Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
"Get out," I growl, shoving my hands into my pockets before I do something crazy. I'd much rather read about someone burying bodies than do it myself, thank you very much. But I might just make an exception for Lincoln Hanover.
"And shove your checkbook where the sun doesn't shine!" Jazz calls to him.
Lincoln just chuckles, winks at me, and then strolls out like he didn't just drop a bomb right in the middle of my dream and then watch it detonate.
There's evil…and then there's Lincoln Hanover.
Who knew the devil would look so damn good in expensive Italian silk?
Chapter Two
Lincoln
Ilinger outside of Book of Love for a long moment, trying to calm my racing heart and will my dick to stand down. The hard bastard is relentless. It's odd. He never takes an interest in anything, but as soon as he saw Lilah Davis, he stood at attention like he was trying to salute her.
I don't really blame him. She's stunning, with wild cornflower blue eyes, a heart-shaped face, and lips I'm dying to taste. The way her jeans molded to her ass will be playing in my dreams tonight. So will the hard little nipples she thought she could hide behind crossed arms and hostility.
I almost regret buying her building out from underneath her. Almost. But downtown Santa Maria is dying. Aside from quirky little shops like hers, a few bars, and random offices, there's nothing left to hold the area together. It's not walkable. It's not attractive. The largest buildings have been vacant for years. Those that are in use are old and riddled with problems. Frankly, it's a shitshow that'll be a ghost town in the next few years without significant improvements.
I'm the improvement. The city hired Hanover Group to revitalize the area. By the time we're finished, downtown will be a hub of activity, generating millions in revenue each year. But I need Lilah's building to do it. It's right in the center of the block that will soon house a four-floor apartment complex.
If she wants to chain herself to something, my bed is an option.
"Jesus Christ," I mutter, shaking my head like that'll dislodge the thought. Spoiler Alert: It doesn't. Her fiery attitude should piss me off. No one talks to me the way she did. They're too goddamn scared to tell me what they really think about me and my company. When you have as much power as I do, no one ever steps out of line. They lack the balls to do it.
Not Lilah. Listening to her insult me didn't piss me off at all. In fact, it had the exact opposite effect. The more she talked, the more I wanted to bend her over the purple sofa in her store. I bet she'd be a little hellcat in bed.
Not that I'll ever find out. If she didn't hate me to begin with, she definitely does now.
I mutter a curse, stomping toward the blacked-out SUV waiting for me on the curb.
Jackson Foster turns to me as soon as I slide into the passenger seat, one brow arched. "How'd it go?"
"Fine," I lie, flicking a look back at the store. Lilah's standing in the window, glowering at the SUV like she wants to set it on fire. Or maybe it's me she wants to set on fire. Fuck. "I need you to look into the owner, Lilah Davis. Find out everything you can."
"Any particular reason?" Jackson asks, pulling away from the curb.
"She's going to put up a fight."
"Ah." His lips curve into an amused smirk. "It's been a while since anyone tried that."
I grunt instead of responding, but he's right. Aside from the usual protests and complaints that always come when we're hired to make improvements, it has been a while since anyone actually fought us. Most people don't bother. If you throw enough money at a problem, it stops being a problem. Even those who don't want to sell usually roll over when the price is right.
Her landlord certainly jumped at my offer. If they didn't have an agreement that gives her the right of first refusal, Gary Brady would have happily kicked her to the curb to take my money. The prick had dollar signs in his eyes like some fucking cartoon character when I made the offer. The building isn't worth what I'm willing to pay. But the block will be worth fifty times that when I'm finished.
"You want to bury her?" Jackson asks.
"No," I growl, a little too quickly. His brows climb. Shit. "I just want to know her story. Who she is, where she came from, her family." I pause. "Who she's associated with."
"Right," he says, smirking. "And by associated with, I assume you mean, you want to know who she's fucking."
I shoot him a dark look, but he just chuckles in response, unbothered. Nothing ever gets to Jackson. He's been my right-hand man since I started Hanover Group. We roomed together all four years at UCLA. In the beginning, we were just two broke scholarship kids, surviving on Ramen and dreams.