Survivor's Guilt

chapter thirty-seven

Yael nibbled nervously on her lip as she waited for the press conference to begin, distracting herself by examining the work being done to her building. Her building, it still felt so surreal. Plastic and scaffolding encased the exterior, and signs of progress were already visible. A large trash dumpster had been delivered, a protective walkway sheltered the sidewalk, and a flatbed truck loaded with supplies was parked at the curb. Drawn to the corner store, the one she intended to open her bakery in, she studied the windows, loving how they curved with the rounded edge of the building. Maybe she'd custom order a display case and counter to reflect the shape.

"Dreaming?"

She startled at the sound of Casey's voice and her mouth curled into a smile. "A little bit. It keeps the nerves in check."

"This is a great location. I set it up so you can talk to Greg, the lead contractor, later this week, go over what you want layout-wise." He paused, glancing at her sheepishly. "And I have some ideas I want to run by you."

"About the shop?"

"Yeah." His cheeks flushed, and she found it endearing. "Some design suggestions. A few things I sketched. No big deal."

"I'd love to hear what you've cooked up. Lunch tomorrow?"

"Great."

She sighed. "I can't believe this is happening."

"You're going to kick some cupcake ass." Casey peered over her head at the commotion behind her and adjusted his tie. "We should have postponed."

"There will never be a good time."

"I know. You look exhausted. Did you get any sleep?"

"Some. Probably not much more than you." She felt him assessing her, and she contemplated telling him about Haustin coming to her place, but he'd only give her the same lecture the voice in her head was about Haustin being volatile and dangerous to Yael's sobriety. To erase the furrow between his brows, she said, "We should pass a motion at the next board meeting to introduce siestas to our workday."

"I wholeheartedly agree. Come on, let's get this show over with."

Casey led her to the cluster of microphones. A decent crowd had gathered, a mixture of reporters and local citizens. The weight of their stares bored into her. As she climbed the steps to the platform, she found herself worrying whether the sleeveless blouse she wore was appropriate. Once at the podium, her questionable clothing choice fell to the wayside as her nerves did a three-sixty and she wondered if the reporters would be able to see her knees trembling. Fussing with her necklace, she brushed the notion aside and straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to be cool, calm, and composed.

Casey stepped forward, looking breathtakingly handsome in his suit and commanding everyone's attention.

"Good afternoon. I'm Casey Castañeda, and on behalf of myself, Malkah Enterprises Enterprises, and Yael Malkah," he gestured at her, "thank you for being here. We're pretty excited about this project and what it means for communities across the city. For more than a hundred years, Malkah Enterprises has grown with New York. From Adam Malkah's immigration from Belgium in 1905 to our current presence in over a dozen countries, we have evolved into a global contender, all while keeping our roots where they belong—at home. With a hand in everything from manufacturing to shipping to alternative energy research, our company is excited about what the future holds." He grinned. "But I was informed recently that it isn't always about expansion or turning a profit. Smaller projects, like this one, remind us of where we come from and shape where we're going.