Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“Now, I understand this might be below what you were hoping for,” he continued, without missing a beat, “but given the current market conditions and some of the challenges we’re hearing about in that corridor -- traffic patterns, and zoning questions, the usual -- sellers in your situation often do very well to move quickly. Cash offers are rare in this climate, and the certainty of a quick close can be worth the discount.” I went completely still, barely able to breathe. This was the offer the guy had wanted me to accept. “Ms. Renner? Are you still with me?”
“I’m here.” My voice came out steady. Steadier than I felt. “Can I ask who the buyer is?”
“Of course. The offer is coming through Triad Holdings in Nashville. They’re an investment group based here in the city. Very reputable and straightforward. They’ve been acquiring properties in that corridor for the past eighteen months.”
Triad Holdings. I’d never heard of them. But Brett would have. Brett moved in those circles, knew every developer in the county. Brett, who had watched me build something he couldn’t control and decided the only way to own it was to take it out from under me.
“The answer’s no,” I said. “I’m not interested in selling.”
A pause filled the connection. Likely, this man thought the whole thing was a done deal. “I understand. If you’d like some time to consider --”
“No consideration needed.” I cut him off. “The place has sentimental value so even if I closed the shop, the answer would still be no.”
Another pause, shorter this time. “All right. I’ll let the client know. If you change your mind, my number’s on your caller ID. The offer stands for seventy-two hours.” He recovered his warmth, or a convincing imitation of it. “Have a good day, Ms. Renner.”
I set the phone down on the nightstand. My hands trembled, just slightly, and I curled them into loose fists to make it stop. Inferno watched me carefully but didn’t prompt me to talk to him.
I reached for the receipt on the nightstand for yesterday’s invoice from the supply shop and turned it over. With the pen from beside the first-aid kit, I wrote “Triad Holdings Nashville” and the broker’s number. I handed it to Inferno without looking at him.
“Will you ask Knight to look into this please?” I asked, softly.
He took the paper and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?”
“I’m not selling,” I said. The words came out quieter than I meant them to, but they held. “Not to him. Not to anyone he sends.”
“Never thought you would, baby. I take it this is the offer you were expecting?”
I nodded. “After my grandmother died, everyone told me to sell. The lawyer. The accountant. My mother’s brother, who I hadn’t seen in five years, called to tell me I’d be smart to take the money and run. The building was worth more than I could make in a decade of baking.”
I stood and moved to the window. The compound yard was visible through the blinds. “I promised myself I wouldn’t. Not because I’m stubborn, though I am, but because it was the only thing she left me that mattered. Not the money. The place. The work.” I swallowed. “Every time I come to work in the morning, as much as I’m not a morning person, I see my grandmother kneading dough and making pastries and cakes. Some of my best childhood memories happened in the shop kitchen. Brett knew that. He sat across from me at my kitchen table for six months and watched me get up at two-thirty every morning and come home covered in flour, and he knew exactly what that place meant to me. He’d even urged me to keep it if I wanted. He was the reason I had enough courage to try.” A tear I hadn’t noticed slid down my cheek.
“I’ll get this to Knight,” he said. “By tonight, he’ll have something, I’m sure. If Brett has something to do with this, Knight will find the thread.”
“What happened to the man they caught?” I asked. “The one from the parking lot.”
Inferno looked at me. “He’s been handled.”
Could I live with not knowing the particulars? Yes. But part of me wanted to confirm my suspicions that the bastard was dead. I guess the only question was, could I handle it knowing Inferno had been the man to kill him?
“Did you do it?”
“Would it matter?”
I snorted. “Yeah, just asking myself that same fucking question.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
I studied him. Did I see a hint of vulnerability in his eyes? I couldn’t be sure. “I honestly don’t know. I would hope there would be more to it than because he attacked me, though.”
“There would be.” He shrugged. “You know. If that were the case.”