Ambushed by M.E. McAndrews
Chapter 2
Austin Blackwater
the stuffy conference room.
My eyes linger on the faces of the board members as I watch my assistant, Henry, continue his presentation of the project. The exasperated looks in their eyes, and the lines of tension and worry on their faces, contradict the stoic and confident postures of my top executives. I hate board of director meetings.
I try stifling my rising nerves. There’s too much on the line here, and I can’t risk a fuck up. If this fails, it’ll be over. Everything I’ve invested will be ruined. It will be for nothing.
They're all waiting. They want to know what the hell to tell the investors.
But I don't have an answer. Not yet.
I adjust my position in the black leather chair, drumming my fingers on the shiny polished mahogany table.
The atmosphere here is one of power and success. My company's logo is emblazoned on the wall behind me, a symbol of the empire I've built, and the weight of the responsibility that rests on my shoulders.
My team listens attentively, taking notes and asking questions.
“Have the property owners given us their answer?” Mrs. Stark interrupts Henry's speech. Her black bob swishes around her high cheek bones as she turns to face me directly. It's too bad she's so damn smart, otherwise she'd have been one hell of a model. A frown pulls on her lips.
“Mr. Blackwater?”
I lean forward.
“Well, I always say, when it comes to negotiation, everyone has their price.” My words are an attempt to lighten the mood, but deep down, I know it's not always a matter of money. Sometimes, it's more a matter of will.
Stark is unamused. But before she can push further, Henry jumps in as if he’s born to do so.
“Well said, Mr. Blackwater. If everyone could please turn to page twenty-three on the report, I can go over the highlighted points.”
My guardian angel. He keeps the discussion flowing with his cocksureness and the details of the development plans. Mrs. Stark can’t find the right time to interject.
I try to listen, but I can't focus. When I picture the property, my mind keeps drifting to the owners of 559 Springer Mountain Road. Seth is an unkempt man with a chip on his shoulder. My hands curl into tight fists, thinking about him. He's clearly struggling and seems to take out his frustrations on his wife, Olivia. He's a coward.
I can't shake her defiance, her refusal to sell. It's a challenge, and I can't help but wonder if she's a worthy adversary. She's one hell of a firecracker, a real spitfire, and there's no question she's beautiful. Her chestnut brown hair is slightly wavy and falls just past her shoulders, framing her face. Her piercing hazel eyes sparkle when she glares at me, and her curves-damn those curves-are emphasized by her tight-fitting jeans and the body sculpting T-shirts she wears, hugging her figure in all the right places.
Too bad she’s married. Which is a moot point. She hates my guts.
I’d bet she thinks I’m some snobby, rich fuck. Sure, I'm wealthy and powerful, but I'm not some asshole snob or dictator who rules his domain with a fat fist and an icy heart. I don't go around ruining people’s lives.
Or do I?
I don't ruin lives.
Do I?
Memories of the past come flooding back into my head, and I close my eyes, wincing as the images flash in front of my mind's eye like a flickering silent movie.
“Mr. Blackwater… What do you think?”
Henry’s voice startles me from the images of the past, and my thoughts of Olivia. I turn to look around the table, realizing they are all staring at me.
“It sounds like you’ve got it covered,” I say flatly, not knowing exactly what the question is that I’m answering.
“Except for the matter of the owners. We won’t have luxury villas to sell if we don't get her hundred acres. You can say goodbye to Springer Mountain Phase Two.” Mrs. Stark's voice breaks through the conference room.
Damn it. Just drop it.
“I'll handle them.” My tone is direct and sharp. It's the polite way of telling her to shut the hell up.
Mrs. Stark stares at me for a few moments, the air thick. Then she nods and offers me a tight-lipped smile before turning back to her notes. “Without phase two, we’ll never recoup the infrastructure investments you were so insistent on sinking into the first phase.”
She’s not finished with me. So be it. I’ll be happy to speak with her in private. Henry answers the rest of the questions as we wrap up the meeting.
“Thank you all for coming,” I say as I stand from my leather chair and gather my papers. “Let's stay connected as we move forward with this project.”
The board members rise and shake my hand, murmuring polite goodbyes. I look them each in the eye, giving them one last nod before they turn and head out of the room. They’re disappointed. I am as well, but hopefully, seeing the potential profits is some sort of relief. It’s all I can give them right now.
After the room empties, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, letting my shoulders relax for the first time since the start of the meeting.
I walk out of the boardroom and down the hallway toward my office, and as I reach for the door handle, I’m startled by a voice behind me.
“You did well today,” Mrs. Stark says from down the hallway. It’s an obvious lie. She moves to stand in front of me, arms crossed, her gaze unyielding.
“Thank you.” I give her an appreciative nod.
She steps forward with her hands clasped in front of her—her body language making it clear she has something else to say.
“I understand your passion for this project,” she begins, her tone softer than before, “but take care not to let it cloud your judgment when dealing with 559.”
“What are you asking of me?” I say, letting the question hang in the air between us.
“I heard the rumors.”
“Yes,” I say. “There are rumors.”
“Rumors arise from truth.”
“What the hell are you getting at?”
“I think we need to be more straightforward.” She pauses. “Make sure the Williamses fully comprehend the consequences of not selling.”
“I understand what needs to be done.” I lean forward, glowering at Mrs. Stark. “I assure you; they will sell.”
“We don't have time to play your games with those folks, Austin.”
I turn and open my office door. I'm done with this conversation. She has her methods, and I have mine.
“Who said anything about games?” I shut the office door behind me before she can answer.
My office is small, but cozy—a six-foot desk sits in one corner and two armchairs face each other across from it. A floor-to-ceiling window takes up most of one wall, letting in natural light that bathes the room in warmth and brightness.
I sink into the chair behind my desk. God, I have a headache. There's a bottle of ibuprofen tucked in the top drawer. I pop two on my tongue and chase them with a swig of water.
A light tapping comes from my door.
Henry.
“Come on in.”
Henry is a lanky man with thick-rimmed glasses, always impeccably dressed in a tailored suit and freshly shined shoes. Despite his unassuming appearance, he's one of the smartest and most capable men I've ever worked with. He's sharp, analytical, and usually two steps ahead of everyone else in the room, including me.
“Well, that could have gone better,” he says, running a hand through his thick curls.
“Stark's just got it out for me.”
“She's an excellent judge of character.”
“Don't sound so proud of yourself.”
He smiles with a shrug. “You needed to hear it. It's not your fault, but that woman has some sort of vendetta against you.”
“I know.” I shift in my chair, my body aching now that I've relaxed enough to notice. “I just don't understand why she hates me so much.”
“I'm not sure she hates you. She cares about the company and sees that something's got you rattled. Awareness is the first step, I guess.”
“Come on, Henry. She thinks I've got something to hide.”
“She's right. You do. We all do.”
“Yeah.” I lean back in my chair and sigh. “That we do.”
“Look,” he says, pulling the armchair close to the side of my desk. “We've had these investors on our back for months now. They're pressing us, goddamn it. And now you want to take this property and put those people out of their homes. That's going to make things even worse.”
“Our plan to coordinate directly with the Williams’s bank won’t work as long as they are making their mortgage payments. And the angle we’ve been working with the County Commissioner only plays out if they’re unable to pay the property taxes.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, waiting for those pain killers to kick in. My frustration with this damn couple is growing beyond my limits. How the hell can they say no to our very generous offers?
“There's always a choice. It's just a matter of which one you want to take.” He hands me the yellow envelope tucked under his arm.
“Here. Elliot brought these for you. The file on the Williamses.”
I tear open the seal and thumb through the stack of papers.
I can't help but feel a twinge of emotion as I read through the details of their lives. Maybe it’s pity. Or perhaps disgust at their weakness. But mostly, I sense a strange amount of determination in them. They've been through a lot together, but it’s inconceivable that they’ll be able to beat the debt they inherited with the house. If not the mortgage, then the taxes. One of those, if not both, will end up forcing them out. I feel a bit sorry for them.
But no amount of pity can change the fact that I can't let a couple of losers stand in the way of my success. I’ve come too far, sacrificed too much, to let this opportunity get away. I look up at Henry, who is watching me intently. “We'll find a way to make them sell,” I say, my voice cold and hard.
“The stress is getting to you.”
“I'm fine.”
Henry leans back in the chair, playing with his sleeves.
“Take a week off. Relax. Go on a date or two.”
“Henry, I appreciate the suggestion, but I'm not in the mood for any distractions right now. I've got a lot on my plate,” I say, glancing down at the file in my hands. “Besides, I've learned my lesson when it comes to women.”
“You can't keep working twenty-four seven. You need to take a break, and I’m not talking about those wild parties you’ve been throwing. It's not healthy.”
“I'll take a break when this deal is done and the Williams's property is mine,” I reply, my tone firm. “I won't let my company fail because of one stubborn couple.”
“Fine,” Henry says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Just don't forget to take care of yourself, too.”
“I'll keep that in mind.” I return my attention back to the file as he gets up to leave, and my dull headache returns.
With over three hundred million on the line, I'm running out of options.