“I’m not flaking out. I just don’t want to give up control to a bunch of investors.”
“Wasn’t that the whole idea? Let someone else front the cash so you can work on this thing?”
“It was,” he said when they reached the lobby. “But once I do that, it’s no longer mine. It’s theirs. I’m just the guy who’s putting it together. I do all the hard work, they reap all the benefit.”
“I don’t get you, Fargo.”
“Nothing to get.” He pushed open the heavy glass door, striding out into the parking lot, Blake on his heels. “I’m going to fund it myself.”
“How?”
“I’ve got that empty lot at Goldfish Point. How much can I get for that?”
“Are you kidding? I could sell it tomorrow for double what you paid.”
“Do it. Doesn’t get much easier than that.”
Blake halted in his tracks. “Wait. What about Remi? And the house?”
“Not in the cards,” he said without stopping. “Might as well put the money to good use. Funding my laser.”
“Exactly where are you planning to do this?” Blake asked, catching up with him. “I love you like a brother, but I really need my office back.”
Sam opened the door of his Jeep, tossing the portfolios he’d prepared onto the passenger seat. Sliding in behind the wheel, he looked over at his friend. “The quicker you sell it, the faster I’m out of your hair. And your office.”
“You’re really going to leave?”
He thought about that last text from Remi. No hint of a future together. “Can’t think of one good reason to stay.”
“And go where?”
Until that moment, he hadn’t really given it much thought beyond that he couldn’t stay here. There were too many reminders of Remi. “DARPA wants me back. I think I’ll give it a go.”
Blake stood in the way, preventing Sam from closing the car door. “Forget I said anything about my office. Take as much time as you want.”
“Can you sell the lot or not?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“Let me know when it’s done.” He pulled the door closed, then drove off.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Miss Longstreet, Olivia on line two.”
Remi glanced up at Marla, the blond-haired receptionist standing in the entry of her cubicle. Olivia, no doubt, was calling about the dinner party tomorrow. Covering the mouthpiece of her headset, she whispered, “Tell her I’ll call her back.”
The young woman gave her a thumbs-up, then left.
“Lo siento, Señor Gonzales,” Remi said into the mic. “¿Por favor repita eso?” She listened while he repeated the order, double-checking the invoice to make sure the shipment was as he’d requested. Satisfied that Mr. Gonzales had everything he needed, she thanked him, then disconnected.
Leaning back in her chair, she looked around her cubicle, which, after her time away in Greece, seemed so gray and claustrophobic. As much as she loved the people she worked with, each nine-to-five day felt like a lifetime—and this after only two weeks back.
With a sigh, she started to pull off her headset, when the phone line lit up. Olivia was clearly impatient. She pressed the button. “Don’t forget to pick up the cake. Wear something nice. Your brother will be there. I know. I know.”
There was a second or two of empty air, then, “Remi? It’s Sam.”
“Oh . . . Sam.”