Page 109 of Save the Date
She charged around the screen. Directly behind it was an informal seating area, with a pair of low white leather tufted sofas facing each other across from a chunky Lucite coffee table.
Behind that Cara saw six workstations, occupied by designers clad in signature black CK Design T-shirts, who were busily assembling what looked like enough extravagant flower arrangements to fill Savannah’s largest cathedral.
She kept going. At the back of the open space she spied a glass-enclosed office. Cullen Kane sat at another midcentury modern desk. He was on the phone, his back turned away from the workroom, so he never even saw her coming.
Cara yanked the door of his office open. He spun around in his chair. “I’ve got to go,” he told his caller. “We’ll talk later.”
Kane hung up the phone. If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. “Hi there. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“We need to talk,” Cara hissed.
“Love to,” Kane said. He gestured to the chair facing his desk. “Please sit. Can I get you something to drink? What would you like? Perrier, some champagne? I’ll get Bert to bring us something.”
Cara bristled. “Nothing. I want nothing from you. Except my life back.”
“Oh, please.” Kane gave an airy wave. “You’re upset that I bought your building?”
“Bought it out from under me,” Cara said. Her face felt stiff and unnatural, and the anger, fizzing just below the surface, felt like a fast-moving rash. “To put me out of business.”
“Not at all,” he said pleasantly. “This was a good investment. That’s all. What? You think I’ve cooked up some grand conspiracy against you?”
“Haven’t you? You spread nasty rumors around town about my finances. You buy my building and then start sending contractors over to look at it—while I’m still living there. You poison my employee’s relationship toward me.…”
Kane leaned back in his chair and studied her thoughtfully. “How long have you been harboring these paranoid delusions of yours? Really, Cara. First of all, yes, I bought your building. Jones Street is the most beautiful street in the historic district, and your block is one of the most desirable. I would have been crazy to pass it up.”
“You don’t need another shop,” Cara cried. “This place has four times the space Bloom has. You’ve obviously spent a fortune redoing this. You’ve got parking, location, everything.”
He shrugged. “I happen to like your building. It’s quaint. I like real estate, and it was a good buy.”
“It’s a dump and you know it. The Bradleys haven’t spent one nickel on it in probably twenty years.”
“I know. That’s what makes it so delicious. The possibilities are endless.”
Cara swallowed the bile rising up in her throat. Swallowed her pride. “I want to stay in my building. I want a new lease. So. How much?”
“No telling,” he said lightly. “You’ve turned away the two contractors I sent over there to get estimates.”
“You walked the building before you signed the contract with Sylvia. While I was gone. You went through it, went through my apartment. And you didn’t even have the decency to ask my permission.”
“Your landlord isn’t obligated to ask for your permission to show the property. You don’t even have a lease.”
“How much?” Cara persisted. “I want to stay in my building. I don’t want to move.”
“Sorry. That’s impossible. I’m planning a total restoration. Down to the studs. New roof, all new electric, plumbing, HVAC. After I’m done, well, we both know you won’t be able to afford to stay.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” Cara could hear her own breaths, coming fast and shallow. Was she about to hyperventilate?
He leaned across the desk. She could see the bleached blond highlights in his hair, the ghost of five-o’clock shadow on his cheeks. The skin over his cheeks and forehead was pulled unnaturally taut. Maybe he and Patricia Trapnell shared the same surgeon. He wore some kind of gold medallion on a fine chain around his neck. This close, she could see that he wore blue-tinted contacts.
“You’re not listening to me,” he said, his voice low and deadly serious. “You have two weeks to vacate the premises. You and your dog and the rest of your stuff? I want all of it out of there. Two weeks. If you’re not gone, I call the sheriff.”
Cara rocked backward on her heels, singed by the intensity of his animosity toward her.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Kane’s phone rang. He picked it up immediately. “Cullen Kane,” he said smoothly. He looked over at Cara—his glance telegraphing just what an insignificant nuisance he regarded her as.
“It’s nothing personal.” He swiveled his chair around so that she was facing his back.
