Page 26 of Claimed By My Exiled Alphas
“Health department applications are particularly brutal,” I agreed, reluctantly releasing her hand. “They’ve got about six different forms that all ask for the same information in slightly different ways, and if you fill out the wrong version first, they make you start over.”
She groaned. “Don’t tell me that. I’ve been working on those for three days.”
“Which version did you start with?”
“The one labeled ‘Food Service Establishment Initial Application.’”
“That’s actually the right one for what I’m guessing is maybe a restaurant,” I said, and watched some of the tension leave her shoulders. “But you’re going to need the supplementary environmental health packet and the wastewater capacity review before they’ll process it.”
“Of course I will.” She looked down at her box with obvious frustration. “I swear they design this process to make people give up.”
“Sometimes I think that’s exactly the point.” I gestured toward the building behind her. “Is this the space you’re renovating?”
“Trying to renovate. It needs a lot of work before I can open.” She glanced back at the structure, and I caught something vulnerable in her expression. “More work than I probably have budget for, if I’m being honest.”
The admission felt significant, like she’d revealed something she hadn’t meant to share. I found myself wanting to fix the problem, to deploy resources and connections until every obstacle disappeared. But that was exactly the kind of wealth-based solution that would make her uncomfortable and probably reinforce whatever cautious distance she was maintaining. It was also the kind of wealth I didn’t have access to until I could access my trust again.
“Have you gotten contractor estimates yet?” I asked instead.
“Three of them. All higher than my budget allows.”
“Mind if I take a look at the building? Sometimes there are ways to phase renovations that can reduce immediate costs without compromising safety or functionality.”
She studied me for a long moment, clearly weighing the offer against whatever internal warning system was signaling caution. “Why would you want to help? You don’t even know me.”
“True,” I acknowledged. “But I do know that you’re trying to bring something good to this community, and I have expertise that might be useful. Consider it professional networking.”
“Professional networking.” She repeated the phrase with obvious skepticism. “People usually network at chambers of commerce meetings, not by ambushing strangers with boxes outside condemned buildings.”
“Condemned is a strong word. Neglected, certainly. Structurally questionable, possibly. But I bet the bones are solid.” I paused, then decided honesty might work better than sales pitch. “Full disclosure, I’m trying to establish my consulting business here, and a successful renovation project with a local entrepreneur would be excellent for my reputation. I could use the testimonial when this place opens.”
That got her attention. “You want me as a reference client.”
“I want you to succeed,” I corrected. “The reference would just be a bonus.”
She shifted her box again, considering. The late afternoon sun caught in her auburn curls, turning them copper and gold, and I had to actively resist the urge to reach out and see if they felt as soft as they looked.
Focus, Black. This is supposed to be professional networking.
“I can’t afford to hire a consultant,” she said finally. “My budget is stretched thin as it is.”
“I’m not asking you to hire me. I’m asking you to let me look at your space and your paperwork, offer some guidance on navigating the permit process, maybe suggest some cost-effective renovation approaches. In exchange, when you open this bistro and it becomes the most popular restaurant in Hollow Haven, you tell people that I helped with the planning.”
“That’s a lot of free work for a maybe testimonial.”
“I’m trying to establish myself in a community that has good reasons to distrust my family name,” I said, letting more honesty slip through than I’d planned. “Helping local businesses succeed seems like a better approach than anything my relatives ever tried.”
Understanding flickered in her eyes, followed by something that looked like sympathy. “You’re the Black who sabotaged the development project.”
“That’s me. The family disappointment who chose community preservation over profit margins.” I kept my tone light, but there was truth underneath that I couldn’t quite mask. “Not my finest moment in terms of family relations.”
“But your finest moment in terms of being a decent human being.” She adjusted her grip on the box, and I noticed the way her fingers had started to shake slightly from the weight. “You can look at the space. But I’m not promising anything beyond that.”
“Fair enough.” I reached for the box again, and this time she let me take it. The transfer put us close enough that I could see the gold flecks in her hazel eyes, close enough that her scent wrapped around me like a physical touch. “Where are we taking this?”
“My car. The blue Chevy in the lot behind the building.”
I followed her around the side of the structure, hyperaware of the way she moved, the effortless grace that I doubted she even realised she possessed. It was intoxicating. She led me to a car that had seen better years but was immaculately maintained, its interior visible through the windows revealing organized chaos that suggested an active, complicated life.
