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It was clear he wouldn’t get much else from Remy. “Thanks for this.”
“You’re welcome. Tell Jasmine I said hello,” Remy called after him as he left.
He nodded and climbed back into his car, setting his coffee in the cup holder before pulling out the chocolate scone and taking a bite. Delicious.
He steered the car onto the road and drove to the stoplight. A sign caught his eye. Famer’s Market. He smiled. He’d get some fresh produce and show Jasmine just how well he could cook from scratch, since she’d appreciated it so much the first time. He’d use the time together to find out how to get her to sell and prove he was still in control.
Atlas found another parking spot and made his way down the sidewalk through the park. A small crowd of venders and shoppers clustered off to one side.He took his time observing tents and tables. Local artists showed off their wares. He quickly found a fisherman with fresh crab, and paid him for a pound. All he needed now were some vegetables. He wove through the tables as a flash of jet-black hair drew his attention to the right.
Jasmine was wearing the same thing she had been in an hour ago when he’d seen her at the inn. Tiny cutoff shorts with Chucks and a loose-fitting T-shirt. She smiled and laughed at something the farmer across from her said. Atlas’s stomach started to burn. Must be that terrible coffee.
Jasmine bent, tucking the hair behind her ear before she waved to the little girl clutching the leg of the man’s pants. The little girl shyly waved back. Jasmine pointed to the child, her hands moving into different formations, signing to the child. The father looked at Jasmine with a gleam in his eye of appreciation, and maybe something more.
Atlas clenched his jaw tight. A moment later, Jasmine straightened and gave the father and daughter a wave before picking up a paper bag and walking away. Who was this woman? She bought an inn fresh out of high school, renovated it to look like something you’d see in one of those fancy restoration magazines, and she used sign language with little kids. Jasmine was a business mogul and a saint—could that be true?
His feet were moving before he could think twice. He followed her, observing her ass as it swayed side to side. She made her way past the vendors, greeting most of the people she passed, though the majority of women turned their noses up at her. That was curious.
He stopped when she paused to purchase some handmade soap, ducking behind a tent to watch her like a stalker. What the fuck had become of him? Desperation—that was what. Everything was riding on this deal. He’d do whatever was necessary to close it.
Jasmine set the paper bag she’d been carrying on the table for the local food shelf while chatting with the woman manning the stall. Was this woman Mother Teresa? He’d seen her financials. She barely had enough money to scrape by, and here she was giving food away. What was her motive?
She headed back through the tables, sharing more greetings. She stopped and spun around. He darted behind a display of woven hats. Peeking around the corner, he checked if the coast was clear. She bent to smell a bouquet of wildflowers before running her fingertips over the vase full of sunflowers.
She shook her head and walked out of the market. His gaze followed her until she disappeared. He focused on the bright yellow flowers. His hands itched; the urge to buy them for her was strong.
She was so interesting. A woman like her would make an excellent partner.
What?
No.
He needed to get his mind out of the clouds and back to reality. He had absolutely no time to entertain such distracting thoughts.
He didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into. But he was in way over his head. Atlas just had to keep his eye on the prize and off her luscious ass. Yet the more he saw of her, the more impossible keeping this strictly business seemed.
