Page 5 of Billionaire's Coastal Haven

I don’t want that life for my brother.

If his heartbreak taught me anything, it’s that you need to invest in the things that truly matter.

Family.

Friends. As in, making some. Moving past shallow acquaintance and really getting to know the people I do business with.

Our health.

Leaving a legacy no one can tear down. Oliver will remember the night in the bar for the rest of his life. Not because I bought the best whiskey money could buy, but because his big brother was there for him when he needed me most.

That’s what I want. To make a difference in a way that can’t be quantified.

This estate is the first step to helping us live better lives.

I turn the camera back to face me. “When can you get here?”

He leans back on his elbow, stretching out in his bed on the salvage ship he’s captaining. “Dad’s got me on this rig for another three months. Depends how the dive goes. If we find what he’s after on the wreck and get the data for mom’s new suits…maybe sooner.”

Tires squeal in the pebbled driveway behind me. A baby blue Mini Cooper parks next to the Land Rover I rented for the month.

A brunette with sunglasses balanced on her head sits in the driver’s seat. She stretches and flexes her fingers around the steering wheel. Her lips move, but she appears to be alone. Maybe she’s finishing a phone call.

“I’ve got company. Let me know if I can help you—”

“I know how to run a dive. This isn’t my first salvage.”

“Just call me if you need me. Love you.”

“Love you too. And thanks for doing the footwork on the estate. You know I appreciate it.”

We finish the call, my throat clogging with unexpected sentiment. I’m glad I’m helping him out, but I don’t have time for emotion.

I lift my hand and wave at my uninvited guest, but she doesn’t return the gesture.

She knows I see her, right?

I take a few steps closer to the car and emphasize my arm movement.I see you.

Our gazes meet, and something flashes in her expression. Annoyance? Arrogance? I can’t be sure.

She climbs from the car and adds a fake smile. “Good morning.”

“Hello.” I use my politest voice. All the better to charm her with.

Her shoulders roll back. Holding her hand out, she closes the fifty feet between us at a rapid clip that makes her flowing burgundy skirt swish behind her. “I’m Mayor Winslow.”

“Mayor?” Not possible. The Mayor Winslow I know is the one who gave my dad an ulcer all those years ago. An overweight, balding man with a perpetual grimace. This woman can’t be more than twenty-two years old. Twenty-four, tops. No one in their right mind elects someone so young to such a prestigious position.

She tilts her chin defiantly. “That’s right. Mayor. And you are?”

“Landon Prince.” I clasp her hand. She has a powerful grip. Not a dainty little pinch, but she’s also not trying to break the bones in my hand.

Assertive, but not domineering. I appreciate it.

Too bad for her my hand dwarfs hers, and there’s no world in which she has more power than me. “You aren’t the Mayor Winslow pictured on Rainwater Bay’s website.”

Is she related to the man who refused my dad’s business proposals fifteen years ago?ThatMayor Winslow didn’t want outsiders interfering in any way. I purposely avoided him and took the Webbers straight to the state when we wanted to buy the estate.