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Dear Ms. Reeves,
I have matters of importance to discuss regarding the Monticello. Also, I ordered too much Chinese food.
—Sebastian
Mr. Anderson:
Did you order from Mrs. Wong’s or from Wok n’ Rock?
Dear Ms. Reeves,
What kind of heathen do you take me for? I ordered from Lotus Flower.
—Sebastian
Despite myself, my lips twitched into a smile. At least he’d done his research about Chinese-American joints in town.
NINETEEN
SEBASTIAN
I was skilled at a lot of things; cooking was not one of them. While my phone stayed dark and silent on the counter, I plated the lo mein and egg rolls, cracked the disposable chopsticks in two, and placed them on paper napkins. I never used candles, but I had wine. White instead of red this time. Things could get rowdy, and I didn’t want to ruin any more of my shirts.
I’d spent the last two days preparing my speech for the gala, wrangling contractors, and talking to demolition experts about the house. In just under three weeks the conditions of my grandmother’s will would be satisfied. I’d officially own these properties, and I’d have the leverage to do whatever I wanted with them.
I’d have the approval necessary to close the deal with Sinclair, and I’d have enough money to invest in the deal of the century. I’d be free and clear to get out of here for good.
The problem was, the place was starting to grow on me. The theater lobby looked like a bomb had gone off, but if I squinted and tilted my head at the right angle, I could almost see what Charlie found so charming about it.
It was…fanciful. There was none of the modern, sleek minimalism of the day. Many, many people had put time into hand-painting the plaster cornices, gilding the ceiling details, assembling the thousands of crystals on that ridiculous chandelier. It was a building that proclaimed, I was worth it.
Worth the time. Worth the effort. Worth the money.
But a restoration in a dying town? I wasn’t sold. I still thought it was a bad investment, and I’d be the one holding the bag at the end of it all. If I had to choose between The Bach Company, and what it meant for my mother, and New Elwood, it was no contest.
Sighing, I crunched into an egg roll. It was cold. The sun had been set for nearly half an hour when I walked over to my phone to check for Charlie’s response, even though I knew she hadn’t sent one. She wasn’t coming. She was teasing me. Or punishing me. I couldn’t decide which. She could have had the decency to let me eat when my dinner was hot, though.
I picked up my phone and tapped out a message, but then there was a knock at my door.
“Who is it?” I called.
“Open the door, Anderson,” Charlie called from the other side, and my shoulders dropped.
I opened the door. She looked freshly showered, wearing a pair of tight denim jeans and a black tank top. I couldn’t decide if I preferred her in her corporate ballbuster attire or this softer version. Both had their advantages. I leaned a forearm on the doorframe. “You’re late.”
“I had to emotionally prepare myself.”
“I didn’t know I had that much of an effect on you.” I pushed off the door and stepped aside to let her in.
She shot me an arch look. “Emotionally prepare myself for an evening of torture.”
Grinning as she walked by, I couldn’t help it when my gaze dropped down to the movement of her ass in those jeans. It would be a lot easier to deal with her if she weren’t so attractive.
But—small-town entanglements were not on the menu. I was leaving as soon as I could offload these properties and move on with my life. The most I could have was a bit of fun, and somehow I didn’t think Charlie was interested.
She stared at the table for a beat, and I wondered if she was reminiscing about that particular piece of furniture. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “You know you don’t need to have me over for dinner. We’re not friends or anything.” She stared down at the cold takeout.
“Let me warm that up,” I said, whisking her plate away and popping it into the microwave. “You want a drink?” I opened the fridge and pulled out one of those disgusting peach-flavored fizzy waters she’d had at her place, holding it out to her.
