Page 10 of Best Laid Plans

"Mr. Larue, let's keep our conversation to the project at hand." She loosened her hold on her table and straightened. She was back in control. "Can you give me a brief outline of what you're thinking about? I will, of course, get all the written material from your assistant, but hearing your vision will be helpful in grounding me."

I didn't like how she appeared to have such a strong command of her emotions. That was not the woman I remembered. The young girl I knew wore her heart on her sleeve…but then again, maybe she didn't. That had all been an act, and this was the real Nova. I'd fallen in love with an apparition, not an actual, flesh-and-blood woman.

"My hope is that a high-end luxury project like Sentinel Heights can turn Sentinel into a resort town, helping to bring much-needed money and funds to the town." I walked to a chair and sat. "We want to offer fabulous views of the Blue Ridge Mountains and Chattahoochee River from the resort. Amenities would include restaurants, pools, state-of-the-art gyms, tennis courts, squash courts, hiking trails, and lots of public spaces to organize activities for families and individuals."

She took notes without glancing at what she wrote, her eyes fixed intently on me. She had always watched me with intensity. Back then, I thought it was love—or at least she pretended it was. Now, I realized it was a blank stare, focused solely on extracting information from me.

I felt her loss like it was just yesterday that I'd woken up with the taste of her in my mouth, the smell of her on my body and my bed.

She was the only woman in my life who made me laugh, feel carefree and loved…happy.

When Bailey pressured me to ask her to marry her, I'd revolted at the idea. We were fucking again because it was easy and convenient. She gave good head, and didn't demand anything from me. If I wanted to fuck her, she'd be there. If I needed a date on my arm, she'd be there. If I needed to throw a party, she'd break her back and play hostess. If I wanted to fuck other people, she'd not stand in my way; she'd said that to me when we started dating, and had assured me that, even after we got married, she wouldn't curb my freedom.

I didn't know why she thought that I was some kind of hound dog who needed to fuck anything and everything, because once we started dating, I'd been loyal. I didn't believe in cheating and would not tolerate infidelity from her, either. I'd told her as much, and she'd assured me that only I had a free pass in our relationship. When I asked her why she'd allow it, she said, "I love you, Anson, and I'll do anything at all to make it easy for you to be with me."

My sister and Bailey were best friends, and my mother was best friends with Bailey's mama, so I thought, why the hell not? We’d get engaged, have a few kids, and build a life together. I wasn’t in love with her and didn’t expect to fall, either. And I was comfortable with that. If I didn’t love her, she couldn’t hurt me. I had found myself the exact kind of woman my friends had married—compliant, socially polished, bland, and beautiful.

My mother, who believed in pedigree, didn't mind that the Hyatts had lost their money, because they had been in Georgia for the past eight generations. They were, as she'd often said, our kind of people.

Mama was your garden-variety racist and classist.

I didn't care about either—race or class.

My relationship with Bailey was simple and one sided. The only demand she'd made was for us to get engaged. She didn't complicate my life. When I told her she couldn't move into the mansion until after we were married, she didn't cause a fuss. If I was gone all nights of the week, she wasn't the fiancée who'd throw a fit. She'd ask me if I wanted a martini and a blowjob when I got back.

Alma had been thrilled at our engagement, and had immediately started to pressure her boyfriend to buy her a ring. Tyler was a good kid who worked in his daddy's law practice in Atlanta. I wasn't sure he loved my sister. I knew his father, who had political ambitions, wanted him to secure a direct line to the influential Larue family.

Alma still lived in the Larue Mansion. She didn't work—and spent her days finding innovative ways to empty her considerable trust fund. She and our mother were socially active, both in Sentinel and Atlanta.

Bailey had been just like Alma until a year ago when her father passed away, but not before he squandered the generational wealth he'd had the privilege of being responsible for. With Bailey's mother drowning in her late husband's debt, she'd told her daughter to find a way to support herself.

I'd hired Bailey as my employee to run special projects. That was when we got close and started fucking again. I kept it out of the office and made it clear that there would be no crossing of lines between the professional and the personal.

Bailey wasn't a great hire. My executive assistant, the fifty-year-old, no-bullshit Charmaine, had little patience for her. I'd given Bailey some simple responsibilities to start, and now it looked like I'd volunteered her for the Sentinel Heights project. Charmaine would be pissed. My new Vice President of Development, who'd start in a few weeks, would not be happy—and since he was a friend who I'd poached from a multinational juggernaut, he'd have no problem telling me that to my face.

But I had not been able to resist poking at Nova. Knowing she hated Bailey, I thought mentioning the engagement might crack that emotionless mask she wore. I wanted to see her reaction to me being engaged—especially to Bailey. But she behaved like it didn’t matter at all. She even smiled and fucking congratulated me.

"What kind of architecture were you envisaging? Modern or more old Southern style?" Nova continued to pepper me with questions.

"I think a combination. I don't want stark and boring, but I also don't want to go nuts with ornamental shit."

She grinned then, friendly, and accessible. Her face lit up, and my dick twitched. He was sniffing his mate, ready to go, because he'd never had it as good as Nova's pussy.

"Let's talk sustainability," she suggested.

I nodded, curbing the urge to adjust my brainless cock, glad I was in suit pants and not jeans.

"We want to incorporate green building practices, energy-efficient appliances, and maybe even a community garden to promote an eco-friendly lifestyle. Of course, we'll have solar panels, and make the resort as carbon neutral as possible."

She scribbled in her notebook. "My colleague, Stella Carter, just worked on a botanical garden for a museum. I think we can get some inspiration—"

"Noah Carter's wife?" I cut in.

"Yes. You know Noah?"

I nodded. I didn't know Noah's wife worked here. I knew him. He was in construction and was from Savannah, and it was, after all, a small world. I'd known about his troubles with a sex tape of his wife and him leaking—and then there were the corruption charges against his wife's father, Senator Baron Hunt.

"I do. We've partnered with Carter Construction in the past," I informed her. "Do they work on Savannah Lace projects?"

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