Don’t Love, Don’t Lose

But the land in question now had old warehouses and a building that was pretty close to dilapidated. He could see what it could be.

It could be a community center.

Too many people in real estate didn’t understand that to improve the value of property, you had to give the people in that community a reason to protect their community, instead of destroying it. He needed to replace apathy with hope. Giving young people a constructive way to work off their energy, old people a place where they could gather, and children a place where they could be safe and learn – those are things that could change a community.

He already knew that there were groups who tried to get youth off the streets and back into schools. What he meant to do was give those groups recognition and space to do the work.

It was good business to do that. He would never be able to turn any place perfect, but he could make it better than it was. If it turned out that that increased the value of his real estate, well, then that was just a bonus.

A very nice bonus.

Too many people had dismissed him as idealistic. He didn’t see himself as idealistic. He just thought of himself as somebody who thrived on long-term aims and goals.

Just fixing up a building and flipping it wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted to make the neighborhood one where nice things belonged. The row houses weren’t in the best shape, but they could be. He would acquire more of them, soon enough, and then…

He had his vision, and he would make it come true, both for himself and for the neighborhood.

He was engrossed by the time Della came in again. He raised his head, ready to snap, but the smell –

“Is that a ham sandwich?”

“It is, indeed. It’s almost one, and you’ve been in there since eight in the morning.”

Anthony was surprised. He hadn’t realized that it was so late, to be honest.

He should have noticed.

“Oh. Well, thank you, Della.”

“It’s not a problem. I wouldn’t want to cross Jennifer, or disappoint her. Is there anything you’d like for dessert?”

Anthony shook his head, amused. Obviously, Della liked to feed people. He wondered if Jennifer had taken that into consideration while hiring her.

“I’m good, thanks. I’d like the Eastern Avenue files, while you’re at it.”

Della nodded and vanished.

There was something wrong somewhere. There was something that didn’t quite sit well with him.

He seemed to have all the paperwork he needed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. He couldn’t put his finger on it, though.

That was unsettling. He always covered all bases, asked all the questions and made sure that he had all the answers. He had people he trusted to unwind all the red tape for him. It wasn’t like he never took shortcuts. When the shortcuts were more effective, he did take them. But usually, he preferred to have things legal and above board.

There couldn’t be anything he was missing.

But he’d made his fortune by listening to his instincts. His instincts were telling him that something was missing. For once, Anthony wasn’t sure if it was instinct or doubt, because he knew there was somebody trying to sabotage him.

Of course, all of it could go south anyway. You needed an insider in the community to make it work, and that was why he planned to hire smart. He’d made a start with Della, he thought, and Jennifer had already gotten the community outreach program started.

It was all going according to plan. Was it ambitious, and perhaps foolhardy? Probably. But Anthony believed in taking risks. After everything he had done in his life, he figured he was entitled to a few indulgences. The worst that could happen was that he’d have to turn the row houses over instead of putting his grand plans into fruition. He could live with that.

So why did he feel this nagging sense of unrest and unease?

There was something he wasn’t quite seeing.

But staring at the files wasn’t going to give him anything more than he’d gotten already. He needed a break.

Leaning back, he rubbed his eyes and tried to clear his head. A sandwich seemed as good a way of taking a break as anything else.

Anthony took a bite, and sat back, closing his eyes in pleasure.

She hadn’t bought the sandwich from a deli. This was homemade, with a homemade sandwich spread, and possibly home-baked bread.

He’d have to make sure he hit the gym if Della meant to feed him like that.

He was mid-chew when he realized what was missing in his file – a little piece of paper certifying that historical society had approved the renovations, finally. It had been a surprise to realize that he needed it because the row houses were in bad state, and they needed work. But after some digging, he’d found that out, and he’d made sure that he’d get it.

So where was it?

Quickly, he turned to his computer and looked through the soft copies of the files. He couldn’t find it there, either.

This was the kind of oversight that could not be allowed. Somebody had messed up – and they had timed it right, for when Jennifer left the office, and somebody knew had taken over the paperwork.

He had a bad feeling about this.

A very bad feeling.

“How’s your day, Aunt Della?”

“Are you checking up on me, Jasmine?”

Jasmine winced a little.

“Can’t I want to talk to you? Maybe I just wanted to tell you that the sandwich you made me for lunch was wonderful, and I really appreciate it.”

Della’s chuckle was good-natured, but it was obvious that she wasn’t buying it.

“I’m fine. There are no serial killers here. I’m in charge of taking care of everything for Anthony Malone himself. I have to live up to his admin, who went back to NYC now – Jennifer. Now she is one efficient woman. He’s got about four people down here, to handle everything. And he’s hiring local. I hear there will be lots of renovations and building, and he’ll be hiring local for all that. He’s got a bunch of people from a local agency, too. This is good.”

Jasmine sighed. It looked like Anthony Malone had a new fan. She didn’t think the man needed any new fans. The last hour before going to sleep had been spent researching the man himself, not his business, and it looked like he was one of those billionaire playboys who liked having fun.

Not that Jasmine had anything against fun. She liked a good book and hot chocolate, or a glass of wine in the bathtub, as much as anybody else. So maybe her idea of fun wasn’t exactly one that would resonate with that of a man like Anthony Malone, who seemed to like jet skis and regular skis and hang gliders and surfboards, judging by some of the photos of him that had been published in tabloids and tabloid websites.

How did a man manage to do all of that and still attend functions and special premieres with slinky, gorgeous and apparently interchangeable women clinging to him? Jasmine was exhausted just looking at that kind of life. She’d never be able to do it.

Well, nobody was asking her to.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Aunt Della. But you’ll tell me if there’s something wrong, won’t you?”