Page 1 of Beautiful Desire
PROLOGUE
Georgia
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but as I told you, Mr. St. James is in a meeting. Ifyouwant to schedule a meeting, I would be happy to help, but seeing him today isn’t going to be possible.”
I huff a dry laugh and shake my head. The vein on the side of my neck throbs, and it’s taking all my self-control not to lose my cool on the woman staring back at me from behind the desk. It’s not her fault, butfuck, I’m not in the mood for this.
Fuck this. If she wants to be difficult, I guess I’m taking matters into my own hands. I spent three hours in the car to get here; in no world am I leaving this office without giving this rich prick a piece of my mind.
Pointing behind the reception area, I ask, “That his office?”
“Yes, but again, Mr.—”
“Yeah, I heard you, babe. No need to repeat yourself.” I flash her a sweet-as-pie smile as I round the desk, realization furrowing her perfectly manicured brows.
“Y-you can’t…” A sound somewhere between a scoff and a grunt slips out of her as I hear the chair slide across the floor. “Ma’am, you cannot just walk in there.”
“Watch me!”
Adrenaline surges through my body as I burst through the door. The man sitting behind the large mahogany desk, wearing a slate-gray three-piece suit that probably costs more than my mortgage, looks up from the massive monitor in front of him, and meets my gaze.
“Who the hell do you think you are, asshole?”
“Sir, I’m so sorry,” the woman from up front offers to her boss, and I don’t have to look behind me to know she’s flustered. “I told her you were in a meeting, but she wouldn’t listen.”
His eyes never leave mine as he says, “That’s quite all right, Tiffany, the meeting wrapped up early. Can you close the door on your way out?”
There’s a pregnant pause before the latch clicks into place. I close the distance in three long, heavy strides and toss the paperwork I was given this morning on his desk. “You’ve got some fucking nerve.”
Clearing his throat and sitting back in his chair, the faintest of smirks tugs on the corner of his thin-lipped mouth. “Well, hello, Georgia. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Cut the bullshit, Alden,” I bite out, pressing my fingertips down on the desk and narrowing my gaze. “You can’t do this.”
“Sure, I can,” the smug bastard drawls, not even missing a beat. “And I am.”
Red-hot rage courses through my veins, and I stand to my full height, closing my hands into tight fists at my side. The thought of sucker punching his arrogant face crosses my mind, and even though I know it would be satisfying, I manage to control myself. I wouldn’t put it past somebody like him to callthe cops on me, and I’m not trying to leave here with an assault charge.
“Listen,” I grit out, once I’m sure I won’t hurl myself over the desk and strangle him with my bare hands. “As a greedy, money-hungry narcissist with a God complex, I’m sure it must berealhard to think of anybody but yourself—especially us middle-class peasants—but I’m gonna need you to put on that little empathy hat you’ve probably never worn a day in your life and come down to our level for a minute, and at least try to see how massively fucked up what you’re doing is.”
He huffs a laugh, threading his fingers together behind his head. “If you think storming in here like a child who didn’t get her way is going to do you any favors, you’re sorely mistaken.”
This fucking asshole.
Clasping my hands in front of me, bottom lip pushed into an overly dramatic pout, I cock my head to the side and say in a mocking tone dripping with condescension, “Aww, did I hurt your fragile man ego? I must’ve missed the part where I gave a fuck. This is going to destroy my business. Do you understand that?”
Finding out my landlord sold the building I lease was not what I expected to hear while elbow deep in inventory this morning. Not only that, but she sold it to a property developer, who has plans to tear it—and nearly every building on the block—down and build a strip mall. Over my cold, dead body, am I going down without a fight. That building has been the home for my bookstore since I opened.
Alden’s jaw pops before he heaves a sigh. “Sit down, Georgia.”
My face twists up. “Do I look like somebody who takes orders?”
Another harsh exhale flares his nostrils. “No, but if you insist on having this conversation, it’s not going to be withyou hovering over my desk. So, please”—his eyebrows lift as he gestures toward the chair beside me—“have a seat.”
Biting down on my molars, I very much donotwant to have a seat, but if doing so allows me to keep my store, then what choice do I have? I need to calm myself, because as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right… I’m not going to get anywhere by letting my anger fuel my actions. What I need to do is level with him, give him a valid reason why he shouldn’t do this. Hell, beg him, if I have to, but how humiliating. I release a frustrated huff and fight the urge to roll my eyes while dropping into the cold leather seat. Keeping my head held high, I roll my shoulders back and say, once again, “You can’t do this.”
“While I appreciate your passion, it’s too late. As of yesterday afternoon, St. James Properties owns that building.”
“I don’t care that you own the building,” I mutter. “I care that I’m about to lose my storefront. My livelihood.”
