Page 34 of Stuck with Mr. Grump

“We’ve already invested in preliminary assessments for the site. Moving would mean additional expenditures and could affect our projected ROI.”

I nod, absorbing their input.

“Valid points. However, Ms. Cameron is being especially resistant. We can’t very well force her out of her building. I’m worried that pursing this further could lead to public relations issues.”

“I firmly believe Ms. Cameron will eventually budge. We should consider applying more pressure on her. I know firsthand that her café is already struggling. Sooner or later, she’ll have to make the sale. We just have to be more persistent,” Lisa says sharply.

Her insistence piques my curiosity. Considering her personal connection to Emilia, I’d think she’d be more inclined toward supporting her friend’s decision.

“We could explore offering Ms. Cameron relocation assistance. Perhaps into the shopping mall that was recently completed?” Slade offers.

Susan adds, “Legally, we have options to incentivize her move. However, if she remains obstinate, we might need to consider eminent domain, though that’s a last resort and could tarnish our reputation.”

I lean back, weighing the options. Despite my newfound respect for her, a part of me is reluctant to concede. Letting Emilia win by vetoing all their ideas and moving to another site would be frowned upon by not just them but the company’s board. Grandfather wouldn’t agree with the decision, and I plan on ensuring that I achieve something to be proud of during my time here.

“Let’s proceed cautiously. I’ll continue discussions with Ms. Cameron, emphasize our willingness to assist with the relocation and highlight the benefits. Slade, identity potential contingencies. Susan, if you could prepare a legal brief on our options including risks associated with eminent domain, that would be helpful. Let’s all work to ensure this development goes smoothly.”

They nod in unison and understanding.

“Remember,” I conclude, “our goal is to proceed with the development efficiently, but ethically. Let’s aim for a solution that aligns with our objectives without unnecessary conflict.”

The meeting ends and I head into my office to go through some emails and reports. The day goes by pretty quickly, and despite being tired and wanting nothing more than to head home for some much-needed rest, I find myself driving toward Emilia’s Café instead.

I don’t immediately step out of my car once I arrive. I watch her through the window. She has headphones on and is walking around cleaning. I watch as she moves her body rhythmically to whatever song she’s listening to. There’s a small smile on her face and, even from here, I can see the glint in her eyes.

Happiness looks beautiful on her. She’s like a rose in a garden, on its way to full bloom.

I exhale a soft breath. Fucking hell, that was sappy.

Exiting the car, I cross the street. It’s pretty late, and when I reach the door I take note of the closed sign on the front. That doesn’t stop me from walking in, however. Emilia doesn’t look behind her as I do so. She’s too engrossed in whatever she’s listening to. I walk up to her, trying to ignore the swaying of her hips in the jeans she’s wearing. She has no idea how fucking sexy she is.

I lightly tap her shoulder to draw her attention. She jumps, whirling around, her blue eyes wide. I stay still as she takes off the headphones.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” I say sincerely.

She nods slowly, placing the headphones on the counter. I can tell she’s pretty rattled and is taking the time to steady herself. She sucks in a deep breath.

“What are you doing here, Sterling Harrington?”

“Getting coffee,” I reply.

“You never come here to just get coffee. Plus, we’re closed. I’m sure you can read the sign hanging outside.” She waves toward it.

“Sure I can. But I figured you’d make an exception for your best customer.”

She scoffs. “More like my biggest headache.”

“Come on, Emilia. Just one cup of coffee,” I prompt.

“You’re still not allowed to call me that,” she mutters, heading behind the counter and starting up the coffee maker. “Black like your soul?”

“Yeah, thanks. I’d like a slice of banana bread with that as well.”

“Coming right up,” she replies professionally.

I stand in wait as she finishes making the coffee and serving the bread into a plate. Once she’s done, I offer her my card for payment. She surprisingly doesn’t overcharge me this time. I’m taking that as a sign that she’s warming up to me.

After she hands me my order, I gesture toward one of the tables and she rolls her eyes before following me to take a seat. Fork in hand, I bite into the banana bread, which is actually pretty delicious.

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