystique.
“What can we do for you, Dylan?”
He nodded to the envelope. “It concerns that.”
“Then we don’t have to keep up a front.” Finn frowned. “But Bailey’s can’t possibly be in trouble. It’s practically a landmark.”
“No, no trouble for us. Thanks to the brother I never knew I had, all six of us own 100% of the pub and the property. But we got a letter asking if we’d sell to them.”
A group of four came through the door, laughing and talking. There were five other patrons in the stacks. Finn said, “Come on back, where we can talk privately.”
They took chairs in the break room. Dylan began. “I visited the occupants of the establishments within a block of us. The whole neighborhood fears that if Markham Management is successful in turning your building into condos, the entire area could become another casualty of gentrification.”
“I agree,” Finn responded.