Page 8 of Billionaire's Coastal Haven

“Money has a way of paving rough roads.” I rub my thumb and index finger together. It’s crass, but I want to see how she responds.

Where’s the passion from before? Was that real or another act like her naiveté?

She adopts her hip pop snarky pose again. “I’ll block your permits.”

“I’ll buy the town.”

Her eyes roll. “That’s not a real thing, no matter what TV leads people to believe.”

Naïve, yes. Innocent, no. “I can purchase every piece of real estate available, raise rents, and drive every store in town out of business until you have no choice but to let me have my way.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Glad you’re getting the picture, Comet.”

She startles at the nickname, but it fits her. Fire and ice, beautiful but fleeting.

I need this estate.

My brother needs an escape.

Mayor Comet won’t stand in my way.

She laces her fingers together like a prayer. “Our town can’t support a massive resort. We don’t have the infrastructure you need. Pine Ridge would be a much better choice.”

“Pine Ridge is beautiful, but it doesn’t have what I need.”

“Which is?”

Acres and acres of woods that don’t belong to Olympic National Forest. A mansion with potential. Seclusion and privacy.

But giving her that information would be akin to giving her a shopping list and telling her to find me a different property outside her city. That’s not happening, so she gets the answer that will appease her. “The peace and quiet you are so proud of.”

“So, this will be your home?” She sounds so hopeful, it hurts.

“Not exactly.” Home is wherever my jet happens to be. I own condos in New York, London, and Monaco, but I’m rarely at any of them for more than a week or two at a time.

Our family business is global and requires me to meet face to face with people to problem-solve and grow our investments.

And I love it.

Day-to-day business logistics bring me to life. I won’t ever give it up permanently. This is a place to rest and relax a few times a year. Nothing more.

“Are you building a mega resort?”

I pull the napkin from my pocket and rub my thumb along the edge of the paper. “My vision is somewhere in the middle.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“What do you need to hear, Mayor? I haven’t drafted blueprints for your stamp of approval.”

She snatches the napkin and unfolds it. Holding it to the sunshine, she traces her finger over the rough rectangles. “This is the house. And what are these? Outbuildings? Cabins?”

“Something like that.”

“This isn’t Park City or Vail.” Her hazel eyes pinch. “I won’t let you race Lamborghinis up and down my streets.”

“Unless you own a Lamborghini and feel like racing, that seems unlikely. But I’m always up for a challenge.”