Chapter 2

Millie

A few more women shuffle into the meeting, catching up with each other and lamenting the recent weather that has kept customers inside their homes and out of the rain.

Watching my tiny bakery fill up with people I barely know who are expecting me to take the lead in the conversation makes my anxiety climb higher. I’m tempted to run out to my car and smoke a cigarette even though I gave up the habit years ago.

But as soon as the last person enters, I know it’s too late.

It’s time to lace up my shoes and be an adult.

“Hi everybody, it’s so great to see you all here today,” I begin, putting on my most convincing high school teacher voice. I’m absolutely the youngest woman in here by a pretty significant margin. I’m just waiting for someone to comment on how cute I am or how precious my shop is.

Everybody stops talking and looks up at me, encouraging me to continue speaking in an excessively projected tone of voice.

Good. At least I have their attention.

“So, I know we’ve all been affected by the recent price increases in rent, and I find that extremely unfair given how little the actual cost of living has gone up in the area. There’s no reason we should be paying this much when we’re already given so little space to work out of,” I begin, gaining my confidence the more I speak. I even remember all of the words I rehearsed!

Barb, the owner of a salon next to Cheryl’s boutique, immediately perks up. “I know we’re all hurting a little more than usual, Millie, but the people who own this building are not the kinds of people you want to be making demands to,” she says.

Cheryl nods her head in agreement. “Yeah, it might make more sense for us to just keep our heads down and not attract too much attention. I’m not trying to make anyone mad. And besides, my shop has had a pretty good year, so I can’t complain.”

I sigh. “I don’t doubt that, and I’m happy for you. But I know that my shop won’t survive another rent increase, and the amount of time between them has gotten shorter and shorter. The rate I was paying when I first opened up my business already seemed high. Have any of you talked to anybody across the street? See what they’re paying?”

They all shake their heads.

“It’s hundreds less than what we pay for exactly the same storefront visibility. It’s ridiculous. Believe me, if I didn’t think it was a cause worth fighting for, I wouldn’t even bother. But I want my business to continue doing well, and I would like to eventually be able to not work six days a week. If I’m throwing a third of what I make into rent alone, I feel like I might as well be running a charity,” I continue, pointing out the window to the Italian restaurant directly across from my shop.

Before I’m able to continue, a tall, muscular man walks up to the glass door, attempting to open it when he realizes that it’s locked.

I’m about to ask him to leave until one of the women motions for me to sit down. “That’s Nikolai. He’s with the rental company,” she says dryly as she stands up to let him in.

“Did somebody invite him here or something?” I ask the group, completely taken back. How could nobody tell me that he would be showing up? I can feel my confidence withering away as I watch him step into the shop. He has to be at least six-foot-six. Jesus.

“Hello, some of you know me, but for those of you who do not, I’m Nikolai. I work for the company that owns the building,” he says. He is strangely soft-spoken, and his demeanor doesn’t match his imposing presence at all. I’d almost say he’s more afraid of us than we are of him.

This might not be so hard after all.

“Hi Nikolai, I’m not sure how you were informed that we’re having a meeting, but since you’re here, why don’t you sit down?” I say, taking more cues from my snippy old English teacher from sophomore year.

Perhaps shocked to hear such an impatient and commanding tone from someone so much smaller than him, Nikolai sits down at the edge of the table without a word. It’s almost sad. I’d expect him to fight a little, at least give me some kind of snarky comment or pushback.

“So, Nikolai, it’s important that you understand what we’re doing here. We’re organizing against the company that owns the building because rent has gotten out of control, and there are no reasonable explanations for it. What do you have to say to that?” I ask, regaining my stability.

“Oh, um,” he begins but doesn’t follow up.

I stare him down like I’m about to throw a dart through his forehead, anticipating some kind of gobbledygook clichés about growth or something equally meaningless.

“You have nothing to say?” I repeat, growing a bit power hungry from having so many people’s attention as I bully this man. Maybe it’s the strip club trauma coming back to haunt me, but I detest men who walk in like they own the place.

“I have nothing to say on the topic as of yet, but I can talk to the landlord if you’d like me to do that,” he finally answers, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the women take my lead, staring him down and wordlessly demanding answers.

“Okay? That’s all?” I say, continuing to press the issue. He’s chosen to invade my space, so I’ll make sure I leave an impression.

“For now, yes. I hesitate to say more just because I didn’t realize there was an issue,” Nikolai replies quietly.

“You’re the one who collects the rent. How would you feel if your rent increased three times in a three-year period?” I ask.

“I said I’d talk to the landlord. That’s all I can do for now,” he says, gaining just barely enough volume in his voice to be taken seriously.

“I want to talk to him myself then. Seems he might be better able to handle something like this,” I respond.

Still, I can’t get any kind of fight or even mild annoyance from him. He simply cowers in his seat like a scolded puppy. I don’t know what he came here to say or who told him we’d be here, but I already don’t like the way he’s behaving. It’s pathetic, and something tells me he wouldn’t be able to stand up to our landlord either.

After the meeting, I tell the women that I need all of them prepared to fight with me, or our entire mission crumbles. Most of them are on board, but then a quiet hush comes over the group.

“What about Viktor?” Barb asks.

I shrug. “Who is that?”

“He’s the actual landlord. Not like Nikolai, God bless his sweet soul. I doubt anybody here has ever met him, though. He’s usually pretty hands-off with these kinds of things. But he’s scary, like... actually scary,” she says.

My stomach drops, but I’m too high on talking down to Nikolai to stop myself from further confrontation. “I’ll handle him. If he tries to bother any of you, just send him my way,” I reply, feeling my pulse begin to race.

Barb and the others seem relieved with my response, which does nothing to quell the anxiety that’s now bubbling deep in my gut. As they leave, I realize that this could very well be the start of something big, and I’m already way in over my head.