“This is true.” I lean forward in my seat, resting my forearms on the desk. “What would you do with an ice rink?”
Her head tilts to one side. “Teach classes. Or choreograph. I was—” She clears her throat. “I teach classes once a week over in Binghampton for extra cash.” She waves a hand in dismissal. “But it doesn’t matter. Every idea I’ve come up with requires capital and time that I don’t have.”
“What if you mortgaged the property—”
“That’s already been done.” She picks up the paperweight again, a heavy bronze sculpture of a woman posing or something.
No. I stare at it with interest. It’s a woman with one leg up behind her head and little ice skates on her feet.
She plops it down with a heavy clank and then picks up a pen, tapping it on the desk.
I hesitate. Following this trail of questioning might delve into something personal, but it would help me understand her position and how to best leverage it to make a deal with Oliver—to make one that would be to her advantage.
“When?”
She won’t meet my eyes, gaze focused on the desk between us. “Years ago. Dad did it. I didn’t know until he passed, but he’d already taken money out against the property. More than once.”
I sit back. “I see.” This isn’t good. If it’s already mortgaged to the hilt, that means she has a monthly payment on top of everything else. No wonder she’s sinking.
She swallows and drops the pen with a clatter. “It’s bad. I know. But I still can’t sell.”
I nod. “I’m not asking you to.”Yet. “Knowing the whole financial picture would be useful.”
Her gaze narrows. “Useful for whom, exactly? I still don’t understand your endgame here.”
“I don’t have an endgame.”
She huffs in disbelief. “Everyone has an agenda. No one does something for nothing. You’re here to help Oliver. He’s your friend. Not me. Why should I trust you with anything?”
I open my mouth to respond, but my phone lights up, vibrating on the desktop between us.
It’s Nora. Her picture appears on the screen, one she took of herself making a kissy face.
Finley’s eyes dip down between us then shoot to the side.
“Sorry, just one sec.” If I don’t answer, she’ll keep calling. “Hey, Nora. Can I call you back?”
She’s silent for a beat. “What is this?” Her voice is full of disbelief. “You have something going on more important than me?”
“I know it’s hard to believe. Something tells me your wounds will heal.”
“Well, I’m slightly wounded but mostly skeptical.” She laughs and then lets out a beleaguered sigh. “Fine. Call me when you’re free.”
We hang up, and I glance over at Finley.
Her brows are furrowed, her mouth set. “You said you were single,” she says. Her voice is tinged with hurt, but that can’t be right.
“I am single.” I put my phone in my pocket. “Nora is my business partner.”
Her jaw flexes as if she wants to comment further.
“And she’s married. She’s been with her wife, Jessica, since they were in high school.”
She presses her lips together for a brief moment, and then her shoulders slump. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes meet mine. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. That wasn’t fair.”
“It’s understandable. Don’t worry about it.” Surprise flickers through me at how easily she admitted fault and then apologized. Most people would rather die on hills of denial before admitting fault.
“Do you both work for Oliver?” she asks.