She laughs. “Is she a stalker, or do you two really have a thing?”
“It was a drunk fuck. Once. A year ago.”
“I figured. She’s not your type.”
“How do you know my type?”
“People change, but they don’t change that much. You always hated liars and cheaters. She’s a compulsive liar, and you would never have kissed me if you were involved with someone else.”
“True.” I’m not sure if her nonchalance about Tina means she doesn’t give a shit what I do or who I do it with, or if she’s really that mature. I’m also not sure what to say about the kiss.
“But you do happen to be memorable in the bedroom,” she says, “so as much as I’d like to have something to hold against her, because she really is a bitch, I can’t fault her for trying to get back into your pants.”
That makes me laugh and definitely lifts my spirits. It also carbonates my blood. I fuckin’ wish Laiyla wanted back in my pants.
I hand her a copy of the proposal, and we go over it line by line. When she looks at the total cost, she tilts her head. “This looks light. You probably should have padded a little more. It’s always good to under promise and over deliver.”
“Read the last page.”
She turns the page, and I watch her as she reads. I’ve added a clause into the contract that requires her to give Paragon first refusal rights for purchase of the property at fair market value if she cuts out of the project first or eventually decides to sell. She’s quiet a long moment.
“I don’t see a downside to this.” She looks at me. “Do you have a pen?”
A blast of fear burns through my body. What in the fuck am I doing? Promising this woman the next two years of my life? “Did you see the time frame?”
“Two years?”
“Yeah.”
“I saw it. I estimated as much.”
“You’re willing to stay here for two years?”
“Well, I’m not going to try to manage a project this big from LA.” When I don’t respond, she says, “What?”
I shake my head. “What will you do after the two years? Go back to work for your parents?”
She turns thoughtful. “I’m hoping to use the money from the sale to fund a purchase of my own hotel. Something small and boutique. Something that resonates better with millennials.”
“In LA?”
She shrugs. “I know the LA market.”
My stomach turns to rock. Fine. Now I know where I stand—nowhere, because she’s already planning on leaving again.
I grab a pen from my truck, and we go inside the boat to go over the contract with the others. Once I’ve addressed their questions, everyone signs, and I’m feeling a little nauseous. The women, on the other hand, are thrilled.
Laiyla walks me back to my truck, and I share an idea I’ve had about the project. “I know you wanted the restaurant where Otto’s cabin was, and we can do that, stabilize the land with retaining walls, but I think there’s a better spot on the property, and it would cost less because the land is stable.”
“Yeah?” she asks. “Where?”
“Farther along the shore.” I stop at my truck. The sun is setting. “If you have a boat that’s working, I can show it to you before it gets dark. If you like it, I’ll put together a change order and price shift.”
Her eyes are bright. “We can take the Chaparral.”
We veer toward the docks and get barefoot before Laiyla gestures me to the driver’s seat. “You’d better. I haven’t run a boat in years.”
10