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.”
“So, how about we set the meeting with Sorrells and his guys for the twenty-sixth? Yeah, I’m not thrilled about it, either, but I may be out of town for the next few days, maybe longer...” Davia frowned over the contents of a folder as she entered the lobby in reading mode. Meanwhile, her crew chief’s voice filled the earpiece of the headset she sported.
Davia smiled, having caught her receptionist’s frantic wave across the room. Laughing softly, she turned her focus back to her call with Curtis Wilkes.
“Curt? I need to go, but I’ll be in touch before
