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Crossfield-Dawson owned quite a few of the outlying commercial real estate properties, and made a healthy profit from them. She knew they did, because she handled the leases herself and negotiated the contracts on many of those larger properties.
She knew she should be going over several of those leases that were coming up to re-sign, notating those whose monthly rent needed to be adjusted, and poring over the dozens of financial spreadsheets she had on each one. There was a box under her desk, filled with files and papers she needed to go over, that she kept pushing out of her way. The new receptionist had insisted they belonged with her.
She knew she should be working on them.
Instead, she was staring down at the street, her gaze moving over the area as though there were answers to be found there.
She brushed back the curl she could never keep in place, glaring at her image in the window for a second.
Her red-gold hair was more or less confined to the neat French braid she’d pulled the curls into that morning. All but that one corkscrew curl in the front that refused to be confined.
There was a delicate arch to her brows over her deep green eyes. She considered herself passably pretty. Lightly freckled along her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, with high cheekbones and what her father called “Cupid’s bow lips” that smiled more often than not.
The white blouse and cherry red slim skirt she wore with black heels made her legs look longer. The tailoring of the blouse complemented her breasts. She wasn’t a beauty, but she wasn’t a hag, she thought. Still, other than that one time she’d begged Jack to kiss her and take away the memory of Trencher’s kiss, he’d never shown interest in her.
She was going to have to stop this, she told herself. She had to accept the fact that she simply couldn’t love someone who had never taken the time to allow her to get to know him. Jack had saved her by giving her the means to save herself, her brother Mac had once told her, and she was going to have to accept that their relationship went no further than that. Because the man she thought she knew and the one John David had received information on were two different men.
As she resumed her seat at her desk, a sharp knock on the door announced one of her bosses, Caine Crossfield, as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
He was nearing forty years old, and his handsome features and charming smile, combined with his dark blue eyes, made him one of the most sought-after bachelors in the state. He was a former Army Ranger, his career cut short ten years before when the Humvee he was in activated an IED. The explosion had hurled the vehicle into the air and tossed it like a child’s plaything, breaking multiple bones in his body.
“Poppy, we have a problem with one of the storage facilities on the other side of town.” He carried a file in his hand that he tapped against his leg impatiently. “The lessee, Gordon Tessalon, is bitching about security and driving me crazy.”
Gordon Tessalon had been an ongoing problem for most of the year.
“Did you email the file?” she asked, knowing he hadn’t.
He stopped short of her desk, glanced at the file he carried in his hand, and let a sheepish smile curl his lips.
“I brought it with me?” he offered without apology.
She shook her head at him, not for the first time, and extended her hand demandingly. “Hand it over, dinosaur.”
He grimaced at the accusation. It was well known he didn’t care for electronic files but preferred the feel of the paper files and the sense of control they gave him. No electronic gremlins to suddenly go haywire and delete something, he often said.
“We’re not required to supply security, Caine,” she reminded him. “The security he’s demanding is on the sister facility a couple of miles away, and three times what he pays on his lease.” She flipped through the file, checking the company’s contractual promises. “Additional security is the lessee’s responsibility at the site Tessalon is on. He’s just still pissed because he wanted in to the secured facility after we’d already assigned all the units. But I’ll call him if you want.”
Tessalon used the storage facility as a shipping point. From Columbus to Barboursville, then trucks distributed various farm equipment and parts to the tristate area.
“Tell him I said to ‘bite me,’” he suggested. “Take care of this today, if you don’t mind.”
The sharp order had her brows lifting in surprise.
“I have a meeting with him after lunch, actually.” She frowned back at him. “Is everything okay, Caine?”
“Peachy,” he grunted with a mirthless twist of his lips. “Sorry, Poppy. I know I sound like a little bitch. Shoulder’s giving me hell today and River’s out of the office this week. I’m not in the best of moods, I guess.”
He never was when River failed to come in for whatever reason.
“I’ll handle Tessalon this afternoon,” she promised. “I won’t be coming back to the office, though. I have a meeting with a potential client at five this evening to discuss the Storing House in Hurricane for possible lease. I’ll need to get ready and reacquaint myself with the lease on it before we meet.”
“Excellent.” He nodded. “I wondered if you’d ever manage to get any interest in the house. It’s about time.”
She stared at his back balefully as he turned and left the office, the irritable reply causing her to clench her teeth to hold back a retort.
She was the property manager, not the agent in charge of acquiring clients for it, and he damned well knew it.
Two hours later Poppy stepped into the lobby outside her office to make her way to the elevator and a meeting she really wasn’t looking forward to.
