One Way to Succeed (Casas de Buen Dia Book 1) (18 page)

Rick had never gotten as many mixed signals from a woman before. Even back in high school, when girls were understandably conflicted about “how far to go” with boys, including him, and were constantly giving him on-again-off-again looks that were frustratingly hard to interpret, it wasn’t this bad.

But then, he acknowledged, he had been the same way with her at first, hadn’t he? He was all hot for her in the casita at his mother’s house that night, and then pushed her away at the end of the evening. He had a reason for his behavior, though, he rationalized. Or was it an excuse? And even if it was, what was her excuse?

When he got to the office on Monday, he knocked on Amy’s office door. He heard her talking on the phone, although her voice was muffled by the door.

“Just a minute,” she called out. A few more muffled sentences later, she opened the door just enough to stick her head out. “Hi. Do you need something?”

“Uh, well, can I come in?”

“I am in the middle of something,” she said. Her voice was cold and steady. Was this the same woman who had accepted his desire as mutual and irresistible just the Friday before? Now she blocked the door as if afraid he would try to do something she wasn’t ready for. “Can I call you in a little bit?”

Sandra looked around the door to the reception lobby—as always, not afraid to be snoopy. Rick threw her an angry frown, and she retreated back to her desk.

“Okay,” Rick said. “Just buzz me when you’re done.”

Fifteen minutes later, Amy’s voice squawked over the intercom.

“What did you need, Rick?” she said.

“Uh, can you come into my office?”

“Sure.” She snapped the box off and five seconds later was standing in his doorway. “What?” She sounded impatient.

“Do you want to come in?” Rick asked. Amy shook her head slowly.

“Is something wrong?” He dropped his voice so snoopy Sandra wouldn’t hear.

“No, Rick,” Amy said low and emotionless. “I’m working on your references for the golf course guy. I’ll have them done today. Do you need something else?”

“No, I guess that would be fine,” he said, his brow creased. “But can we talk?”

“I don’t really have time.” Then she stepped into his office just far enough to toss an envelope onto his desk.

“What’s this?” he asked. He picked it up. One of his regular Buen Dia business envelopes, it appeared to hold a single sheet of paper. “Should I open it now?”

“Please do,” Amy said, and then she turned and walked back to her office and closed her door.

Rick grabbed the letter opener from his desk drawer and slit the envelope open. The neatly folded Buen Dia stationary slipped out easily, and Rick pulled it open to see one short paragraph.

“
November 3, 20
--
Dear Rick: For personal reasons, I am resigning my position as Administrative Assistant to the CEO of Buen Dia. I will be willing to give two weeks’ notice in order to assist the company in recruiting and hiring my replacement. However, if you would prefer, I would be willing to leave immediately. Sincerely, Amy Prentiss”

Rick stared at the paragraph. The word “resigning” throbbed on the page. It made no sense. Just Friday, they had made love behind her desk. He had spent all weekend alone at home, sleeping fitfully, trying to figure out how to keep her in his life. He was resigned to the idea that she couldn’t stay at the company, but he didn’t want to see her go. Now she had solved that riddle for him; she was quitting.

He hit the button on the intercom. “Amy,” he said. He heard his voice crack. “Amy, what is this about?”

He waited. Finally she answered. “I think it’s pretty clear,” she squawked. He waited for more, but the box was silent.

“But why?”

“I’m moving to L.A” was her simple comeback.

So, it was about Rob. She was going back to him. Otherwise, why would she leave a good job, her friends, and … well … him, if it wasn’t for Rob?

“Is it Rob?” he asked.

He waited again. After some seconds, she replied, “I don’t think I have to explain. Now, I have work to do. Unless you want me to leave right now.”

“No, no.” He was at a loss for what to say. If he weren’t already angry, his inability to think of how to respond would have brought him there. “Fine, Amy. Okay. Fine.”

Rick opened the Movie Colony project file on his desk and stared at the pile of papers inside. He couldn’t see a word. What was Amy’s problem? She fell into his arms willingly and passionately twice, turning cold and mysterious afterwards.

He couldn’t sit there any longer. The only thing to do was get out the office; get away from her. He wouldn’t ask her to leave today, but he might do that tomorrow. Otherwise, how could he focus on the important work he had to do?

Rick picked up his jacket, strode up to the reception desk, and told Sandra he would be out for the rest of the day, checking on his projects.

“But it’s not even noon, boss,” Sandra cooed. “You won’t be back?”

“Not as long as—” he glanced back at the door to Amy’s office involuntarily and stopped. “Never mind.”

“Oh.” Sandra didn’t have to say anything more, but she did. “Problems with the boss lady?”

“The who?”

“She’s been running this place for the last couple of weeks,” Sandra said matter-of-factly. “I think of her as the boss lady.”

“Well, she’s leaving, so get that out of your head,” Rick growled. He stormed out the front door.

If anyone—even the receptionist—had started to think of Amy as the boss after only three weeks, he was lucky that she had decided to leave. That was the last thing he needed. Good riddance, he thought as he sunk down into the seat of his Z3. It was time to move on.

~

Rick drove by the property he was trying to buy in the Movie Colony and then stopped by each of his three projects. On his way out of the neighborhood where Tim was finally working apace on the Corona Inn, he slowed down to look at the empty lots Amy had thought she had discovered. She was delusional in thinking anyone would ever get their hands on them until after the old lady died, but he agreed with her about their potential. The property would make a spectacular location for a small hotel--something exceptionally warm and inviting, tucked back there in the depth of the neighborhood, surrounded by the huge desert willows and palms.

He slammed the heel of his hand on the steering wheel and floored the accelerator. The Z3 shot forward so quickly he nearly lost control of the steering wheel. The car veered left before he regained control, the tires jerked off line by a large crack in the asphalt. A small dog darted out of the way, the right tire only missing him by inches—inches bestowed by luck or the attention of whatever god watched over small critters, Rick thought.

Get a grip!
he chided himself. He wasn’t going to let any woman, especially one who was so inscrutably unpredictable and untrustworthy as Amy, cause him to lose control over his steering wheel, his company, or his life. Or hit the second dog in a month and a half.

He drove home, parked his car in the condo garage and walked to the nearest bar.

~

When he got to the office the next morning, Amy’s office door was closed again. He walked shakily past, still struggling with a hangover the likes of which he hadn’t suffered since college. He had thought about calling in sick, but he knew how that would look. At least how it would look to Amy. She’d think he was avoiding her.

Well, he thought, this was his company and no woman was going to think she could control his coming and going. However bad the hangover was, he would show up with his head high and ready to regain whatever control Amy had wrested over the company in her short tenure.

On his desk lay a new folder with a neat sheath of paper detailing the responses Amy had received in the reference checks she had promised to finish. He flipped through it. Sure, it was complete and professional, but now he wondered if he could trust it. How could he trust anything she did? 

He retrieved a cup of coffee from the breakfast room and sat back at his desk when Sandra walked in to deliver a FedEx envelope.

“Expecting something from Mexico, were you?” she asked. Rick sneered nastily at her, and she slipped out, warily. Why was she so snoopy? For a moment he considered the possibility of turning his office into an all-male establishment—no more women making smart-ass comments, snooping, or trying to run the place.

He glanced at the return address. He knew no one in San Miguel de Allende that he could remember. Perhaps it was a rich ex-pat, looking for properties in Palm Springs to invest in.

He pulled the open strip and dumped the contents onto his desk. There was nothing inside but a two-page letter and a business card from a Marlena Benavides de Pascal. He’d never heard of her.

Dear Mr. Rick D’Matrio:

Salutations from lovely San Miguel de Allende. I hope this letter finds you well and prospering.

I am writing to you because I recently was blessed with a visit from a young woman who works in your office who presented me with an interesting proposition involving my only remaining property in Palm Springs, California.

As a developer, you are probably aware of this small tract; it seems that every developer and real estate investor in your fine state has contacted me at one time or another over the past twenty years, seeking to buy this property for development. As one of them, you are probably also aware that I have refused to consider any of their proposals.

However, Amy Prentiss convinced me, in just a few short hours, that you are different from those I’ve turned away before. She described the projects you have undertaken—even the one that knocked her out of her job managing a hotel—as intimate, elegant, and respectful of the neighborhoods they inhabit.

You may or may not be the exemplary businessman she thinks you are, but I am certain of this: if Amy Prentiss is involved in this project, I would be glad to consider an offer to partner with you in the development of my property. She was the first representative of your profession I ever met who asked first what I wanted to do—what I would like to see happen with my land. I appreciated her empathetic talent, business savvy and respect, and I believe you must be thrilled to have her on your team.

Here is what I would like to propose to you: I will come to the United States very soon, and I would like to discuss the opportunity to work with you to develop my property into an intimate hotel that pays respect to the architectural and artistic traditions of Mexico, partly in honor of my late husband who bought the piece of property in question. I will contribute my land to the project; you will provide the financing and the project management to complete the construction and operation of the inn once it is complete. We will share ownership and profits, and I will have a place to stay that I can truthfully call my own when I visit Palm Springs in the future. Of course, as you can imagine, this proposal is contingent on the involvement of Srta. Prentiss, whom I am hoping you will appoint as project manager of this particular endeavor.

Please consider this a serious proposal. I will be prepared to offer further specifics upon my arrival in the U.S. next week. I only travel to Palm Springs once in a very long time these days, due to my age and the difficulties of negotiating today’s travel indiscretions. Therefore, I hope we can come to an agreement quickly. I hope you and Amy will take time to discuss this before my arrival so that we can have a most productive meeting.

My best regards,

Marlena Benavides de Pascal

Rick had trouble focusing on the fine handwriting, not so much because it was so small and delicate, but because his eyes were swimming by the time he had read the first two paragraphs.

What the hell!
he thought.
What kind of blackmail is this?
If Amy wanted to keep her job, all she had to do was act like it; stop being pissy. But now it was clear: she wanted more than that. She wanted to be a project manager, apparently. And, come to think of it, she probably wanted to be more than that. COO? CEO?

Rick stood up and paced around his office. He stopped and leaned on his hands against the conference table. How did he manage to fall for a woman like this? Sure she was attractive—okay,
very
attractive—and smart—okay,
very
smart—and obviously very good at her job. But he should have seen it coming. She wanted to run the place.

He sat back down and re-read the letter slowly. How had Amy won over this owner, Marlena, when dozens of other developers had tried and failed? Was it simply a matter that, as a woman, Marlena was more willing to work with other women? That was possible, but Rick doubted Amy was the first woman who had approached Marlena. Perhaps Amy did have some special talent for negotiating that he had not had a chance to witness.

He read the letter a third time. The key, according to Marlena herself was Amy’s empathy. “
She was the first representative of your profession I ever met who asked first what I wanted to do—what I would like to see happen with my land.”
While that didn’t seem to be something that would be hard to do, how many developers did he know who would ask a seller what they wanted to do with a piece of property rather than simply jump in and tell the seller their plans? Probably none. That required the kind of restraint that was rare among the Type A personalities that dominated his profession.