“Spill,” I said as soon as Delilah flipped her phone shut. “Also, do you have Emery’s number? Or Reed’s?”
“No, I don’t have your girlfriend's number. And no, I don’t have my boss’ prepubescent brother’s number either.” She shoved her phone into her Birkin. “That should be the least of your concerns. They changed the meeting from the building we were just at.”
I turned into the airport. “Not a big deal. Which terminal?”
“International. Air Singapore.”
“One—we’re flying commercial?” I abandoned the rental at the curb, not caring. Singapore was too important.
Always prepared, Delilah slammed down our passports at the VIP ticket counter. “Why does it matter if we're flying commercial? I never took you for a diva, but it all makes sense now.”
I ignored her jab and plucked our tickets from the haggard employee. “I need to charge my phone or buy a new charger.”
We rushed to the TSA Pre-check line, shouldering our way past people, just shy of an actual tackle. Half the time, I thought Delilah wanted Singapore as much as I did. Either for me, or because she’d worked so hard on it for too long to lose now.
“Fuck, I do, too.” She strode through the metal detector. “But we have no time. We literally need to sprint to make this flight.”
I placed my phone in a bin on the conveyor. “Two—how the fuck did we get the location wrong?”
The TSA agent scowled at my harsh language. I ignored her and led Delilah into the terminal.
She shoved our passports into her bag and handed our tickets to the airline attendant. “We’ll make it if we land on time and chopper directly onto the adjacent building. I've cleared it with their security.” Her heels click-clacked down the passenger boarding bridge. “The landowner changed the auction site and time, and a glitch somehow wiped our emails from their CC list.”
“A glitch,” I deadpanned.
She didn’t say it, but we both knew Asher Black's reputation. Mafia ties and a less than legal history.
Her shoulders tipped up as we took seats across from each other in fucking economy class. “Black Enterprises wants this property.”
My knees bumped the seat in front of me. Fucking hell. Commercial flights weren’t made for anyone taller than a toddler or wider than a stick of gum. The C.I.A. must’ve designed this shit as a torture experiment. Cram two-hundred people into a forty-five-ton hunk of metal, force them to pay for it, and see who cracks first.
“There's no property left in Singapore like this. One-of-a-fucking-kind.” I ignored the appalled expression on the mother beside me. She covered her son’s ears and inched away from me—even as her eyes swiped up and down my body, checking me out. “It’s zoned for the highest buildings.”
Exactly why I fucking needed it.
I reclined the seat as far as it would go, pretending I didn't hear it knock against the person's knee behind me. I’d fly to Singapore, win the land auction, and find a phone charger on my way back to the airport.
Emery would understand.
She knew what Singapore meant to me.
Asher Black looked like he’d be a cocky motherfucker, and he was.
The smug son of a bitch had practically tattooed entertained across his forehead. He brought his wife Lucy to the negotiations, reaching a level of ball-less sap I was tempted to address.
“Nash Prescott in the flesh.” He leaned back in his seat and stretched, his tone flippant. “You look smaller in person.”
Lucy dug an elbow into his ribs. “Asher, stop.” She smiled at me, so opposite to her husband, I wondered why she'd chosen the dick. “You look perfectly proportionate.”
Fucking hell, she looked like she legit meant that as a compliment.
“Mr. Prescott. Mrs. Lowell.” Elliot, the auctioneer for today, glanced between us. He seemed uncomfortable around Asher, which I didn’t blame him for. “Cheng explained the mix-up. We’re so sorry. Please, allow me to extend an apology on behalf of myself and my colleagues.”
“Don't worry about it, Elliot.” Delilah perched on the seat I pulled out for her. “It's not a big deal. Truly.”
The five of us looked ridiculous in a conference room meant for thirty. Twenty-five empty chairs stretched the length of the room.
Elliot sat at the head of the table, the backdrop of Singapore visible through the glass behind him. “I’ll cut to the chase here. Mr. Black, our board has reservations about your… reputation. You’d have to make a substantially larger bid than Mr. Prescott for them to approve the sale.”
Delilah pulled out a pad of sticky notes, scribbled the damn dictionary, and slid it to me.
Good news. I expected this. I’m betting Asher did, too, which is why they had our emails hacked. If you bid in the upper threshold of your budget off the bat, we can make it clear that he'd have to pay substantially over market value to win.
Thank fuck.
Something needed to go right today.
I scrawled back:
Good.
Asher leaned forward in his seat. “If you intended on bringing me here to screw me over, you could have saved me and my wife a trip and done it over the phone.”
Elliot adjusted his collar, looking like he’d rather jump in a pool with sharks than be in a room with Asher. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s our policy not to disclose details before an auction. You request—”
“I don't care what I requested. Common courtesy…”
I tuned them out and read the note Delilah passed back.
This is perfect news. Haling Cove is nearly done anyway. With the soft launch next week, you can assure everything is on the right track for the grand opening, which gives you the opportunity to leave for Singapore the day after.
They’ll need you here for at least two months to 1) navigate your re-zoning request and 2) finalize the purchase.
What the fuck? She’d never mentioned two months in Singapore. My pen strokes left fucking indents in the pad and possibly the table.
Two months? Can’t it be done remotely?
If I’d known, I wouldn't have bothered flying here. I figured by the grand opening of the hotel, Gideon would have gotten his shit together and spilled to Emery. Maybe I could fly back and explain my part of the mess to her myself.
Even as I thought it, I knew I wouldn’t. Given the Sir Balty situation, she needed to cement her relationship with her dad. If I had a chance to talk to my dad, I’d do it. Every fucking day, not just once a week.
Asher continued to demolish Elliot, but I gave no fucks. I snatched the Post-Its from Delilah, not bothering with subtlety.
1. Walking naked in your own home.
2. Chewing gum.
3. Smoking.
4. Noise after 10 P.M.
5. Leaving the toilet un-flushed.
6. Using someone else's WiFi.
7. Hugging someone the same gender as you.
8. Singing in public.
9. Feeding pigeons.