Seeking Single Male Page 5

  She frowned. "I guess you're right."

  "Besides, if you're so worried about it, why don't you call him and set the record straight?" Alex suggested with a sly smile.

  Lana frowned harder. "No, thanks."

  "Okay," Alex said with a shrug. "If you change your mind—"

  "I won't."

  Alex relented with a nod, then gestured toward the ornament-laden evergreen. "I think it's leaning. Shall I warn the people in the apartment beneath you?"

  Lana grinned, but her friend's awkward small talk alerted her to something more serious. "What's wrong, Alex? Wait a minute—you didn't come down to bring me a footstool, did you."

  Sighing, her friend shook her head. "No. I came to show you this." From her jacket pocket she removed a folded sheet of paper and handed it to Lana.

  Alex's father owned Tremont's, an upscale department store chain based in Lexington. Their downtown location occupied a city block, and they rented most of the first floor to eateries and service businesses. The space was expensive and in high demand, and overseeing the signing of the best mix of businesses was only part of Alex's job as the new president. The letter in Lana's hand was an enquiry about space from Buckhead Coffee. Dread flooded her chest. Buckhead was only the biggest, most commercial coffee chain in the country. The company had two locations in Louisville, but hadn't yet entered the Lexington market.

  "We probably don't have the kind of space they're looking for," Alex said quickly.

  "But they'll find it somewhere," Lana finished.

  "But you already have lots of competition, and you're going strong."

  Lana sighed. "But that's primarily due to my location, which is subject to change, depending on the outcome of the rezoning proposal before the council."

  "Don't worry about this before you have to," Alex urged, standing. "I just wanted you to be forearmed."

  Lana thanked her and walked her to the door. "This is good timing, at least. I have two days to come up with a brilliant speech for the council meeting."

  "Do you know if the owner will be there?"

  She nodded. "I called Regal Properties myself, and they guaranteed that a representative who had decision authority would be present. The shop owners are spoiling for a fight."

  "I'll be there to cheer you on." Alex gave her a smile of encouragement. "But you might want to leave the hair spray at home."

  Lana laughed. "I will. Besides, I daresay a lady-killer like Greg Healey won't be anywhere in the vicinity of a city council meeting on a Friday night."

  6

  "YOU'RE STILL WEARING your suit, Gregory. Do you have a date tonight?"

  Greg smiled wryly over the dinner table. "A date with the city council."

  Will's eyebrows came together. "The people who make decisions for the city?"

  "That's right."

  "Why do you have a date with them?"

  "I want them to change the zoning for some property so we can sell it to developers who want to build homes."

  "What's on the property now?"

  "Some of the buildings are abandoned, some have small businesses in them."

  His brother set down his fork. "What will happen to the small businesses?"

  Greg saw where the conversation was headed. He glanced to their housekeeper Yvonne for help, but she gave him a look over the Parmesan chicken that said, "You're on your own, sonny."

  He cleared his throat. "They'll relocate."

  "You mean they'll have to move?"

  "Yes."

  "Do they want to move?"

  Greg took a sip from his water glass. "Some of them probably don't want to move, no."

  "Then I don't think you should make them."

  "Will, we own the property. These people only rent space, like having an apartment. If you were renting an apartment, would you expect the owner to operate at a loss just so you wouldn't have to move?"

  "No."

  "This is the same principle. Besides, the business owners will have the opportunity to present their side to the council meeting tonight, too."

  Will leaned forward. "Will there be girls at the council meeting, Gregory?"

  Yvonne arched a gray eyebrow in Greg's direction. He shifted in his seat. "A few, I suppose."

  "Maybe I could go with you."

  "Er, you'd probably be bored, Will."

  "I don't mind, Gregory."

  He exchanged another glance with their housekeeper, then shrugged. "Sure, if you'd like to go."

  Will's grin was so wide, Greg was sorry he hadn't suggested it himself. Will gestured to his own jeans and khaki shirt. "Should I wear a suit, too?"

  The sweet innocence of Will wanting to impress a woman he hadn't even met pulled at Greg's heart. In his mind, there wasn't a female breathing who was good enough for Will. "No, buddy, you look just fine."

  WET FROM THE DRIZZLING RAIN, Lana jogged into the community center where garland and paper snowflakes abounded, and glanced at the doors she passed, searching for the right room number. A minor emergency with the alarm system at the coffee shop had her running late. She had hoped to go home and change into something more impressive than hip-hugger jeans and a coffee-stained yellow smiley-face sweatshirt, but it couldn't be helped now. At last, she found the door to the room and slipped inside.

  She was thankful the meeting hadn't yet started. Voices of what looked to be about one hundred people mingled in a low roar. Rows of folding chairs had been erected for participants, facing a long table at the front of the room where six council members sat talking among themselves. Margaret Wheeler—the president of the city council, if Lana's memory served—was giving an interview to a local news reporter. Lana's mouth went dry with nervousness.

  From across the room, an arm waved. Marshall Ballou and some of the other merchants were sitting together. Alex was there, too, wearing a supportive smile. Lana made her way toward them, hoping they wouldn't be sorry they'd asked her to speak on their behalf. But she'd tried to do her homework, and her canvas tote was full of facts and figures.

  "Are you nervous?" Marsh asked.

  "A little."

  "Just be yourself and let them know we're taking a stand."

  In the front, the president pounded a gavel on a wooden block several times. "Everyone, please take your seats. If you're planning to speak on the issue of Rezoning Proposal 642, please sit near the front so you can access the standing microphone more easily."

  Alex gave her arm a squeeze. "We'll be right here cheering you on."

  Lana took a deep breath and moved through the settling crowd, searching for a seat. The gathering was much larger than she'd imagined. Her pulse kicked up at the thought that her life savings and livelihood could be swept away by a single decision from the six people sitting at the table, people who might remember her as a rabble-rouser on previous issues.

  "You can sit here, ma'am," a man's kind voice said.

  Lana turned and looked up at one of the largest men she'd ever seen. He was pleasingly handsome, and in command of a hulking muscular body. But there was something infinitely gentle in his eyes and his shy smile. He gestured to a seat in the second row that he had obviously just vacated.

  "I don't want to take your seat," she protested.

  "I'm glad to give up my seat for a lady," he said, enunciating very deliberately.

  Lana suddenly realized the man had a slight mental deficiency or neurological disorder. She flashed him a grateful smile. "And I thought chivalry had died. Thank you very much."

  The large man pointed to a black briefcase on the seat next to the one he was giving up. "My brother had to make a phone call, but he's coming back."

  "I'll let him know how kind you were when he returns." Suddenly cheered by the stranger's thoughtfulness, Lana inhaled deeply and claimed the seat with an optimistic smile. Maybe this night wouldn't turn out so badly, after all.

  "Excuse me." The kind man's brother had returned. She moved her knees sideways and shifted her bag in her lap to allow him
to pass. The councilwoman banged again for the crowd to settle down. The man picked up his briefcase and dropped into the seat.

  Lana turned her head. "Your brother gave me his—" She felt her jaw drop at the sight of Greg Healey. "You!"

  His eyes flew wide, and he recoiled as if she'd hit him—again. "You!"

  They vaulted to their feet and sprang away from each other, trampling toes of the people around them. Lana could not find her voice. A hot flush swept over her body. What the devil was he doing here?

  "We need to get started," the woman in the front repeated loudly, and Lana realized that everyone was staring at them. "Please take your seats."

  Lana eyed him warily, and he looked equally cautious. But when the silent stares around them became uncomfortable, they slowly reclaimed their seats. Lana sat rigid with shock. Every inch of her skin burned. Her mind spun with the coincidence of seeing him again and the inevitable embarrassment of explaining the mix-up. How would he react? Keenly distracted by his appearance and his proximity, Lana could barely concentrate on what was being said.

  "…Margaret Wheeler, council president. Proceed to the microphone when your name is called. First, we'll hear from a representative from the city planner's office, who will read the proposal and define the specific area involved in the rezoning plan."

  The lights were dimmed, plunging her into forced intimacy with the man next to her. The negative energy rolled off him in waves. An overhead projector kicked on, and a blurry map of the Hyde Parkland area appeared. A small man named Peterson droned on and on about the formal process of enacting a zoning change. She had contacted the city planner's office countless times to share her ideas about community conservation projects; Peterson thought she was a royal pest.

  Suddenly Lana wanted to be anywhere but this blasted council meeting.

  "Where is the man who was sitting there?" Greg Healey demanded close to her ear.

  She jumped. "Your brother? I don't know," she whispered back. "He gave me his seat."

  His soft snort could be translated to mean lots of things—none of them complimentary. She pulled away even farther, until she was practically in the lap of the woman sitting on the other side of her.

  Lana faded in and out of the speaker's thirty-minute speech because she had already researched the tedious details he was providing. Instead, her mind zeroed in on Greg Healey, although she dared not look in his direction, not even with her peripheral vision. He was irritated, as evidenced by his frequent sighs and constant fidgeting. His chair creaked incessantly and the fabric of his suit slid back and forth, back and forth.

  Her mind drifted as she recalled her first impression of him. Darkly handsome, friendly, even appealing. Holy hoodwink, looks could be so deceiving. Too late, she felt the heavy canvas bag slipping out of her lap. All twenty pounds of it hit the ground with a crash, punctuated nicely by Greg Healey's grunt of pain. She surmised his foot was underneath. Lana lunged forward to retrieve her bag, and promptly banged heads with him—hard. Pain exploded in her forehead. Their subsequent groans were audible enough to make people turn in their seats.

  "Christ," he whispered hoarsely. "Are you some kind of lethal weapon?"

  His breath was sweet, and just that easily she remembered how he'd tasted when he'd kissed her—like citrus and mint. "Keep your distance and you won't have to worry about it," she whispered back, ridiculously wondering if her own breath was as agreeable.

  The lights came on suddenly, blinding her. The contents of her bag—binders, folders, papers of all kinds—lay all around their feet. She scraped the pages together, trying to return them to some semblance of order. At this rate, she was going to blow her entire presentation. He handed her a few items that had rolled out of reach, but he was wearing an inconvenienced frown.

  "Why are you even here?" she asked, yanking the pages from his hands.

  "Next on the agenda is Mr. Greg Healey," the councilwoman announced. Mr. Peterson had finished while they were arguing at knee level. "Mr. Healey will address us as the owner of Regal Properties, the company proposing the zone change."

  He gave her a flat smile. "That's why I'm here."

  Lana gaped. "You? You're…my landlord?"

  "Landlord?" he asked, squinting.

  "Following Mr. Healey, we'll hear from Ms. Lana Martina, who owns a coffee shop in Hyde Parkland. She'll be speaking on behalf of the business owners in the area."

  She gave him a flat smile. "That's why I'm here."

  He stared. "You own that coffee shop?"

  "Gee, you're quick."

  His frown was as black as Cuban coffee. "Then, yes, I'm your landlord. Do you mind letting me pass?"

  Even under the artificial lighting she could see the fading bruises around his right eyebrow—bruises she'd inflicted. Numb, she straightened in her seat and shifted sideways so he could exit to the aisle. His pants leg brushed her knees, sending unreasonable tremors of awareness to her thighs. She caught Alex's wide-eyed gaze across the room. Her friend mouthed, Is that the same guy?

  Lana nodded miserably. What had a few minutes ago seemed like an embarrassing encounter was now a bona fide disaster. She was going to have to debate the man she'd attacked? While he was still under the impression that she had taken him to her apartment to—

  Holy Toledo, she was sunk.

  7

  GREG STEPPED UP to the microphone, forcing his mind away from the fact that the woman who had dominated his thoughts since their bizarre encounter a few days ago was not only sitting in this room, but planned to oppose him on the matter before the council. The coincidence was mind-boggling. He removed a folder from his briefcase with a hand that was somewhat less steady than he would have liked.

  "Members of the City Council," he began, then turned to nod to the audience, "and concerned citizens." He scrupulously avoided looking in her direction, but he could feel those violet eyes boring into him. "The proposal before you would resurrect the once vital district of downtown known as the Hyde Parkland area." He directed that the lights be lowered, and recalled the sensation of sitting next to Lana Martina in the dark. The woman's tension practically glowed. Would she accuse him of trying to take advantage of her in front of everyone?

  He cleared his throat and refocused. "This district is riddled with large, vacant buildings that once housed small factories. They've been vandalized and are beginning to pose a pest problem. None of the buildings, sewers or utilities are up to code, or suitable to attract the kinds of businesses necessary to revitalize the area." The words tumbled out more rapidly than he wanted, but he couldn't seem to slow down.

  "Rezoning for residential development would mean hundreds of construction jobs for demolition and rebuilding. It would beautify the area, and attract home owners to Hyde Parkland. Property taxes would increase, as would business for the downtown merchants." Any second, he expected her to bolt from her seat and start shouting damning words.

  "Is that all, Mr. Healey?" president Wheeler prompted.

  "Er, no," he said, then inhaled deeply. Good grief, he had to keep his mind on the matter at hand. He fumbled with an acetate overlay for the map, upon which he drew black Xs over the buildings that were falling to ruin.

  "My company has attempted to sell these properties for more than two years, but has found it impossible to interest business owners in making the investment that would be required for renovations. They can lease or buy ready-made real estate in the malls for less money, and so the dollars continue to be siphoned away from downtown Lexington."

  He replaced the overlay with another one. "This drawing represents a restoration plan my company has worked out with the input of developers and the city planner's office. Single-family dwellings are in red, apartments in blue, condos in green."

  "And the yellow?" president Wheeler asked.

  The yellow area overlaid the buildings at 145 and 150 Hunt Street

  , where Lana Martina's shop was housed. He cleared his voice. "The yellow represents a parking garag
e."

  He heard her gasp, even from across the room—and tensed for a blade in his back. "If the area were optimally developed, it could provide housing for more than twelve thousand people. And if we could increase the population within the city limits by a mere ten thousand, Lexington would qualify for an additional two million dollars in the form of government grants to upgrade utilities, to build more schools and to improve roads."

  When the lights came up, the room remained quiet, which was a good sign.

  "Once you read the detailed economic forecast for this rezoning proposal, I'm certain you'll see, the sooner the measure is approved, the sooner the city will begin to reap the benefits."

  Wheeler nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Healey."

  "Yea, Gregory," came Will's voice from the back, accompanied by his enthusiastic applause, to which a few people contributed.

  Greg conjured up a smile and waved to Will without encouraging him. Leave it to his big-hearted brother to applaud regardless of the occasion. And leave it to his big-hearted brother to offer his seat to the very woman Greg least wanted to meet again.

  "Next, we'll hear from Ms. Martina," the president said.

  Greg swallowed hard and returned his presentation to his briefcase. He wasn't worried about what the woman might say regarding the rezoning project—hell, if her behavior ran true to form, she might help his case. But he had a feeling that he and Ms. Martina had at least one more confrontation in the cards.

  When he turned and met her gaze, the feeling increased tenfold. Loathing emanated from those violet depths, reminding him yet again why he was single. With her chin lifted, she passed him, carrying the overloaded bag she'd dropped on his foot.

  He returned to his seat, then pulled on his chin, waiting, wondering what the volatile woman might reveal. If he had to defend himself, what would he say? That he went back to her apartment thinking she wanted to have sex? That he thought a quickie with a beautiful stranger would lift him from the holiday doldrums?