The Hardest Fight. Amy Vastine

She ran her tongue over her teeth, a sure sign that Lucy had struck a nerve. She took a breath before replying. “We aren’t looking to offend anyone. What would it take to get your interest?”

      “We aren’t interested in selling,” Lucy answered, but Ms. Clayton bit her lip. The director clearly wasn’t as sure as the legal advisor.

      “Well, not all of us are interested,” Tanya Robbards, one of the board members, corrected. “Yet.”

      It was Dylan’s turn to negotiate. “We aren’t here pretending we don’t know the predicament Open Arms has found itself in. Surely, you understand that if we wanted, we could wait a few months until the house goes into foreclosure. What we’re offering you—” he pointed at the folded paper, hoping Ms. Clayton would simply look at it “—is a chance to continue to do your work in this city.”

      “We don’t need your money to continue our work,” Lucy cut in. The cold, level gaze she gave him did nothing to cool the heat that had crept up his neck. He hated that she could get under his skin so easily yet be so unaffected herself.

      “You don’t, or Open Arms doesn’t?” he challenged. “If you foreclose on the house, you gain nothing. If you sell, you have enough equity to keep the rest of the organization running smoothly.” He sought to prey on Ms. Clayton’s fears. “You wouldn’t have to worry about losing this place, as well. So many women and children would still benefit from what you do.”

      Ms. Clayton’s gaze drifted back down to the paper and the offer she hadn’t even seen yet. Her fingers tightened around the arms of her chair. She needed one more tiny push. He gave Elizabeth the sign she had been waiting for, and she went for Ms. Clayton’s jugular.

      “Add another five thousand to that number,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sure that will help Open Arms purchase a new house in another neighborhood.”

      With wide eyes, Ms. Clayton glanced over at Lucy. Her lip had to be bleeding given how hard she was biting it. She was just about to break and glance at the number when Lucy stood up, snatched the paper off the table and crumpled it up.

      “We appreciate that you’re so concerned about keeping Open Arms’s doors open. Perhaps you’ll consider donating. We accept all major credit cards and love it when corporations match an employee’s gift.” She opened the door and waited for them to leave the room.

      “I suggest you carefully consider what we’re offering,” Elizabeth warned.

      “Safe Haven is very important to this agency,” Sharon Langston, another board member, replied. “We’ll be in touch if we’re interested.”

      “We promise,” Lucy added.

      “Ah, you say that, but do you really mean it?” Dylan asked. She had made promises to him in the past, like she would love him forever and wanted to change the world with him. She hadn’t meant that, now had she?

      She didn’t answer. Her expression was pained. Again, he couldn’t tell what that meant. Did she realize how badly she had hurt him five years ago? Did she feel any remorse?

      “Well, you have thirty days,” Elizabeth said. “After that, the offer will be off the table for good. Then, like Mr. Hunt explained, we will simply wait for it to foreclose.”

      Elizabeth and her team all stood and exited the office. Lucy seemed to be holding her breath as Dylan approached her. He, on the other hand, took her all in. She still smelled like lilacs. The lilac bushes that edged the front gate of his greystone always made him think of her in the springtime.

      “Say hello to your family for me,” he said as he walked by. The Everharts were some of the nicest people Dylan had ever met. The first time Lucy had invited him to spend Thanksgiving at their house, he had wanted to be adopted by them. Her dad was so down-to-earth and her mom made everyone feel at home under her roof. Dylan had prayed for her every day when they found out Maureen had been diagnosed with breast cancer.

      Even though Lucy had been so brave, she had broken down more than once in his arms over the possibility of losing her mom. He had been so grateful she had survived. When Lucy left him, he had mourned not only the loss of her but of the whole Everhart family.

      Lucy didn’t respond to his request. She probably wouldn’t do as he asked. She didn’t care about him or his feelings. She never had.

      * * *

      BACK AT THE OFFICE, Dylan did everything he could to avoid his mother. Open Arms hadn’t signed on the dotted line and Elizabeth was less than pleased. That meant the same would go for his mother.

      Clarissa Stevens-Hunt was one of Chicago’s top corporate lawyers. Stevens and Ellis had been the city’s most prestigious law firm since Dylan’s great-grandfather founded it back in 1924 with his partner, Roger Ellis. Great-grandpa Stevens passed it on to his son, who passed it on to his daughter, who couldn’t wait to bring her son into the fold.

      Since the day Dylan was born, it was his destiny to work at Stevens and Ellis whether that was what he wanted or not. Clarissa had never allowed Dylan to consider any other possibilities. The only thing he was supposed to worry about was meeting her high expectations. He’d spent the past seven years trying to prove to everyone, especially his mother, that he deserved his position at the firm and wasn’t just there because of his heritage.

      He stared at the stack of case files on his desk. This was Dylan’s reality—a lifetime of business law, white-collar criminal defense and sometimes a little real estate. There had been a time when he thought he might actually do something worthwhile, maybe convince his mother to let him dabble in some environmental law so he could advise corporate clients on sustainability issues and green standards. He had to get in her good graces before he dared to approach her about it. Securing this deal for Prime was about the only thing that could do that.

      Clarissa Stevens-Hunt was the exact opposite of someone like Maureen Everhart. Warm and fuzzy were not character traits anyone would use to describe his mother. Dylan rarely saw her while he was growing up. She worked day and night, weekends and holidays. The woman had a smartphone before anyone else in the world knew what a smartphone was. Her phone was the last thing she checked before she went to bed and the first thing she looked at when she woke up. She’d missed family events, birthdays, vacations, even Dylan’s high school graduation. Her job was always the most important thing in her life, and that was how Dylan was supposed to think, too.

      Only, Dylan had vowed he’d never put work above the people in his life. He was going to come home for dinner every night, ask his kids about their day, maybe even coach little league baseball. Dylan didn’t have a family of his own; but today, he needed to get out of work by five if he was going to make it to his neighbor Jeremy’s basketball game by six. Missing the game was not an option.

      Jeremy was eight years old. His father had never been a part of his life and his mother’s addiction had led her to relinquish her parental rights. His maternal grandparents had taken him in and raised him as their own since the boy was three. Eugene and Gwen lived below Dylan and had sought his legal advice when they were trying to take custody of Jeremy. A year later, Gwen had been diagnosed with ALS and was told she had only three years to live. She survived for two.

      It was during those two years that Dylan had bonded with Jeremy. They each filled an empty spot in the other’s life. Dylan had dreamed of having a family with Lucy. When she left him, that dream went with her. Being there for Jeremy while Eugene had been taking care of his wife had meant fewer hours at work and disappointing his mother, but it had been the most worthwhile period of Dylan’s life.

      “If anyone calls, I’m unavailable until tomorrow,” Dylan told his assistant. He’d be up all night finishing some briefs, but seeing Jeremy play would be worth it.

      “And if your mother calls?”

      “My mother will call my cell if she wants to reach me, so you won’t have to worry about that.” He would have to worry about that, but Bridgette would be off the hook.

      “How did your Prime meeting