Page 17 of Georgia On My Mind (Southern Promises)

Chapter Ten

Hart caught himself whistling while rinsing out a coffee pot in his sister’s galley-kitchen. He couldn’t help but grin and shake his head, thoughts of Gia Bates coming to mind. And he was on a mission to help her out of the crumbling real estate her business resided in.

Up at the crack of dawn, he had showered and shaved as if he were leaving for an office. Dressed casually, he set up his laptop on the dining room table and did some research. The address of Dance Atlanta was in a bad part of town. The crime rate was through the roof, and the resale market of neighboring homes was pitiful, the rate of foreclosures staggering. After a few phone calls to some of his Atlanta brokerage contacts, he was able to find out that the owner of the strip mall was an elderly man named Edward Smith. He had developed the site back in the early 80s and still ran the property without a management company. Hart believed his father might very well know Mr. Smith from back in his real estate days. If only he could talk to his dad about it—get his take on the situation. He’d probably tell Hart the same thing he was thinking—the building was toast and needed to be razed to make room for new development. Mixed-use developments were all the rage nowadays featuring twelve-screen movie theaters, Class-A office space, retail space and luxury level residences, all with the promise of resort-level hospitality. He could picture Gia in a new space with exceptional amenities, her studio flourishing just like the old days. Of course, Mr. Smith would have to agree to sell, and then there would be bids for a developer and a construction company. This would only happen if the Atlanta City Council even approved the project in the first place.

Hart’s head was swimming with ideas, and he had to laugh at his presumptuous tendencies. He was in no way, shape or form even close to taking on a project this huge without being employed. Sure, he had ample savings and stock investments. But a project this big would need significant backing from a reputable firm. Hart had always been an ace in the business, bringing considerable deals to the table, his ideas and implementation highly sought after—until his embarrassing transgression in DC. He scratched his head, trying to think of someone in his business that might take a chance on him and his pipe dream. He was still an ace and just needed to prove himself. Mr. Smith’s property might just be his ticket to getting him back in the game.

Remembering he had snapped a photo of a dilapidated lease sign in front of the strip mall, Hart pulled out his phone and dialed the number. After two rings, a male voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Good morning. Is this Mr. Smith?”

“Speaking.”

“Hey, Mr. Smith. My name is Hartford Parker. I’m a friend of Gia Bates. She told me all about your property and the vacancies you currently have. I’m a real-estate broker in Atlanta, and I’d love to speak with you sometime soon. Perhaps we could meet at the diner over a cup of coffee?”

Hart waited with anticipation for Mr. Smith’s response.

“You’re the first person to call this number in months. I’d be happy to meet with you at the diner, but only if it includes pie. They make the best pie.”

Hart laughed out loud. “Thank you, Mr. Smith! Pie it is!”

***

Hart sat in the same corner booth he and Gia had shared the day before, waiting for Mr. Smith, when Angel approached him.

“Well, look who’s back. How you doin’ Mr. Hart?”

He was impressed she remembered his name. “I’m fine. How are you today, Angel?”

“Can’t complain. You just missed Gia. She was in here for lunch before her first class of the day. Are you late to meet her?”

“No, ma’am. I’ll see her later. I’m meeting with Mr. Edward Smith. Do you know him?”

Angel’s eyes widened, and she cocked her head in surprise. “Do I know him? He’s the most regular customer I have. He owns this place.”

Hart chuckled and nodded. “Yes. I have a meeting with him, and he suggested pie.”

Angel smiled knowingly. “Yes. Ed loves his pie. He’s gonna be especially happy when I tell him it’s lemon meringue today.” She held up the menus in her hand. “Will you be needin’ these?”

“Nah. But I will take some of that delicious sweet tea while I’m waiting for him.”

“You got it.”

Hart didn’t have any notes with him, nor was he dressed-for-success in his usual three-piece suit and tie. He didn’t want to intimidate the old man and opted for a collared shirt and khaki pants, appropriate casual business attire for the occasion. Sipping on his iced tea, Hart looked out the plate-glass window at the Dance Atlanta studio across the empty parking lot and wondered what Gia was up to inside. Not wanting to get her hopes up, he hadn’t called or texted about his meeting with Mr. Smith. Due diligence was necessary at the forefront of opportunity, and that was what he was doing. If anything of consequence came of his meeting today, he’d let her know about it.

“Mr. Parker?”

Hart looked up and slipped across the bench to stand. “Mr. Smith! It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Please don’t stand on my account.” The two shook hands before Mr. Smith slid onto the booth bench across from him.

Before the two of them could start a conversation, Angel was beside the table, turning a mug upright and filling it with coffee from a silver pot. “Ed, don’t you ever get tired of me?” she teased, setting a handful of small creamers next to his cup.

The old man snickered. “You know this is my favorite place to come for pie.”

“And cheeseburgers, and chicken-fried-steak, and meatloaf…”

---