Page 12 of Confusing Cade
I checked my lipstick one final time in the car's rearview mirror. Still flawless, no trace of the brilliant red on my teeth.Good, at least I have that going for me.I took one more deep breath, steeled my nerves, and got out of my Toyota. How strange it felt to be in this parking lot again, which was overgrown and dilapidated from years of vacancy. It had always been small, with only room for ten cars, but now, the fading paint lines, cracked blacktop, pockets of weeds, and rusty dumpster stood in stark relief to the way it had looked during my father’s heyday when he ran his empire from this office building in Lantana.
I didn’t have much time to think too hard about it, though. Seconds after I stepped out, Cade pulled his black Ferrari into the lot.
At least, I guessed the car was his.
Who else would it be? Nobody had come to this place in years except for the few potential buyers who’d agreed to look at it. But even they had been few and far between. Dad’s old office had nothing but bad mojo, and nobody wanted to buy it, even with a listing price a third of what the comps said it should be. For years, it had just... sat, even as real estate in South Florida boomed and prices skyrocketed.
That was the thing about assets on paper. They had theoretical value but were only worth what people were willing to pay for them. So, while I waited for the day that person would come, I paid the taxes every year from what remained of Dad’s property trust.
And the building sat empty, another testament to how much things had changed.
“I’m surprised you wanted to meet here,” Cade called as he stepped out of his car. He parked on the exact opposite side of the lot, making the gulf of space between us vast and symbolic. “Of all the places.”
I straightened my spine. He would not start off by making me feel bad. I would not give him the upper hand, and this meeting would not be as awkward as the fundraiser. It didn't matter how much I was hurting. I still had my pride.
And for God’s sake, I am still a Moretti. That must mean something.
“It’s for sale if you’re interested.” I slammed my car door. “Four million. Cheap.”
I hoped he wouldn’t see through my bluff. We were only asking for one and a half, but Cade was one of the richest guys in the region. He could afford four.
Or more.
“I’ll think about it,” Cade replied in a way that told me he wouldn’t be doing that at all.
I sighed. No, this wasn’t going to be my lucky day. “Come on. We can meet in Dad’s old conference room.”
Taking my keys from my purse, I crossed the lot to the main employee entrance. I unlocked the deadbolt and flipped on the overhead light before leading him down a small hallway and past the reception desk. Despite being bare, the place was still well-kept, clean, and had electricity, all thanks to money I couldn’t touch in a trust. No one wouldever be able to see how the spacemight work for them if they were confronted withpeeling paint, dilapidated drywall, water spots, and decay.
The building deserved better than that.
We arrived at the conference room without saying much to each other and took seats at the long table in the center. Just like the rest of the place, the table still felt familiar and had some quiet dignity, even if the tabletop was warped from age and the stuffing threatened to come out of the creaking chairs.
“Would you like something to drink?” I motioned toward the water cooler at the far end of the room and the paper cups nearby.
“No, thank you.” Cade took a pen and notebook from the inside pocket of his blazer and then placed them on the table. “But I have to say, I’m pleased your dad’s office still feels a little bit like it used to.”
I scoffed, hoping it hid the tinge of surprise that coursed through me. Sure, Cade was older, but I hadn’t considered he might have done business with my father in the last few years of his life. “When were you here?”
“A few times.”
I keep my expression unreadable. “Glad it was so memorable.”
Instead of asking Cade for more details, I studied him as we sat across the table from each other, once again taking full sight of him in person after almost a decade. Just like that night at the fundraiser, I was struck by how little had changed about Cade Weston, and how handsome the years had made him.
Plus, I was still in shock.
A day earlier, a woman named Lois left a voicemail begging me to call her back. When I did, she insisted she was Cade’s executive assistant and asked if I would find time to meet him in person this morning. Confused, I suggested this place.
Now, Cade Weston sat across from me, looking like a cat who’d found the cream.
“I know you’re not here to view the property,” I said.
“No, I’m not.” Cade opened his notebook and scribbled something on the page before looking at me again. “I had an interesting meeting with the city commissioners yesterday. They wanted to talk about Palm Beach Promenade.”
I winced. The Promenade had been one of my father’s last large-scale dreams, though probably not in the way it was turning out now. He bought the land during the 2008 real estate collapse, convinced he could hold it until the time was right to develop it into a mixed-income site, which he said would change the perception of the area. But that never amounted to anything more than a dream, and after he died, the acreage went to county auction.
Acreage bought by Cade.
