“So there’s…” She paused, gulped and looked up at me more steadily. “There’s no chance of it happening again?”
Ugh, not this again.
“I’m sorry Justine, but no,” I answered, trying to sound sympathetic but firm. “What happened was a mistake. A lapse in judgment. I should have been professional and I wasn’t. But I won’t make that mistake again going forward.”
“Oh.”
Her eyes dropped to her keyboard again.
“Okay.”
Not wanting to drag this out and make it awkward, I turned and started toward the elevator that would bring me up to the helipad.
“Again, no hard feelings if it makes you uncomfortable,” I called out over my shoulder.
When I stepped into the elevator and the door finally closed, I exhaled loudly and muttered curses as the sleek metal box carried me upward.
“Fucking shit,” I breathed, tapping my fist on the wall in frustration.
There had to be some women out there who just saw a good fuck for what it was worth, right? None of this only being with each other, falling in love bullshit. It was easy enough before I had any money but now that I owned half of the commercial real estate in California, women wanted to sink their claws into me for as long as they could.
Too bad nothing could hold me down. Not even a diamond-encrusted pussy that tasted like Scotch.
Life was too short to bind yourself to one person. I learned that before I had a cent to my name.
***
The helicopter ride from San Francisco to Cloverville was short and scenic. I helped myself to another espresso from the onboard machine as the morning sun rays bathed the hills in warm, golden light.
I was going to need the energy if I kept getting called out to job sites to put out fires like these. Sometimes I wondered why I even hired managers.
Kenny touched us down right next to the job site, a wide clearing tucked right up against the Solano Hills that would soon be home to Cloverville's newest neighborhood. We had several housing developments planned, retail and grocery stores, a gym, and even more commercial space for local businesses to move into.
The site bordered on the apple orchard of a scenic produce farm, the owner of which I assumed was the one causing trouble.
My people stood around watching as the helicopter landed, machinery untouched and unmoving.
Tell me again what I pay you people for.
Jose made a beeline toward the helicopter as I stepped out of the cabin. Following right on his heels was a snarling dog and an angry-looking woman.
"This is the person I called you about," Jose said through gritted teeth.
I straightened the lapels on my suit jacket and offered my hand and a smile to the woman who looked like she wanted to send her dog straight for my throat.
"Reagan Sells at your service," I offered.
"A helicopter, really?" she sneered in a bitchy tone. "Who are you, James Bond?"
"I just told you who I was," I answered, keeping the charm in my voice. "It's only good manners that you do the same."
"Look, it doesn't matter," she carried on, ignoring my hand and introduction. "You need to tell your people to leave. This property is mine. You're all trespassing. How many times do I have to say it?"
I didn't respond right away but took a moment to really look at the riled up woman standing before me.
Not many women, or people for that matter, looked attractive when they were truly as angry as this. I could practically see the smoke coming from her ears and nostrils.
But my dick was also rising to express its approval, which rarely happened around angry women.
She was tall on shapely, muscular legs that looked like they belonged on a soccer player, though she still stood comfortably under my six feet and four inches.
Chestnut brown hair swept around the dark, warm eyes that dared to challenge me. She had a young, petite face despite her bronzed skin darkened from years in the sun. A big, curvaceous ass and tits that strained heavily against the jacket that held them back completed the ensemble.
She wasn't dolled up in the slightest, rather she looked like she just tumbled out of bed. I wondered if this farm girl ever wore a full face of makeup in her life.
And that made her all the more pleasing to look at.
"Let's try this again like adults," I offered, stepping in closer to her. "I'm Reagan. What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Pepper Sage," she spat out like a curse. "I own this farm and the property it stands on, which includes the ground you're standing on so if you don't mind--"
"The mayor gave us his explicit, written permission, Miss Sage," I said with a raised hand as if placating a child. "We've been talking to the city for nearly a year. Have you read the papers? Seen the local news?"
"I've been a little busy," she shot back through gritted teeth. "Running this damn place and making a living."
I raised an eyebrow in curiosity. From the aerial view in the helicopter, the farm looked to be at least fifty acres. As strong as she looked, there was no way she worked this all by herself.
"In any case, Mayor Stevens made it very clear that the edge of your property is marked by the dirt road going around the farm." I gestured around us with my index finger. "Which means your property line ends just beyond the apple trees."
"That's not true," she hissed. "We've had crops all the way up to the base of the hill before. We just haven't recently because we needed to downsize."
"How about this." I rubbed my hands together, probably enjoying arguing with this woman a lot more than I should. "If you can prove to me the land is yours, I'll buy it from you."
"No."
"No, you won't prove it or no, you won't sell it?"
"Both."
I chuckled and crossed my arms. Stubborn women have always been my favorite.
"Miss Sage, you haven't even heard an offer yet. I'm no appraiser but I'm confident a parcel this size can fetch you-"
"It's not for fucking sale."
Pepper swung her right arm that had been resting at her side up to her chest, where she cocked her shotgun with a sharp click-clack.
My eyes widened as I stepped away from her with my hands raised. Fuck, Jose wasn’t kidding.
“Alright, alright,” I said softly. Thankfully she pointed the thing in the air and not at us. “We’ll leave now and revisit this later. Okay, Pepper?”
“Hmph,” she huffed skeptically. “Try leaving and never coming back.”
“This is a multi-million dollar development project,” I said as I backed away slowly. “It’s not just going to go away.”
I shot her a wink and a smirk. “But maybe we can compromise over dinner.”
She huffed again and turned on the heel of her boot, her dog following behind.
“By the time I’m back in the orchard today, all of you better be gone,” she called over her shoulder and raised her gun in the air to punctuate her point.
Kenny and I had room in the helicopter for one more, so we brought Jose aboard while the rest of their crew piled into their trucks.
“I’ll pay everyone for a full day’s work today,” I told Jose as we situated our headsets. “And every day until we’re actually able to begin construction, whenever that is.”
Jose nodded then promptly shook his head in disbelief as the helicopter lifted into the air.
“The people in this town are fuckin’ crazy, man. I told you.”
“Yeah,” I said absently in agreement, those wild dark eyes cutting sharply through my mind.
But does crazy in the head also mean crazy in bed?
Only one way to find out.
CHAPTER THREE
PEPPER
“Ugh, the fucking nerve of that guy.”
Bonny trotted alongside me and made a snorting sound like she agreed.
I stomped angrily through the orchard back toward the house, casting a cautious glance toward the greenhouse hidden behind the trees. They had no idea it
was there, thank god.
That arrogant fucking prick probably thought the whole world catered to him, I thought as my blood simmered. Just dropping in on a helicopter? Who does that?
I hated everything about him from the moment he stepped out of that thing, from his charming smile that made me blush against my will to the crisp, expensive suit that hugged a body that belonged on a Men’s Health cover. Even through his clothes, I could tell he was fit and I hated that. Even more, I hated that I noticed.
Doesn’t matter, I thought as I stomped through the barn to gather buckets and other harvesting supplies. Hours in the gym doesn’t mean a man is strong enough to do real work from sunup to sundown.
Reagan Sells looked like he never worked a day in his life. Everything came to him with just a snap of his fingers. The disbelief on his face when I refused to sell the land told me that.
With a quick glance at my phone, it looked like most of my seasonal workers would be flaking again. Only Maddy texted me that she and a few of her friends were on their way to help. How was it that freshly graduated high school students were better workers and more reliable than seasoned farm hands? Millennials were supposed to be entitled and lazy, not their parents’ generation.
As I got the supplies ready and spied Maddy’s car approaching in the distance, I forced myself to get my mind off of Reagan Sells’ smirking handsome face and chiseled body. I needed to have plenty of gorgeous organic produce for the downtown farmer’s market tomorrow. That money would decide if I could pay bills for the rest of the week.
“Hey, Pepper!” Maddy called cheerily with a bright smile as she parked her cute Volkswagen Jetta in the driveway next to my truck. That girl always had a sunny disposition, no matter what the weather was or what kind of work she had to do.
“Hey, good news!” she declared as she and three of her friends exited her car. “Dahlia said I don’t have to come into the flower shop until the afternoon, so I can help you out at the market tomorrow.”
“Really?” I said, relief lifting off my shoulders. “I mean, only if you’re sure. The market is over at noon, I’ll be okay if you don’t want to work the whole day.”
“Yeah, totally!” she insisted as she grabbed a bucket and lifted it over her shoulder. “I love both of these jobs. It’s gonna be a long-ass day for you too, getting up at like 3 am regardless.”
“Thanks, Maddy,” I mumbled. “I really appreciate it.”
Forget the flaky workers. Having someone like Maddy was worth at least ten of them.
“No problem!” she chirped. “So what are we picking today?”
“Um, strawberries and hot peppers,” I replied. “We can check the watermelons too, but they may not be ready yet.”
“Apricots and cherries should be ready now too, right?” she asked. “Want us to head to the orchard once we’re done up here?”
“No that’s okay,” I said quickly. “I already got a head start on the fruit tree harvest. I can do the rest.”
No one knew about the greenhouse in the orchard. And no one could, at least not yet.
As busy as we were, inspecting and picking each individual strawberry and habanero pepper was monotonous work. My mind drifted as my hands worked on autopilot to none other than Reagan Sells again.
Damn, why did he have to be just my type too? I was such a sucker for thick dark hair and catlike green eyes. As arrogant as it was, his smile was crooked and a bit quirky too. It wasn’t the fake, veneered Hollywood smile manufactured by cosmetic dentists.
Doesn’t matter. He’s still a rich asshole, I told myself. You can never trust anyone who gets by on nothing but good looks and the size of his bank account.
My mom left my father, left us, for just such a guy, minus the good looks part.
Dad rarely had a dollar to his name but he inherited this rich, fertile farmland, was as strong as an ox, and was an honest man who provided for his family to the best of his ability.
But mom eventually learned that being a farmer’s wife meant becoming a farmer yourself.
If someone didn’t work, that someone wasn’t getting fed. That’s the way it was.
Dad put a child-sized hoe in my hand when I was six years old. I planted, tended, and harvested my first tomato plants that summer.
It’s not like Mom was a spoiled princess like some of the Bay Area tourists we got. I mean, who would work their ass off if they were really given a choice? Mom was attractive for her age and when she had an opportunity, she took it.
I didn’t blame her, in a sense. If I didn’t have to worry about bills and basic necessities, I wouldn’t work from sunup to sundown either.
But she left us, her family, for the first guy who showered her with expensive jewelry and lavish vacations. How could I not be angry about that?
When Dad told me with watery eyes that she wasn’t coming home that night, I didn’t just cry.
I unleashed all my hurt, all my rage at her into his chest, pounding my little fists against his shoulders and making ugly sob sounds into his shirt.
“Let it out, Pepps,” he told me, his gruff voice calm despite being thick with emotion. “Listen to me. This is what’s really important. She’s gone and it hurts, I know. But we’ve got each other. I’m here for you and you’re here for me. Nothing can buy the true bond of a family, you hear me? Not a goddamn thing.
That was just over ten years ago. I was fourteen when she left.
Dad eventually forgave her but I never could.
I never voiced it to anyone, but I had a feeling his cancer diagnosis was one of the reasons she left.
We turned to 100% organic farming as soon as we found out, as his doctors suspected that the pesticides we used caused him to get sick.
Dad got better for a while, but the financial hit that the farm took was massive. Natural pest control methods on our crops were far more expensive and not always as effective. We learned to expect smaller yields and were forced to downsize our production.
But that was life, as Dad would say. Sometimes it was great, other times it took a shit on you for no particular reason. And Mom just couldn’t handle it anymore.
I wondered if she ever thought about us while going on her own stupid helicopter rides and drank champagne from a bottle that cost more than my monthly income-- if she ever regretted leaving her only daughter and the man who loved her to the moon and back.
Fuck, this Reagan Sells guy really drudged up all kinds of mental baggage for me. I really hoped that stunt with the shotgun scared his pompous ass away for good and he’d never come around to bother me again.
CHAPTER FOUR
REAGAN
I've always loved farmer's markets.
They all operated similarly but each one was unique to the town or city that hosts it. The markets were like a sampling of that town's culture, flavors, and residents.
As soon as I began strolling through the Cloverville Farmer's Market that sunny Saturday morning, I knew I made a wise decision to build a new development here.
The small, two-block strip was packed with locals of all ages, browsing through the stalls of produce, buying ice cream or donut holes with their families, clapping along to the old man playing his guitar, or perusing the local businesses with their doors wide open.
I stopped into the local coffee shop to buy an espresso and was surprised to find it comparable with my favorite San Francisco roastery.
Two doors down was a kitschy flower shop with Dahlia's Blooms painted on the window in a golden, flowing script. The doors were open, revealing a bustling crowd of people inside and the entire sidewalk outside the shop was decorated in flower arrangements.
I stepped around them, careful to not disturb anything as I continued exploring.
This road needs to be widened definitely, I thought as I sipped my espresso. And if it gets extended past the dead-end, this market can expand to twice its size. More downtown businesses can go up too.
Try as I might, it was nigh on impossible for me to
not think of new building projects. I was never satisfied. I always wanted more.
That was probably the reason why I could never commit to one woman either.
Just as the thought crossed my mind, my eyes caught a banner that read Sage Organic Produce.
Wait a minute...
Sure enough, the woman behind the stall was none other than Pepper Sage, the dark, brooding beauty who would've been happy to castrate me with her shotgun yesterday had I pushed her buttons any more.
So naturally, the only thing to do was visit her stall and push them a little more.
Looking ever the farmer in her jeans, cowgirl boots, and red flannel shirt, Pepper was busy bagging peppers for customers and didn't see me approach her stall. She smiled as she tucked her hair behind her ear and it was like time slowed down. Her smile was just as gorgeous, if not more, than her pissed off face.
"So are these the sweet peppers or the kind that burn your asshole?" I inquired.
Her eyes snapped over to me and the smile dropped from her face like a rock from the sky.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed.
"What's it look like I'm doing?" I spread my hands. "Perusing the local farmer's market and in the mood for some curry tonight so I need some peppers."
Her glare was sexy. My dick stirred in response. I had a feeling she left her trusty shotgun at home, so I felt safer about testing her more this time.
"These little red ones?" she held up a pepper by the stem. "They're ghost chilis. One of the hottest peppers in the world. Eating them raw will burn a hole through your stomach. You shouldn't even touch them with your bare hands."
"I see," I observed, not taking my eyes away from her face. "So what would be the best way to handle a pepper like that? Give it time to mellow out? Serenade it with sweet words?"
My teasing was not lost on her. She narrowed her eyes menacingly at me and I'm sure she wished she had her trusty shotgun then.
"You can't," she said in a surprisingly calm tone. "You can either handle the heat or you'll get burned up from the inside."
Cocked and Loaded: A Billionaire Romance (Small Town Bad Boys Book 4) Page 2
