Читать книгу Winning Her Forever - Harmony Evans - Страница 13
ОглавлениеTrent groaned aloud as he pulled into the parking lot, wishing he could turn around and go somewhere he really wanted to be.
He drove past his reserved spot in the front of the two-story glass-walled building, a contemporary 1980s monstrosity that housed their multi-million dollar construction and real-estate business. He didn’t like his family to see when he arrived, and he preferred to leave without notice.
He waved to a barista smoking a cigarette as he parked his pickup truck in the back of the building.
The family rented out the first floor to an independent coffee shop, and their offices were on the second floor.
They also owned and leased space in two equally large office buildings of the same contemporary style on either side.
He stayed away from the office as much as he could, but every week he had to attend a staff meeting.
Even though it was the middle of the morning, Trent grabbed an espresso before taking the elevator to the second floor. He’d rather be at the other end of a dental drill than at the weekly staff meeting or, even better, spending time with Sonya.
Trent chuckled to himself, and could hardly believe he was actually looking forward to teaching the home repair class, rather than dreading it.
He was still smiling as he pulled open the glass doors to the office. His brother, who was chatting with the receptionist, shot Trent a look of disdain.
“Couldn’t you have changed your shoes before coming to the office?”
Trent glanced down at his muddy construction boots.
“I wanted to install a shower in the office, but you decided you needed your own personal bathroom with a full-length mirror and a jetted tub.”
Steve spread his arms and grinned. “I’m here in the office so much it’s practically my second home. Too bad I can’t say the same for you. Where have you been? I was trying to reach you all night.”
“I was busy having a life. You could take notes from me.”
Steve was older than Trent by two years, but he’d been blessed with a baby face complemented by dark caramel skin, which made him scorned by most men and desired by many women. It was his job to scout and acquire land for custom-home projects. On the side, he bought foreclosed and distressed properties for rehabbing and reselling, which fueled his habit for designer clothes, luxury cars and lavish vacations around the world.
“Ha ha. But seriously, I need you to hop on a plane to New Mexico.”
Trent almost spit out his coffee. “What? Are you nuts?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t know that we’re planning on expanding our portfolio to Albuquerque. I need you to go there and look at a plot of land.”
“Sorry, no can do.”
“Why not?”
“First of all, you know I can’t stand flying. Second, I would never leave my projects halfway done, and last, I’ve got a class to teach.”
“What class?”
Trent shot him a look, and Steve rolled his eyes.
“Oh, that one. Can’t you skip it?”
“Like you did? Not a chance.”
Steve patted him on the back. “I knew you could handle it, little bro.”
They walked into the conference room where Lawrence and Agnes Waterson were already seated at opposite heads of the table.
His father was on a phone call, so Trent just shook his hand, and then he walked to the other end of the table to reach his mother.
He kissed her on the cheek. “Hello, Mom. Sorry I’m late.”
Agnes Waterson, from whom he’d inherited his dark honey complexion, had just turned fifty and was an important balance of reason and influence in her testosterone-heavy clan. The petite self-ascribed people person enjoyed serving others in her role as director of marketing and human resources. She loved to spruce up the company’s headquarter offices.
She returned a warm smile. “Good to see you. I heard you and your brother talking outside.”
“Yes, he was asking me to fly, and he knows I hate to fly, and besides, I don’t have the time.”
“Come on, Mother,” Steve cut in. “Even though I’m the first born, you always loved Trent more and thought he was a perfect little angel. He’s got to have wings hiding underneath all that muscle somewhere.”
“I love you both equally.”
She got up to straighten one of the framed renderings of the developments that hung on the walls. “There’s fresh coffee and muffins if you’re hungry.”
Trent stepped over to the antique mahogany sideboard that Agnes had insisted be put into the conference room to lend the room an air of elegance.
Of course, Steve was already there, munching on the last banana muffin, which he knew was Trent’s favorite. He settled for pumpkin, but only because he was really hungry.
Lawrence ended the conference call with an audible huff and a growl. He put his palms facedown on the table, as if he were about to stand up. Trent had long learned that was a habit, something his father did to steady himself after a difficult conversation. As president and CEO of Waterson Builders, he had plenty of those every day.
At six foot four, he towered over both of his sons and his wife, but never used his stature as a point of intimidation. It was when he stroked his neatly groomed salt-and-pepper beard that they all knew to brace themselves—not for yelling or screaming, but for tough questions. The company that he’d founded was his baby and he would do anything to protect its interests.
“What are you two boys squabbling about now?”
“Angel’s wings, Dad,” Steve said jokingly as he pulled out his chair and sat down.
“Here’s something that’s not very funny,” his mother said. “Have you read the latest editorials in the Bay Point Courier? That’s the first topic on our agenda today.”
“No, and I don’t want to hear it,” Trent’s father said, and Steve agreed with a nod.
Agnes threw up her hands in disgust. “You two are as stubborn as mules.”
Trent sat down and began to thumb through the paper in front of him. “What’s going on, Mom?”
“Backlash galore,” she replied with a huge huff of a breath. “Everyone is complaining that our homes are too expensive, and out of reach for the average income-earning person.”
“I don’t know what the problem is,” Steve muttered, placing his paper to the side. “Luxury homes are our business. We’re not any different from any other company that services high-net-worth customers.”
“I agree with Steve. We’ve been successful for over twenty years because our customers are overjoyed with their homes.”
“There’s even an editorial from Mayor Langston,” Trent said, scanning the page. “He thinks it’s our civic responsibility to build affordable housing. I’m actually surprised we haven’t been called out before this.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” his father demanded with a slam of his fist on the table.
Trent’s tone was grim. “The luxury townhomes and apartments downtown that were built during the period of revitalization can only be afforded by the wealthy. They’re out of reach for many longtime residents of Bay Point.”
“We’re a private company, not a public institution. We are only accountable to ourselves and our customers,” Steve piped in.
“Don’t forget the hundreds of people we employ every day in Bay Point and other cities in the region,” his mother added. “We play an important role in the local economy.”
