Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
I used every penny I saved working two jobs in college to buy and flip my first house during our junior year. I purchased two more with the profits that year, and three the next. By the time we graduated, I wasn't a broke college kid anymore. Hanover Group was officially real, and Jackson was my first hire.
Two decades later, I own the largest real estate development group in the state. We no longer flip houses. Our projects are more highbrow now. And Jackson is still right by my side, handling all the shit I don't want to deal with. When shit gets messy or complicated, Jackson steps in. My hands are clean because his aren't.
"I just want the facts," I tell him. "Nothing else."
"You like her."
I growl wordlessly.
"You do."
"Maybe," I relent, staring out the window. "She has spirit. She basically told me to go fuck myself before she threatened to chain herself to her store and then kicked me out."
His loud laughter booms around the car. "It's been even longer since anyone told you to fuck off."
"No kidding." I smile despite myself. "She's interesting. They were dancing around, chanting about sex toys like they were summoning a goddamn orgy when I got there."
Jackson cracks up again. "You're fucking kidding me."
"I'm not."
"Jesus Christ. Now I'm curious as a motherfucker, too."
I shoot him a withering look, but he just chuckles again. "Yeah, you fucking like her."
I do, but it doesn't matter. As far as she's concerned, I'm the enemy. We're on opposite sides of this thing. But part of me almost hopes she does come up with the money to make an offer on the building. As Jackson said, it's been a long damn time since anyone fought back.
I want her to fight.
Going up against her for a while would be a nice distraction from the monotony that's become my life.
"I've got that background report on Lilah Davis, and you're never going to believe it," Jackson says, stomping into my office in San Francisco with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie undone around his neck. He's got a file folder in his hand and a worried look on his face.
I sit forward in my chair, my heart leaping. If he tells me that she's married, I might start breaking shit. It's been two days since I asked him to look into her, and I've spent every spare second trying to talk myself out of heading back to Santa Maria just to see her again.
Burying myself in work isn't helping. Nothing is. Every second thought is of the way she lit into me like I was a misogynistic asshole who'd prefer women barefoot and pregnant than reading. I even dreamed about her last night. She was bent over my desk, telling me off while I drilled into her from behind.
Good times.
Jackson takes his sweet fucking time dropping into the chair across from my desk before he slides the folder across to me. "Lilah Davis has a degree in library science and worked as a librarian in Nashville before moving here," he says, hitting the highlights. "Her sister is married to Oliver Goodson, partial owner of Goodson Vineyards."
"Shit," I mutter. The last thing I need is to have the Goodson family crawling up my ass. They have enough money to be a real problem if they decide to step in. Since their wines were prominently displayed in her store, that's a very real possibility.
"That's not the worst part," Jackson warns me.
"What?" I growl, my jaw ticking.
"Her father is Grant Davis, owner of Davis Financial Group."
"You're fucking kidding me."
"Nope."
"Jesus Christ." I scrub a hand through my hair, then flip open the folder and skim the report he compiled. Sure enough, Lilah Jean Davis is the oldest daughter of Grant and Lily Davis, the same Grant and Lily Davis who own the most prominent financial firm in the south.
Fuck my life. This is a problem. A big goddamn problem. Her dad is one of the wealthiest men in Tennessee, and her brother-in-law co-owns one of the most lucrative vineyards in California. One we do regular business with.
If anyone can afford to place a bid high enough to ensure I don't get the building, she can.
I drum my fingers on the desk, staring at the photo attached to the file. She's so fucking pretty. Her curves were made for my hands. I bet she's soft everywhere, just lush and ripe and…ah, goddammit. I'm hard again.
"You need to strike a deal with her," Jackson advises. "Otherwise, this could get messy. If her father or brother-in-law gets involved, your reputation could take a hit. The last thing you need is for them to spin this as you trying to bully a woman-owned business out of the building she leased fair and square."
"Yeah, I know." I tug on my hair, trying to think. "Have Samson start looking for alternative locations for the complex. And have Deena draw up new building plans."