hour looking up the property owner’s full name and information on the mobile home park. Anything that was in a public record, he dug up, or would. Not that he knew what he would do with the information, but it felt good to know more about his enemy.
What he really wanted was a picture of the man. But there wasn’t anything online to help him out.
Dameon put aside the small amount of information he’d gathered on the man to tackle the things he needed to finish before the end of the year. Unlike his staff, he’d be bringing work home with him.
Chelsea had given him a small file with names and portfolios of potential investors.
Just looking at it put a bad taste in his mouth. Last resort, he told himself.
A knock on his office door drew his attention away from his work. “Yeah?”
Omar popped his head in. “Got a second?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
He walked in waving a piece of paper. “What’s up with the Santa Clarita project and this expense report?”
“I’m making the property livable.”
“For who?”
“Me.”
Omar stopped short, tilted his head. “Come again?”
“Part time. I will be working remotely one day a week. Stay there on weekends.”
“This doesn’t have something to do with a certain woman, does it?”
“She factors in. But I think it’s the best way to really know what the community needs. Sometimes what’s on paper isn’t the reality. Like cellular towers. The place is lacking cell service. We’re going to need a budget for that, or some kind of cooperation with one or more of the major carriers.” All of which was true.
“And then there’s the girl,” Omar said again.
Dameon dismissed Omar’s smirk. “Think about it. Every project we’ve done has been in developed areas that needed revamping or a small block of homes. This is the largest project we’ve done to date. And we’re doing it without a net.”
Omar nodded a few times. “We can get a net.”
“Investors mean dividing the profits.” And they both knew they didn’t want that. Not that Dameon needed Omar to be on board with what he wanted to do, but having him understand made everything easier.
“You haven’t led the company wrong yet,” he said.
“I don’t plan on starting now.”
Omar turned to leave. Right before he walked through the door he said, “I hope she’s worth the commute.”
“She is,” he whispered to himself as Omar left the room.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Normally Grace wouldn’t spend a lot of time figuring out what to wear to a holiday party with a bunch of people she knew and saw almost every day. Her colleagues didn’t require special clothing.
But Dameon was coming.
And whether she admitted it or not, she wanted to make him drool.
A red cocktail dress and black stilettos was exactly the thing to achieve her goals. Grace pulled her hair off her neck and into a loose bun and wore dangling earrings that sparkled, even if they were crystal rather than diamond.
The neckline of her dress plunged enough to show off her curves, but not so much as to be considered indecent.
After a final pass by her full-length mirror, she considered herself as perfect as she ever managed to get, and left her condo.
She arrived twenty minutes into the party and the room was already swimming with people. The line for the bar was by far the longest.
Peggy, who worked as a receptionist in the city building, beelined straight for her. “Ooh la la,” she said as she looked Grace up and down. “Look who is dressed to impress!”
“My black dress is at the cleaners,” she lied.
“And what, this was hanging in the back of your closet?”
“Actually . . .”
Peggy laughed. “Maybe Richard will finally call you by your first name.”
“I’m not holding my breath.” Grace looked around Peggy. “Have you seen my brother?”
“Not yet.” Peggy joined her in watching the other people in the room. “Who’s going to get drunk this year?”
They turned together and looked around the crowd. Every office had at least one or two lushes who made a name for themselves at the party. “I’m sure Pete learned his lesson last year,” Grace said.
Pete had managed to get stumbling drunk and collided with the mayor’s wife as he rushed to the bathroom. Their heads bumped, and he stepped on her high-heeled foot with enough force to bloody a toe. The worst part was he didn’t stop to apologize or anything. He rushed to the bathroom and lost the liquor he’d been drinking. The following Monday he didn’t remember a thing. When the