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“We don’t deal in farms.” It was a petty, ridiculous response. One that could further confirm her suspicions that something was off with me.
“What’s this about?”
I’d already evaded her earlier question and fully intended to again.
“A different direction. Something new.” Maybe making a difference instead of a profit.
“The next thing you’ll tell me is you’re ready to settle down and start a family. Or get a dog.” She threw her hands up.
“I’m not getting a family or a dog. I have you and Teague. That’s more than enough.”
She pushed out of the chair. “Come on. If I’m rewriting this offer, I want to see the property again.”
“I don’t have time.” I motioned to the piles scattered around the surface of my desk.
“Then I don’t have time to revise the contract.” She shrugged and headed across the plush carpet to the door.
I rolled my chair back. “Wait up.”
She grinned as I grabbed my jacket. “You’re buying lunch.”
* * *
“You’re too quiet.”
Beau walked in step beside me as the realtor rambled on about the features of the building. She hadn’t said a word since we’d introduced ourselves to the woman.
“You wouldn’t want to hear it.” She raked her eyes over the decrepit space.
“We’re here so you can share your thoughts.”
She gave the realtor a false smile. “Can you give us a few minutes?”
The woman nodded and scurried away.
Beau pushed on the wall and it gave a little. “This is not a good buy, Lincoln.” Before I could protest, she held up her hand. “We’ve made a killing off some properties that look worse than this, but they want a premium and there’s no wiggle room for error here.”
“We have materials left from a project in Brooklyn we just wrapped up—”
“This isn’t Brooklyn. And even so, that isn’t enough.” She pressed the ball of her foot into the hardwood flooring . . . at least what used to be hardwood.
“Anything we purchase now is going to be at a premium.” I put my hands in my pockets.
She groaned. “Don’t give me that move. I already know you’ve made up your mind.”
I never realized placing my hands in the pockets of my trousers was a tell. Or that my sister paid that close attention to detail about me.
“I’m not using company money.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to let you make a personal mistake even if your bank account will barely notice this one.” She roved the space and threw her hands up. “It’s worse this time than the first time we viewed the building.”
At least she’d given it serious consideration. I couldn’t ask for more than that.
“Over lunch, let’s put together a cost proposal.”
Her features morphed from disgust to interest. “If you insist on proving I’m right with concrete numbers, suits me.”
She tucked her hand in the crook of my arm.
