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“What?”
I leaned in, whispering, “But we’re definitely going back to the topic at hand once he’s left.”
Laying both her hands on my chest, she pushed, failing to even make me stumble a step back.
I chuckled internally. Milla enjoyed touching me all the time.
“Stop kidding around,” Milla admonished. “Is the mayor really here?”
“Yeah. He’s in the conference room right now. This is your chance to meet him.”
Her expression turned grim at once. “Let’s go, then. Maybe he can help us get an extension on our timelines.”
Turning around, she walked down the corridor with a straight spine. All her shyness was gone. She was back in her form and ready for a fight.
I opened the door to the conference room and let Milla walk in first.
Mayor Tyrell and his secretary, Pete Watson, looked up as we walked in. Steaming cups of coffee and a basket of muffins sat before them.
Tyrell looked the same as usual. Dressed in a gray suit that stretched around his lumpy belly, he looked like an unassuming middle-aged man. His bald patch, among straw-colored short hair, gleamed under the bright lights.
It was this unprovocative look that made people trust him. While his opponents dressed sharply in a bid to look smart and confident, he preferred to appear as a regular salaryman.
His meek and modest appearance fooled me into trusting him and his council members. I hoped Milla would be smarter and see through his façade.
“Hello, Mayor,” Milla said, extending her hand forward. “I’m Azalea Amhurst.”
Tyrell focused his attention on her.
“I heard the news that you took over Mr. Brian’s position,” said Tyrell, making no move to take her hand. “Maybe you’ll be more helpful than your predecessor.”
Milla glanced at me before looking back at the man.
Taking a seat on the opposite side of the long, rectangular table, she spoke. “How can I help you, Mr. Tyrell?”
I sat down on the chair next to her, waiting for Tyrell to show his cards.
“The Eastern Corridor project hasn’t progressed over the last six months,” Tyrell began. “I’m receiving nothing but excuses from your staff. When do you plan on resuming construction?”
“As soon as we’ve acquired the land in and around Fairmount and Joshmeyer Square,” said Milla in a grim tone. “When the contracts were signed, no one foresaw the residents and tenants refusing to sell. The incentives offered to them have been more than the current market price and yet, they’ve been hesitant to move.”
“According to the contract, Amhurst Co. was responsible for acquiring all the land,” said Tyrell.
“We’re a construction company that abides by the law,” said Milla in an equally cool tone. “What do you expect us to do? Gather some hitmen and clear away the residents?”
“Of course, not,” he said. “Silverlake City is made up of peaceful communities. I will not tolerate any criminal behavior that messes with my town.”
“No. You’d rather turn a blind eye to obvious criminal activity and brush it all under a carpet.”
Tyrell’s aged skin turned red at her provocation.
“We’ve been unable to acquire all the land needed to continue construction,” said Milla. “We need an extension on our deadlines. I’m working out a way to get the residents to agree to sell but it’ll take time.”
“Your people signed the contract,” said Tyrell, gesturing toward me. “They knew exactly what they were getting into. No one forced them into it. I’m losing patience with this project. There has been no progress in months. I hate disappointing my voters who were promised the redevelopment of this town.”
Tyrell glanced at his secretary. “Hand them the notice, Watson.”
“What notice?” I asked, catching sight of the envelope in Watson’s hand.
