Turn Over

I smiled wickedly. “And a lot of them.”

“You’re completely impossible, Mason.”

I clutched the pages in my hand and walked toward the door. “Tell Grey I’ll grab a beer with him before I leave.”

She sighed. “Pete’s tonight for drinks?”

“Sounds good. Meet you two there.”

I shoved the glass door open. Today was going to be a good day. I had a new multi-million dollar project within reach again. That always made me happy.

I punched in Mark’s number on my way up the stairs.

“Yes, sir?”

“Go ahead and get the proposal started for the Cove bid. I’ll call back in a few minutes with hard numbers. Also, put in a call with our broker and tell them I want Barbara Haskins at the table. She’s the best.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else?”

“Wait for me to call.”

I hung up. I needed to take a shower and get dressed. I had a lunch meeting at noon with one of the commissioners to talk about my high-rise. It was critical to make sure the political climate in Padre was warm enough for the idea. I wasn’t about to spend millions if I couldn’t produce what I wanted.

I pulled a crisp white shirt from the closet. I had started leaving more clothes here each time I breezed into town. I was waiting for Eden to tell me this condo had sold and I needed to pack my closet full of stuff, but so far the priciest one in the mix hadn’t sold. It would happen. There were only five units still on the market.

I rinsed off and grabbed a towel from the rack. I wrapped it around my waist and walked to the kitchen. The Cove numbers were spread across the bar. If I was right about this, it could be my most lucrative beach project to date.

I jotted down a few figures and did some quick math. There was no way I wasn’t going to throw my name in the ring for this one. I had been watching the island real estate for months. The timing was right. I pulled out my phone.

“Mark, I’m sending over my instructions. Put the numbers in exactly as I have them. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. I can do that. I’ll call you when I get the bid together.”

“Did you get in touch with the broker?”

“Yes. Barbara is on her way to South Padre now.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be waiting.”

I typed out my email to Mark and hit send.

A few minutes later I closed the condominium door behind me, spun the combination on the lock, and jogged down the stairs. If it wasn’t so damn hot I would pull the top back on my car, but this was an AC day—a scorcher even by Texas standards. I cranked the engine and peeled out of the parking lot. I wanted to run by the trailer park before lunch.

I slammed the car door behind me and stepped onto the gravel. This was one rundown trailer park, but I smiled knowing I was standing on a goldmine.

Half the campers were rusted from years of salty winds. Weeds struggled to grow through the sand. The picnic tables under the pavilion had more splinters than smooth spots. It looked like there used to be a swing set next to the charcoal grills, but all that was left was a cracked yellow slide. It was a dump.

This little tract of land was at the opposite end of the island from where the Palm stood. It was littered with trailers, campers, and dissembled Jeeps. Beach towels blew on a clothesline rigged between two boats. I walked toward the dunes.

I could see it. This was going to be the Texas beach resort destination. It wouldn’t be like the others on the island, shuttling college kids in and out through a revolving door. It would have year-round high occupancy numbers. A spa. A five-star restaurant. I would develop it and after a year of being the premiere vacation spot I would sell it at the top of the market. Yes, this was going to be the deal of a lifetime.

I heard a throat clear behind me.

“Ehhem.”

I turned to see a girl trying to tie brunette locks back into place. The wind was fierce at this end of the island. She stopped fidgeting with her hair clip and sunglasses.

“I’m looking for Arnie Cratchett. Do you know where he lives?” She pulled on the shoulder strap of her bag as if it gave her extra support. “I’ve knocked on at least ten doors.”