Turn Over(115)

The skirt she was wearing showed off her tan legs and the taunt muscles in her calves. I scowled. Not for me. I had my taste. It wasn’t going to happen again.

I hesitated. I wanted to walk over. But why? I had cut her loose. It was best this way. Within a few seconds she was buried in the crowd. I started the engine and slowly drove away from the trailer park. I tried to forget I was leaving Sydney behind. I turned up the radio as I picked up speed. Yes, this was best.



The condo was cool the way I liked it. I typed out an email. I needed the preliminary numbers on a warehouse in Fort Worth. I would fly out in a few days. I wanted the information before I was back in Dallas.

Early on, people told me I grew my business too fast. They said Lachlan Corporation wouldn’t be able to sustain the rate of growth I pushed on it. But it didn’t stop me. I kept the pace I wanted. Followed my instincts. Ignored the warnings.

If the next purchase went through I would be closing in on my thirtieth acquisition. It felt good to know I didn’t let the concerns stop me. I kept going regardless of the resistance.

My phone buzzed next to the laptop. It was Mark.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Have you seen the article in the News & Record?”

I closed my email. “No. Which one?”

“It came out about fifteen minutes ago. It’s an in-depth feature on one of the residents in Beach Combers Cove. A mother and little girl who will be displaced when the demolition begins.”

I typed in the website. “Who wrote it?”

“Same reporter who released your exclusive. Sydney Paige.”

I breathed into the phone, gripping it tightly. “I’ll find it.”

It appeared on the front page. I scanned the headline. The picture was of a young woman looking on while her daughter played in an inflatable pool. The dunes were behind them.

I knew what it would say before I started reading it. Shawna Douglas, a young mother barely making ends meet working at the Pancake House, was scrambling to find a place she could afford for her five year old daughter, Lindy. I shook my head. This was going to hurt. Not only did the article make it sound like they were going to be homeless, but also that the millionaire mogul who had bought the land hadn’t made any conditions for the residents to move.

I ran my hands through my hair. Damn it. This wasn’t the first time people had to move because of rental property I purchased.

I grabbed my keys from the counter and jogged down the stairs. I wanted to ride with the top down. I started at the end of the island closest to the Palm, searching the side streets. I turned around in every cul-de-sacs and drove to the next grid of roads. After an hour, I started to think my plan wasn’t going to work, but then I saw a gravel road half-covered in vines and brown grass. I slowed the car and turned onto the path. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t perfect. It would work.

I dialed the Dallas office.

“Mark, I need our broker to purchase a piece of land today.”

“Today, sir?” I hated how he always repeated what I said.

“Yes, today. Can the team handle it?”

“Of course. What’s the listing number?”

I groaned. “It doesn’t have a listing number. I’ll shoot you the address. Make an offer, get it done today. Also, start the permit application to have the land zoned for water and electricity. It needs to be completed in two weeks.”

I stepped out of the car. It was basically a wasteland. I estimated how many trailers I thought could fit. “And make that for ten trailer hookups. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” He hesitated.

“What is it, Mark?”

“Why are we buying this land, sir? Did I miss a report or an email?”

“It’s for the residents of Beach Combers Cove. We can’t get everyone moved, but ten should be enough. Take care of it, and let me know when it’s finished.”

“Will do. I’ll have Barbara start immediately.”

“Thanks, Mark. I know I’ve put a lot on everyone in the office this past week. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

I surveyed the field. I hoped like hell this would work.

Five minutes later I pulled into the Pancake House parking lot. It was a local favorite on the island. The kind of place that served breakfast twenty-four-seven. I slid into a booth near the back of the diner.

“What can I get you?” A waitress, who looked as if she were still in high school dropped a glass of water on the table, spilling it on the floor. “I’m sorry.” She stooped to the floor. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Another girl rushed over to help her. “We’ll clean it right up.”

“Not a problem. Everything I’m wearing can dry.”