Chapter 15
Bill watched Sake jog up the stairs, slam the door, and disappear into her father’s house. Then, on a sigh, he climbed back into his car and leaned against the headrest to puzzle out what had just happened.
They’d had a great time tonight—an awesome time—right up until he got that call from the assistant at Cornerstone Properties about the strip mall.
He hadn’t meant to snap at Sake while she was driving. But there was going to be an open house at the property on Elm Street this coming Sunday. That meant lots of potential buyers trooping through it. All it took was the right offer from a well-qualified buyer, and his dream house would be gone—poof.
But the truth was, putting Sake on notice had been the right thing to do. It wasn’t fair to string her along. Deb could handle it. Hell, Deb could handle anything. Besides, Deb was so preoccupied with fixing people she didn’t even realize she’d been short-listed. But Sake was more sensitive. More . . . damaged.
She needs you. And you want her.
A fact which definitely got in the way of his mantra: Success comes from putting off what you want now for what you want most.
Okay—he’d admit it—Sake stirred something deep inside him. No sooner had he advised her to go out with other guys than he felt pierced by a self-inflicted stab of jealousy.
Which didn’t compute with his failure to encourage Sake to go to the CIA when the waitress raved about how she should check it out. That was selfish of him, now that he thought about it. But sometimes you had to choose between the lesser of two evils. Bill couldn’t let a troubled gypsy barely past the age of consent get in the way of his long-range goals. He’d worked too hard, for too long. The way things stood now, with Sake gone by September, Bill didn’t have to be overly concerned about getting too attached to her. But if she hung around for another couple of years to get a degree? All bets were off.
Bill circled the fountain and made his way back toward the road. He shoved a hand through his hair. Maybe losing it on her had been for the best. He’d probably let this Good Samaritan gig drag on way too long, anyway. He’d deliver Taylor to her tomorrow and be done with the whole affair.
Even if the Elm Street property didn’t sell this weekend, there would be more open houses after that. Wouldn’t be too long before some savvy buyer would recognize it for the little gem that it was.
All Bill needed was to get past the guy who ran Cornerstone’s real estate to its elusive owner. This mall was exactly the type of property Cornerstone collected in its portfolio. But the owner was a semiretired recluse with a reputation for being harder to reach than the Pope. His portfolio was already worth millions. He didn’t need to return calls from a small-town broker he’d never dealt with before . . . had never even heard of. He paid someone to take those calls for him. But that someone had just left for vacation and wasn’t even accepting messages.
Still racking his brain, Bill turned onto the highway. He’d been putting all his efforts into Cornerstone. Suppose his message never reached the top? What other investors might be in the market for a profitable strip mall? Where was that list of prospects he’d drawn up earlier?
That’s right. He remembered exactly where he’d placed that document: tucked neatly into an inside compartment of his briefcase. Congratulating himself on his awesome organizational skills, Bill leaned over to grasp its handle from the floor on the passenger side, never seeing the eighteen-wheeler stacked full of wine for distribution to every point of the globe that bore down on him.
Pacing the floor of her guestroom, Sake pulled out her phone, fingers flying.
“Hello?” Rico raised his voice over the raucous background noise.
“Where are you?”
“The Black Orchid.”
“Any sign of my mom?” She couldn’t not ask. The Orchid used to be Haha’s favorite. Even though you couldn’t even carry on a conversation over the awful music they played, Sake and Rico had been going there for the past year in hopes of spotting her.
“Hold on. Hey, Mike!” Rico yelled.
Sake flinched and jerked her phone hand away from her ear.
“See Sake’s mom around lately?” And then: “He says no.”
“I’m coming back.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“What?”
“I said, tomorrow!”
“Cool! See you then!”
“Rico—can I still stay at your place?”
“Why not?”
Tomorrow, she would stuff her things back into her trash bag and figure out some way to get back to San Francisco, once and for all. Get a cab to take her to the bus station, beg Papa to have Bruno run her down, something. If worse came to worst, she’d even lower herself enough to hit up one of her sisters for a ride.