“You don’t waste time getting to the point, do you?” He stared at her as though not quite sure what to make of her.
“These days I don’t have time to waste.”
“In that we have something in common.”
She honestly didn’t see where they had anything in common. She lived in a modest apartment while he sat here in one of the finest buildings in Manhattan—a building she’d heard he owned. And yet he longed for another building—a bigger one—a new one. No, they had no common ground.
“I doubt we have anything in common,” she said.
Interest flared in his eyes. “Is that a challenge?”
A challenge? “No. It’s a fact.”
His gaze narrowed. “Do you know how much time and effort goes into running a business of this size?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so or you wouldn’t say something so careless.”
She paused for just a moment, letting things settle. “I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t work hard.”
“It certainly sounded like it.”
She shook her head. This conversation had gotten off track. “Maybe we should get back to the reason I’m here.”
His jaw visibly tightened as a tense silence filled the air. Then he nodded. “If you think that by us having this meeting means I’ll change my mind about the fate of the Stirling, it isn’t going to happen.”
She didn’t like that he could read her thoughts. She let his words hang in the air without a response. And then she once more asked, “Why do you have to tear down the Stirling?”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but my company already owns some of the surrounding properties.”
“So you figured why not buy more and level the place?”
“It’s a matter of using assets to their full value.”
As she looked at him, she noticed there was something else in his eyes. Was that sorrow? Or perhaps regret? She couldn’t be certain.
And what did he mean by their full value? She considered asking for clarification, but she already knew enough about him to realize he wouldn’t be very forthcoming.
Just then the server returned with crystal stemware filled with shaved ice topped with a half dozen jumbo shrimp, a lemon wedge and cocktail sauce. It wasn’t until it was in front of her that she realized she hadn’t stopped to eat since that morning.
And then the rumble of her stomach filled the air. The heat of embarrassment swirled in her and rushed to her face, setting her cheeks on fire. She hesitated to eat, even if her mouth watered just looking at the food.
“Go ahead.” Graham unfolded his white linen napkin. “Eat.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. She was so hungry she could have woofed down the appetizer in no time, but she mustered her restraint, not wanting to give Graham a bad impression of her.
Between courses, Graham said, “Why are you fighting so hard to save an old building? That place quite honestly could use some updati
ng.”
Her mouth opened but her mind was unable to keep up with her rapidly firing fragments of outrage. She pressed her lips together as she formulated a cohesive response. “It’s more than an old building. And what you might call flaws, I call charm.”
“I know it’s your home now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make a home somewhere else.”
Before she could respond, their salads and fresh baked bread were served. They quietly ate but all the while her mind was spinning so much so that she didn’t even notice what she was eating.
She had to convince Graham that the Stirling was so much more than brick and mortar. But how? And why would he think that homes were so easily interchangeable? Was that the way all rich people thought?