Page 11 of Arrivals & Assets

He studied me for several seconds, then smiled. “Good.” He turned back to the control panel. “Let me show you the basics,and we’ll write a cheat sheet this afternoon. I’ll make sure to include some selling points so you know what to say to potential tenants who might ask.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” I grinned.

“Enough of a lifesaver for you to want to buy my going-away drinks?”

I laughed. “One.”

“Good enough.”

“Six at Mitchell’s?” Marcia called out. “That should give me enough time to get back from the airport after escorting these paintings.”

Jeremy and I exchanged a glance. “Deal,” he called out.

“I’ll let Ellie know before I head back upstairs,” I added.

“Perfect,” Jeremy said. “One last night of fun for the holdouts.”

“Yeah…”

While I was looking forward to a night with them, it hit me that I was about to be very alone—without even an alpha to go home to.

Chapter 3 - Dylan

Iarrived in Harris Cove on a Saturday, and it was stunning. There had been a pull-off on the drive from the airport that overlooked the city and the ocean, and I couldn’t help but stop to admire the view. The water glittered while buildings nestled into the arc of land between mountains and sea.

The peaceful visage disappeared as soon as I entered the city. It was bustling in unexpected ways. Cookie-cutter apartment buildings and older, run-down houses were farthest from the beach, but the streets were filled with kids playing and adults walking through local shops.

Soon, the apartment buildings shifted to older styles with more character, and the nearby shops were larger. Kids rode newer bikes, and their helmets sported the most popular cartoon characters.

Where the lower and working-class line was blurred and more of a gradual shift, it was a stark change as I moved closer to the beach. The older but well-maintained character buildings gave way to newer structures that looked fancy but probably had paper-thin walls. Late-model cars vied for street parking, and the people strolling the sidewalks were dressed for jobs in luxury retail or white-collar positions. Kids held their parents’ hands as they walked to classes or scheduled play activities.

I found my extended-stay hotel—that TechSpeed had paid for—in what was obviously the gentrified section of town. Renovated historic buildings sported gleaming panes of glass and brick façades that were clearly pressure-washed on a regular basis. Imported cars waited to get into private parking structures, and the people had adopted the sort of breezy elegance expected of a beachside city—where what looked like a twenty-dollar shirt was actually pure linen and several hundred dollars. When I did see children, they were almost always accompanied by someone who was clearly either a nanny or au pair.

Sunday was spent half on the beach and half trying to get used to the city. I did take a drive down what the locals called Billionaire Row, which was almost eerily quiet. Most of the people I saw were clearly workers of some kind—landscapers, security, pool crews, and I spotted a dog walker down on the beach.

Monday afternoon consisted of a flurry of phone calls from my hotel room. Appointments with the broker were set up for later in the week, and my meeting with Alan Beischel was confirmed for the next morning.

I contacted the local permitting departments and set up a meeting to go over requirements for various work types so that I could get the ball rolling as soon as I signed a lease.

A strange sort of anticipation built under my skin as I laid in bed that night. It was like the universe itself was trying to tell me that I was where I was supposed to be.

∞∞∞

When I thought of a business incubator founded by a billionaire, I imagined an austere place where people wore serious expressions as they tried to prove that they were worthy of the support.

What I found… was exactly the opposite.

The atmosphere inside the renovated warehouse space was lively and fun. Some people worked inside glass-walled offices, but almost every door was open, and people flitted from business to business. Others congregated at tables in the open spaces, laptops and tablets ready as they discussed the topic of the day.

A couple of larger tables had signs reading ‘Mentor’ above them, and they were crammed with people asking questions.

My gaze drifted up. More offices ringed the second and third floors. Light from a skylight filled the space and bounced off old wooden supports. Sleek black tie-rods crisscrossed at key spots to provide extra support—but their secondary function as places to hang decorations was evident by the multicolored remains of ribbon tied to them.

I looked around for something resembling a reception desk and was distracted by a cheer coming from somewhere behind me.

“Hey,” asked a woman on my left. “Can I help you find a business?”

I turned and smiled. “Sorry, thanks. I actually have a meeting with Alan Beischel.”