Читать книгу Silver Screen Romance - AlTonya Washington - Страница 10

Chapter 1

Miami, Florida

“Where?” A hint of laughter mingled with the element of sincere bewilderment in Kale Asante’s question. His voice was rich, its tone possessing a warmth that was equally displayed in his liquid-chocolate gaze.

Kale’s lawyer, Felton Eames, looked to be on the verge of laughter himself. “Mullins, Iowa,” Felton said once he’d spared a second glance toward the documents in front of him. The sheet was one of several spilling from the charcoal-gray briefcase lying open on the black-walnut coffee table in his client’s den.

Kale appeared to be considering the information while he rubbed the tip of an index finger across the long line of one sleek brow. Amusement came through that time in the form of a chuckle before more words followed. “I honestly can’t recall ever visiting the place or knowing anyone who has.”

Felton nodded while rubbing his fingers through the cap of salt-and-pepper waves covering his head. “I didn’t think you had,” he sighed. He grabbed another of the documents that languished over the open edge of his case and passed it to Kale. “But it looks like your late uncle did.”

San Francisco, California

“Where?” Intrigue was the resulting emotion when Davia Sands heard the name Mullins, Iowa. Her clear, hazel eyes sparkled more effervescently than normal while she observed her business attorney.

Bess Gaither merely continued to swivel in the burgundy scoop chair she occupied, smiling over her client’s reaction.

Davia turned her bright, wide stare toward the document that outlined the news Bess had come to deliver that afternoon. “How could I own land in Iowa and not know about it?” Unmistakable bewilderment had her voice in its clutches.

Bess ceased her swiveling and left the chair to top off her coffee at the bar cart on the deck where she and Davia conversed. Though the day had been a surprisingly comfortable one and rich, late-afternoon sunlight doused the deck, a chill still carried on the early January wind.

“Specifically speaking...” Bess said, pausing as if to add a dramatic flair while she filled her coffee mug to the brim with the aromatic blend. “You don’t own land, but a building. Or, from what I understand, what’s left of one.”

“Okay...” Davia rebundled herself into the afghan that helped the sweatpants and long-sleeved tee keep her warm against the breezy day. “So how’d I come to own a building—or what’s left of one?”

“Seems you’ve got Miss Glory to thank for that.” Bess used the smug manner she put in place whenever she was about to eviscerate or merely stun someone at a negotiating table.

Davia sat a little straighter on the lounge she occupied. Bewilderment had her expression in its clutches that time. “What’s my late aunt got to do with—” she checked the document again “—Mullins, Iowa?”

Bess prepped her coffee, adding sugar and cream to suit her taste. “If you bother to actually read that page I gave you, you’ll see that Miss Glory spent quite a bit of time there during the early forties. She inherited the building from a Chase Waverly when he passed away in 1956.”

Davia regarded the sheet in hand with greater interest. “That can’t be right.” Her voice held a quiet, considering tone, as though she were attempting to convince herself. “I’ve never heard anything about this. I don’t think even my mom and dad know.”

Gloria Sands was the older sister of Davia’s father. The woman had been Davia’s favorite relative across the whole of either of her parents’ extremely large families.

“A woman’s life is a trove of secrets.” Bess’s sigh held the unmistakable air of playful mystery. She gave a theatrical twirl away from the bar cart with her steaming mug of coffee still firm in her grip.

“What sort of mystery could my aunt have been involved in in Iowa?”

Bess inhaled the fragrant steam drifting off the mug. “Guess you’ll find out on Wednesday.”

“What’s Wednesday?” Davia’s tone was absent at best. She was still aptly reviewing the document Bess had provided.

“The day you meet with the Mullins town council.”

Davia dragged her eyes up from the page and simply gaped at her lawyer.

* * *

“Are you serious?” Kale pinned his lawyer with an unwavering look and could see all too clearly that the man was completely not joking. “What the hell do I have to meet with the town council for?”

Felton rested his elbows on his knees and conducted a mini thumb war between them. “Seems that after over sixty years the town of Mullins has finally had enough of looking at that piece of land you’ve come into. They find it to be an eyesore that’s driving down the property value in that area of town. That,” Felton said and brought an end to the thumb war, “and there’s talk of a developer wanting the land to put some overpriced artsy shops on.”

Felton spread his hands and shrugged. “The town is calling this its good-faith effort at reaching out to the rightful owners. I think everyone who had a hand in this was all pretty surprised that there were any. At least, they acted surprised. I can’t get a straight answer on how it was overlooked that your uncle and Ms. Sands inherited this property over two decades ago.”

Kale rubbed at his head, crowned by a crop of light brown waves. “You got any info on that place? Demographics? Economic info?”

Felton’s tanned, hard-lined face softened with an easy smile. “I know what you’re getting at and the answer is no. Mullins wouldn’t be suited to any of the kinds of projects you like to sink your teeth into.”

Kale gave his lawyer a begrudging look. “It’s good to know you’re worth what I pay you.” He shook his head while softly laughing before somberness took hold of his voice and expression. “We should see if there’s any truth to this rumor of a developer. If so, I want to find him and make an offer. Unload the property while I can.”

“Kale—”

“If the developer’s a myth, find out who I need to make an offer to in Mullins. I’m pretty sure my uncle wouldn’t have minded.”

“Kale. You can’t do that, man.”

It was rare that Kale heard those words directed at him. While he’d been raised to be humble and appreciative, it was at times difficult to express those qualities. So often, the very nature of his business made the showcasing of such qualities...unnecessary.

At any rate, Kale worked to be a fair-dealing, fair-minded kind of guy. A successful industrialist didn’t become a successful industrialist without earning a respected name.

Still, in spite of all that fairness, humbleness and appreciativeness, Kale struggled with—hell, he despised—being told that he couldn’t do something. In all honesty, he was doing his best to work on that.

Kale could tell from the look on his attorney’s face that the man was getting a kick out of witnessing him in the throes of dealing with that which he despised. Determinedly, he put in place a patient air that was quite obviously a fake.

“So why can’t I do that?” Kale approved of how level his voice sounded.

Felton nodded toward the page he’d given his client. “You own the land. Someone else owns what’s built on it.”

* * *

“Okay, just so we’re clear, are you laughing because this is good news or because you’re pissed? I can never tell with you.”

Davia left her lounge, dregs of laughter still tumbling past the perfect bow that was her mouth. “For future reference, this is my pissed laugh,” she told Bess.

Bess nodded as though she were mentally filing away the information. “Does that mean you know Kale Asante?”

“Know of him.” The words felt like grit on Davia’s tongue. She persevered to deliver more explanation as she went inside.

“The land development world is a small one, once you reach a certain level.” Davia studied the view of the bay from her desk, hoping its calming effects would drench her. “Kale Asante’s name has its own penthouse address there.”

Davia hated the pinched tone she heard in her voice. She wasn’t exactly jealous of Kale Asante’s accomplishments. After all, her name held residence along the same address strip as Kale’s, if for different expertise.

As a cultivator of undervalued properties, Davia had been schooled in the art of recognizing diamonds in the rough from an early age. A product of her aunt’s tutelage, Davia had become a force in the realm of quaint movie theaters. Truth be told, she and Kale Asante orbited different quadrants of the same hemisphere.

There had only been one time when those quadrants had intersected. Regrettably, it had been time enough for Davia to form a none-too-complimentary impression of the well-known industrialist.

* * *

“Of course you know her,” Felton drawled, completely unsurprised as he repacked his briefcase.

“I know of her,” Kale clarified with an easy grin. “I’ve never met her. What?” he queried. Something in Felton’s resulting chuckle had him very curious.

Felton shuffled through his case again and took from it a black folder that he handed to his client.

A long, low whistle drifted past the beckoning curve of Kale’s mouth when he saw the 8x10 color glossy inside. “You are definitely worth every cent I pay you,” he said, his gaze repeatedly scanning the photo that captured the woman’s image from head to toe.

“This is very true.” Felton raised a hand. “Kale Asante, meet Davia Sands.”

Kale understood the man’s amusement. The fact that he of all people had never met the woman in the photo was wrong in so many ways.

“Can’t believe you never bothered to find out what she looked like,” Felton noted absently once he returned to packing his case.

Kale’s deep-set dark brown eyes scanned Davia’s image again. “Our last...interaction wasn’t under the friendliest circumstances,” he said. “It was a rather abstract interaction at best.”

“Business is rarely friendly, my man.” Felton smiled through a grimace.

“Mmm.” Kale took another moment to skim the additional information in the folder before he closed it. “That’s especially true when your adversary thinks you cheated a client to close the deal before she died.”

Felton sealed his case as he looked up at Kale. “Martella Friedman.”

Nodding, Kale shut the folder but set it on an end table instead of returning it to his lawyer.

“Davia Sands was in the running for the theater that inspired the lobby for my last multiplex. Seems I bought it right out from under her.”

Groaning, Felton flopped back against the black suede sofa he occupied and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “So...Davia Sands hates your guts and you’re now fifty-fifty owners of an inherited property.”

Kale settled against the back of an opposing sofa. Folding his arms over a well-defined chest, he appreciated the view of the Atlantic beyond his balcony. “That about sums it up.” He sighed.

“So, should I tell Sully to get the jet gassed up for Iowa?” Felton asked, still massaging his eyes.

Kale took the black folder from the end table, thumbed through it again. “Actually...I’ve got another stop in mind.”