doubt about it. The woman whose glossy lips were so plump they resembled a puffer fish was Tim’s young receptionist. She was obviously waiting for Mitch, her coat in her hands. Was she the source of McKenna’s information? Had she overheard Emma’s conversation with Tim and gossiped about it with McKenna? Emma’s stomach churned up acid.
They must be laughing at her, about how pathetic she’d been when she last spoke to Tim. And McKenna...Emma could only imagine his glee. He’d eat this up like a hog in heaven. He was probably scheming up sick ways he’d force her out of her home. Just like Mrs. Madsen.
Mortification turned to fury and she doubled over from the feeling of shame that knifed through her heart. How dare they? Who did they think they were?
She practically ran out of the bar, her heart thrashing wildly, her breath coming in short spurts. When she reached her car, she fumbled with the keys, while the icy rain soaked through her wool skirt suit. Inside the car, she blasted the heat to try and stop her teeth from chattering. But there was nothing she could do to stop the hot tears from spilling down her cheeks.
She didn’t want to prove him right about her. She’d rather die than see him own her home. Not him. He didn’t understand the need to protect the past. All he cared about was ramming his way to the next big thing. There was no way she’d live to see the satisfaction on his face.
Anger burned through and dried her tears. Should she confront them? Could she accuse Tim’s receptionist without proof? Her fingers gripped the door handle so hard that tiny blue veins mapped a crisscross pattern on her hand. The silence in the car was deafening.
Until her phone rang.
Chapter Five
Much later that same evening, inside his trailer with the rain hammering overhead, Mitch poured his fourth shot of Cuervo. The liquor was doing a hell of a job of helping him forget how he’d fucked up. The likelihood of his project getting the final go-ahead was near zero.
Like the bad Mexican food he’d eaten tonight, Emma’s threat to shut him down came back up to haunt him.
But he had an ace in the hole he hadn’t even known he possessed. Though Tim Brooks did mention an upcoming foreclosure property, he hadn’t specified it was Emma’s home. Mitch had figured it out from the map coordinates Tim had provided. Tim knew Mitch would be interested in expanding the lots he already owned. And, in exchange, Tim would be happy to erase the bad debt off his balance sheet. A win-win. Except for Emma LeFleur.
“Damn,” he said, taking another swig of tequila sans the glass.
He hadn’t really thought about buying her property. Even he knew bulldozing one of the oldest homes in town wouldn’t endear him to his neighbors. He was already suffering from bad PR. It sure as hell didn’t help being labeled a greedy developer out to foreclose on frail, old ladies on the six o’clock news. Not that Emma was old or frail. Because of her fashion sense and her stubborn streak, he often forgot she was only a few years older than him.
In all seriousness, he hadn’t actually thought Emma was at risk of losing her home. He’d just assumed, since she was so entrenched in the community, that she would find the financing to pay off her balloon payment. Until he’d seen her reaction and realized she was in serious trouble. That was pure, raw fear reflected in her eyes.
So Emma was in a serious bind, was she? He would have felt sorry for her if it wasn’t for the aggrieved look on his men’s faces as he hinted at layoffs this afternoon. So, no, he had no empathy for Emma LeFleur. His empathy flushed clear out of his system.
On the contrary, he’d have to figure out a way to capitalize on his newfound information. He’d have to turn it into his advantage. When he was done with her, she’d be begging him for mercy. Damn straight. She’d know better than to get in his way again. He took another healthy swig of tequila and
They must be laughing at her, about how pathetic she’d been when she last spoke to Tim. And McKenna...Emma could only imagine his glee. He’d eat this up like a hog in heaven. He was probably scheming up sick ways he’d force her out of her home. Just like Mrs. Madsen.
Mortification turned to fury and she doubled over from the feeling of shame that knifed through her heart. How dare they? Who did they think they were?
She practically ran out of the bar, her heart thrashing wildly, her breath coming in short spurts. When she reached her car, she fumbled with the keys, while the icy rain soaked through her wool skirt suit. Inside the car, she blasted the heat to try and stop her teeth from chattering. But there was nothing she could do to stop the hot tears from spilling down her cheeks.
She didn’t want to prove him right about her. She’d rather die than see him own her home. Not him. He didn’t understand the need to protect the past. All he cared about was ramming his way to the next big thing. There was no way she’d live to see the satisfaction on his face.
Anger burned through and dried her tears. Should she confront them? Could she accuse Tim’s receptionist without proof? Her fingers gripped the door handle so hard that tiny blue veins mapped a crisscross pattern on her hand. The silence in the car was deafening.
Until her phone rang.
Chapter Five
Much later that same evening, inside his trailer with the rain hammering overhead, Mitch poured his fourth shot of Cuervo. The liquor was doing a hell of a job of helping him forget how he’d fucked up. The likelihood of his project getting the final go-ahead was near zero.
Like the bad Mexican food he’d eaten tonight, Emma’s threat to shut him down came back up to haunt him.
But he had an ace in the hole he hadn’t even known he possessed. Though Tim Brooks did mention an upcoming foreclosure property, he hadn’t specified it was Emma’s home. Mitch had figured it out from the map coordinates Tim had provided. Tim knew Mitch would be interested in expanding the lots he already owned. And, in exchange, Tim would be happy to erase the bad debt off his balance sheet. A win-win. Except for Emma LeFleur.
“Damn,” he said, taking another swig of tequila sans the glass.
He hadn’t really thought about buying her property. Even he knew bulldozing one of the oldest homes in town wouldn’t endear him to his neighbors. He was already suffering from bad PR. It sure as hell didn’t help being labeled a greedy developer out to foreclose on frail, old ladies on the six o’clock news. Not that Emma was old or frail. Because of her fashion sense and her stubborn streak, he often forgot she was only a few years older than him.
In all seriousness, he hadn’t actually thought Emma was at risk of losing her home. He’d just assumed, since she was so entrenched in the community, that she would find the financing to pay off her balloon payment. Until he’d seen her reaction and realized she was in serious trouble. That was pure, raw fear reflected in her eyes.
So Emma was in a serious bind, was she? He would have felt sorry for her if it wasn’t for the aggrieved look on his men’s faces as he hinted at layoffs this afternoon. So, no, he had no empathy for Emma LeFleur. His empathy flushed clear out of his system.
On the contrary, he’d have to figure out a way to capitalize on his newfound information. He’d have to turn it into his advantage. When he was done with her, she’d be begging him for mercy. Damn straight. She’d know better than to get in his way again. He took another healthy swig of tequila and
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