by J. D. Mason
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About the Author
Copyright Page
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CHAPTER ONE
Lola Knight came to this meeting defensive and poised to do battle. She’d have been downright irresistible if her stance on this issue wasn’t so pig-headed. Her argument, as honorable and sincere as it was, was misguided and just plain wrong and sooner or later she was going to have to accept that fact and concede.
She stopped in the doorway of Omar’s office, folded her arms across her ample and inviting chest, and stared at Omar and Mayor Randall Brewer. “If I’d known that this was going to be a tag team, I’d have brought along my trusty sidekick, too,” she said sarcastically, in that languid cadence of hers.
“We’re not here to gang up on you, Lola,” Omar tried assuring her.
From the expression on Lola’s beautiful face, it was obvious that she didn’t believe him.
“Have a seat.” He motioned toward the empty chair next to the mayor. Lola hesitated. “Please.”
Lola had a style unlike anyone else in town. Some called her a hippie. Others called her odd or eccentric. She had defined her own style a long time ago and embraced it, and whatever it was called, it worked on her. Her natural hair spiraled out into blond-accented and explosive curls, highlighting a caramel complexion, dramatic features, almond-shaped eyes, slanting slightly upward, a prominent nose with a diamond piercing on the side, and lush, heart-shaped lips that came together to create a face that looked as if it had been drawn. She dressed in a way that highlighted the generous curves of her breasts, small waist, and wide, round hips. Today she’d blessed the two men by wearing a form-fitting T-shirt with a graphic of the word “Woman” sprawled across her chest, and an African print skirt that tied around her waist and draped down to just below her knees. When she sat down, the material briefly fell open, revealing soft thighs, which she quickly covered up.
She sighed impatiently, licked her lips, and waited for one of them to start speaking first.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” Randall said graciously.
In private conversations, both he and Omar had agreed that Lola Knight was a breathtaking woman. Randall was white, with green eyes and salt-and-pepper hair, and he struggled not to stare at her, too.
“What could you possibly have to say to me that’s different from all the nonsense you’ve told me before?” she challenged, glaring at him.
Without hesitating, he told her. “The developer has upped their offer to twice what that property’s worth.” He held her gaze. “If you’re as smart as I think you are, Lola, you’ll accept their offer.”
She was silent.
Omar decided to add his two cents. Maybe she was right. Maybe this was a double-team. But she was tough, so as far as he was concerned, the odds were about even. “You’re losing money on the property daily, Lola,” he was forced to remind her. “You’ve got eighty percent of the place vacant with no prospects of new leases.”
She shot an angry look at him. “I would have prospects if you and your developers wouldn’t keep running people off.”
“What are we doing?” Randall asked innocently. “How have we chased away potential business lessees, Lola?”
She looked at the two of them, utterly disgusted. “Have the two of you forgotten where you live? Do you all of a sudden have amnesia about this town and about how small it is and about how you can’t take a piss without somebody knowing about it?”
Lola stopped and waited for one or both of them to respond.
“Mary Pitman inquired about signing a lease with me for her hair salon three months ago,” she explained, holding up one finger. “The day she was supposed to come in and sign it, she called and said she’d changed her mind. Found another spot across town.” Lola held up a second finger. “Thomas Underwood called to check on rental space for a music studio he was looking to open. Said that I gave him the best price in town and that I’d see him soon. Never heard from him again.” Lola held up finger number three. “Fay Brown wanted to open up a dance studio in one of my spaces. Said she couldn’t afford much. I told her that I’d be willing to work with her. The woman was all excited. A week later, I found out she’d opened up a studio on the west side of town. Nice place. Way more than she told me she could afford. So, where’d she get money like that all of a sudden?” she asked accusingly, staring back and forth between the two of them.
This was all news to Omar, but a quick glance at Randall and he suspected that his friend might’ve had something to do with at least a few of those instances. As mayor, Randall had a huge interest in this new superstore development project being proposed for the area. Lola was the last holdout; she was David standing all alone against a Goliath that was determined to build in the one part of town where her property had been standing for more than forty years. It was prime, central to three counties, but located in Blink city limits, just off the highway, which meant that Blink stood to make a ton of money in revenue, not to mention the hundreds of jobs that a place like that could bring to the community. They’d made those arguments with her a hundred times, and still, Lola stood her ground.
“If you don’t take their offer,” Omar continued, getting this meeting back on track, “Lola, you could end up with nothing.”
She studied him for what felt like several minutes. In a perfect world, he would not be the least bit attracted to this woman, but in this world, her eyes resting on him like this made him want to squirm a little.
“Do you really care about what I end up with, Omar?” she asked, sounding and looking almost hurt.
Yes. Yes, he cared, but she wouldn’t have believed him if he’d said it.
“I bought my store fifteen years ago when I was just twenty-five. Saved my money and paid ten thousand for it. Business was good. The community was strong and people wanted us there. One by one, I saved enough to buy each storefront until finally, I owned the whole thing,” she said proudly. But then sadness washed over her. “It’s not what it was. But I’ve never lost faith that it couldn’t be wonderful again. I hold on to that because this is my dream. Owning property in a good location and serving the community is my dream and I’ve made it come true, and I’ll make it come true again.”
“Then you’re a fool,” Randall blurted out.
Lola scowled at him.
“Randall,” Omar said sternly. “Don’t.”
“Yes, Randall,” she said bitingly. “Don’t even.”
“It can’t be easy paying those property taxes every year, Lola,” Omar said, changing the subject.
“I’m paying them,” she said curtly.
“Out of your own pocket,” he said.
She tilted her head to one side. “They’re being paid.”
“But for how long?” he asked, and waited. “How much longer can you afford to do it on your own? Because as soon as you miss a payment, you know the city’s coming after that property. The city wants this project, Lola. And it’s just a matter of time before it gets what it wants.”
Omar c
aught a glimpse of hopelessness in her eyes. For all her bravado, deep down, Lola knew that he was right. She knew that her days, the days of her property belonging to her, were numbered, and he suspected that this offer was starting to take root in her as a possibility.
She sighed, stood up, and smoothed down her skirt. Lola’s sandals added a good four to six inches to what was otherwise a very petite stature. Compared to his conservative nature and dress, she might as well have been from the moon. The two of them were just that opposite.
“Think about the offer, Lola,” Randall said, standing as well. “Don’t walk away from this empty-handed.”
“You two gentlemen have a nice day,” she said dismissively, brushing past the two of them to leave. “I’ve got a business to tend to.”
CHAPTER TWO
Lola was still pissed ten minutes after leaving Omar Reid’s office. Money was supposed to fix everything. Money was supposed to save the damn day. She was supposed to happily hand over her soul to a big corporation for a wad of money and then skip her happy ass out the door like she hadn’t worked hard for the last fifteen years carving out her own little niche in the world. That’s exactly what they’d expected her to do. But this wasn’t about money and if either of them bothered to pay attention, they’d understand that. It was about the principle and it always had been. Lola shouldn’t have to walk away from her dream just because someone with more money came along and told her that she was supposed to.
Driving down the road, Lola’s car started to sputter. “No. No. No.”
It started to lose power, and as she guided it over to the side of the road, the engine shut off completely. Lola’s heart sank into her stomach. “No!” she yelled, pounding the heels of her hands against the steering wheel.
Lola tried starting it, but the engine wouldn’t even turn over. The last time she’d glanced at the gas gauge she saw that she had half a tank’s worth of gas. She didn’t need this. Not now. She shook her head and groaned. The thought occurred to her to check her bank balance on her phone. It was a technicality, because she knew that she didn’t even have enough for a tow truck. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes as the reality of her situation finally began to sink in.
She was in this fight all by her damn self and Lola was losing. Despite her best efforts to convince herself that she could somehow prove everybody wrong and come out of this with her pride intact, Lola knew deep down that all the faith in the world wasn’t going to get her out of this one. It took everything in her not to tell that damn Omar and the mayor to shove that offer of theirs up their asses, but she was fast losing the upper hand. Lola had depleted all of her savings, was praying dearly that the bank would agree to loan her money against the house, and had even borrowed against credit cards, just to keep up with the taxes on the strip mall, but she was all out of money and options now. She’d been piecing this car back together with duct tape and bubble gum, and it had finally done what she’d been afraid it would do and Lola had no money to fix it. The weight of disgust she felt for herself pressed down on her all of a sudden. Just when she was about to start crying like a baby, a car pulled over in front of her, and of all the people in the world who could’ve stepped out of it, it was Omar Reid. Now she just wanted to vomit.
“Everything, okay?” he asked, leaning down to her window.
Pride. Even now she had plenty of it. “Fine,” she said curtly.
He paused. “You sure?”
Lola took several deep breaths to help fight back tears. “It— it just stopped running,” she said, her voice trailing off.
She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.
“Is the tank empty?”
“Of course it’s not empty,” she snapped, her chest starting to heave. “I put gas in it the other day.” Lola fought to compose herself. “It just stopped.”
He straightened up. “Pop the hood.”
The ever-defiant Lola absolutely did not want this man peeking around underneath her hood, under any circumstances, but reluctantly, she pushed passed her resistance, and opened it for him.
“Try starting it up.”
She did, and for a second, her heart jumped and Lola felt that somehow, by him looking under her hood, he’d gotten her motor started. It nearly turned over, then died just as quickly.
Omar came back over to her window. “I can’t be sure what’s wrong, but if I had to take a guess off the top of my head, I’d say that your battery’s dead. You call a tow truck?”
“Yes,” she lied.
He nodded. “Well, I’ll wait here with you until they come.”
“No!” she said, panicked. “You don’t need to do that,” she said more calmly. “I’ll be fine.”
Then he stared at her with a strange look on his face. “You didn’t call a tow truck. Did you?”
Lola swallowed. “No, but I’m planning on it.”
He rested his arm on the hood of her car and thought for a few minutes. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”
Impulse told her to protest, but common sense kicked impulse out of the way. Pride tried creeping back in, too, but Lola was just tired. She cleared her throat, gathered her purse, rolled up the windows, and climbed out of the car, then followed him to his. Omar held the passenger door open for her and it took every ounce of willpower she had not to cry as she climbed inside. Somehow, she felt, he knew that she was too damn broke to hire a tow truck.
He smelled good. Whatever cologne or aftershave that he was wearing subtly permeated through that car, a BMW.
“I appreciate this,” she muttered somberly.
“No problem,” he said, pulling back onto the road. “Where am I taking you?”
“Waverly. Twenty-seven-ten Waverly on the west side.”
She saw him nod once out of the corner of her eye.
Omar Reid had been born and raised here like her, but he’d joined the army right after high school and stayed gone for pretty much twenty years. He’d come back to Blink after he’d retired. She’d heard that he’d been married, and had a grown son who was also in the army. He was divorced now, though. She’d learned all of this from people in town and not a word of it had come from him directly, but that was Blink, Texas. Your life story was pretty much public knowledge whether you wanted it to be or not.
He was perfect. Or rather, he was a perfectionist, probably a trait carried over from spending twenty years in the service. Omar’s shirts were always professionally pressed and starched. His pants were creased, shoes shined, and hair cut and edged to perfection. Lola always believed that it took a lot of work, constant and meticulous effort to be that neat all the time. Even his car was pristine, inside and out. Being around someone like him would drive her absolutely crazy. She concluded right then and there that he probably suffered from OCD.
The silence in the car was welcoming and thick at the same time. Lola resisted the urge to explain her financial situation to him because it really was none of his business.
“Are you hungry?”
Was he insinuating that she was too poor to buy food? “No,” she said defensively.
“You sure, Lola?”
She turned to look at him. “I said I’m fine.”
“Would you tell me if you weren’t?” he asked, ignoring her tone.
“No, Omar,” she said quickly. “I would not.”
“Because I’m the enemy,” he said, smirking.
“Yes.”
He glanced over at her, and shook his head slightly. Omar wore glasses, but for the first time, she looked past them at his eyes. Before this second, it was almost as if he didn’t have any.
“The superstore is a good idea, and I think you know it,” he said casually.
“I’m not talking about this,” she said irritably.
“Then just listen. The strip mall has been losing business for years, Lola. You can’t keep tenants because the only ones who come to you are those with flighty, harebrained ideas that can never be sustained or don
’t make money. No one shops there anymore, so what are you holding on to?”
“Community,” she replied.
“The community wants a superstore. They want convenience and low prices and variety. Your mall is the best location for something like that. The developer has made you a generous offer.…”
Omar’s speech droned on and on until it became a subtle hum in the background of her thoughts. Lola had stopped listening and she’d stopped talking. If he noticed, he didn’t care.
Finally, he pulled up and stopped in front of her house.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, quickly opening the door.
“Whoa! Hold up!” he said, rushing out of the car and hurrying to her side, pulling the door open for her. “Don’t ever do that again,” he warned her. “I’m old school. If you ever come across any doors with me around, don’t put your hands on them.”
Yep. OCD. Just like she thought. “Thank you, Omar, for the ride.”
She walked up to her door, unlocked it, and turned to see him sitting in his car, waiting for her to make it safely inside. Omar didn’t leave until she was. And that’s when a wave of emotion hit her, reminding her that she needed to get her hands on some money so that she could get her car fixed, and that the light bill was coming due soon.
Take the offer, Lola, and stop torturing yourself.
To hell with conviction and community. To hell with all of it. Lola was on the losing end of a fight much too big for her, and it was about damn time that she wised up and accepted that.
CHAPTER THREE
Randall Brewer was tired of fucking around with Lola Knight and her bullshit. Because of her, development of the new superstore was delayed by several months now, with the developer even going so far as to threaten to pull the project completely if she didn’t accept this latest offer and build over in the next county. For someone so caught up and driven by community, the woman was costing hers millions in revenue and desperately needed jobs, all for the sake of a dilapidated strip mall that had seen better days decades ago. Legally, they couldn’t force her to sell the property. They couldn’t evict her or seize it due to unpaid taxes. The whole town was literally at her stubborn mercy and she was holding every last one of them hostage, as far as Brewer was concerned.