Page 23 of Merry with a Tycoon

Who knew Preston Hollister’s linguistic skills extended outside of the boardroom?

I should get out of bed and get ready for another day at the shop. But I’m not ready to open my eyes, not ready to let the real world intrude. I need just a few more moments in this perfect, Preston-scented bubble.

Stretching languidly, my hand brushes against a piece of paper on the pillow next to me. Preston’s note. I pick it up, my heart fluttering as I read it.

Crystal,

Last night was amazing. Sorry I had to run – early meeting. I’ll call you later.

Preston

Short and sweet, just like him. I hug the note to my chest, feeling like a lovesick teenager. I’m acting silly but it’s been a while since I’ve been with someone, too busy at the shop to allow myself something like this.

At the thought of said lovesick teenager (probably awkward, too), I groan and sit up.

Alright, that’s it. I need to get to work.

As I get ready for work, I find myself humming, my steps light. I deliberately avoid checking my phone, wanting to bask in this feeling a little longer. The real world can wait.

The walk to HarmonyWorks is beautiful. Has Love Beach always been this vibrant? The sky seems bluer, the air fresher. I nod and smile at passersby, my good mood infectious.

I could sing but that would only make it too obvious that I got laid, and we can’t have that. Demure, that’s me. I laugh at my silliness as I skip the last few steps toward my shop.

The bell above the door chimes as I unlock the shop door, but its cheerful sound is immediately drowned out by a chorus of angry voices behind me.

“There she is!” “What do you know about this, Crystal?” “Are you in on it?”

I turn to face a group of my fellow Seaside Square shop owners, their faces a mix of fury and betrayal. My neighbor, Mrs. Chen from the flower shop, thrusts a newspaper in my face.

It takes me a few seconds to figure out what she wants me to see. And then I see it and I freeze.

Mass evictions? A cover?

My stomach drops. “What is this?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Mr. Goldstein from the bookstore snaps. “My niece told me she saw you at the Pirate’s Cove playing mini-golf last night. Pretty cozy, you two are getting, she said. Are you the only one who gets to keep their lease when this ‘revitalization’ is done?”

“No! I... I had no idea about this,” I stammer, my mind reeling. “Preston told me the revitalization was about improving the square, not evicting anyone.”

“I’m sure he did,” sneers Mrs. Chen. “Bet he’ll spare your shop.”

I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Before she can reply, Mr. Rodriguez from the corner bakery steps forward, his face a mask of guilt and worry. “I... I think this might be my fault,” he says, his voice trembling.

All eyes turn to him. “What do you mean, Antonio?” Mrs. Chen asks, her anger momentarily replaced by confusion.

Mr. Rodriguez takes a deep breath. “Yesterday morning, I received a letter about a massive rent increase. We all did, right? I panicked and sent it to my niece Maria at the news station. But later that day, that Teddy girl from Hollister Properties hand-delivered a correction letter to all of us, saying it was a mistake.”

A ripple of recognition passes through the crowd. Preston had hand-delivered that same letter to me.

“I tried to call Maria right away to update her,” Mr. Rodriguez continues, “but I could only leave a voicemail. They must have run with the original story and ignored my update.”

For a moment, there’s silence as we all process this information. Then, Mr. Goldstein speaks up, his voice laced with skepticism.

“But how do we know this ‘correction’ is genuine? What if it’s just to let our guards down? Maybe they’re trying to buy time while they plan our evictions behind our backs.”

His words send a chill through the group. I can see doubt creeping into people’s eyes, the fear and suspicion returning.

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