Rico Carlson wasn’t used to hearing no. But that was what the shapely red head standing in his office just said to him.
No, she’d said with an attitude and with finality. But he was holding all of the cards and he knew that.
“Miss Norris,” Rico said, leaning back in his leather desk seat and kicking his Italian loafer clad feet up on the desk. “I own the property where you and your father have that non working farm and I will do with it what I damn well please. You can take my offer of five hundred thousand dollars or you can leave with nothing.”
She leaned across his desk giving him a birds eye view of her creamy cleavage. “I’m not taking a thing and we’re not going anywhere. That non working farm, as you call, it is a historic landmark.”
“And history is always being rewritten.”
Pounding her hand on the desk, she glared at him and Rico didn’t intimidated easily, but those hazel eyes trained on him as if they were heat seeking missiles aimed at his heart. If looks could kill, he thought.
“Do you even care what that land means for the people of this city?” she demanded. “Do you know that’s the first track of land African American’s owned in Elmore? What about our community garden?”
“A garden that doesn’t make a dime and that’s standing in the way of progress. I’m bringing an industry to this town that will put at least five-hundred people to work,” he said slowly easing our of his chair. “So, Miss Norris, I think we’re done here.”
“Oh, this isn’t over. Not by a long shot,” she snapped then turned on her heels and stormed out of his office.