3. Natalie
THREE
natalie
“Come sit down.”
That wasn’t good. Whenever my boss said, “come sit down,” it meant shit was about to hit the fan. Dave was a good guy. As dedicated to conserving the land in our area as any, and had been in this business for nearly thirty years. But sometimes pressure from higher ups got the best of him. The guy was between the rock and proverbial hard place on most days.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” I said, sitting in a chair across from his desk.
On the rare occasions I was actually in the office, a smallish building three blocks off Main Street, Dave usually used the opportunity for a sit-down. Today, it seemed, would not be an exception.
“The inlet.”
Worse than I thought. “Please don’t tell me.” If only I were ten years old and could block his next words by covering my ears with my hands.
“I know your affinity for that property,” he began.
“Affinity is an understatement, Dave. I use it for the rowing program. Got permission to build that shed.” I stopped at saying that inlet was mine because...it actually wasn’t. Property of Finger Lakes Land Trust. But still.
“Unfortunately,” Dave continued as if I hadn’t told him what he already knew, “the buyer’s been given permission to run a full environmental impact assessment.”
My eyes narrowed. “Um, not to be Captain Obvious here, Dave. But when you say ‘given permission’ that sounds suspiciously like you weren’t the one giving said permission. But I know full well that’s your job.”
As director of the Seneca Lake branch of FLLT, he could green-light or kill these negotiations anytime.
“Guilty as charged,” he said. “I gave them permission.”
I refrained from saying “duh” and sat there instead. Waiting.
“We’re bleeding funds, Natalie. You know that.”
“And you’re getting pressure to give this sale a hard look?” I finished.
“I am.”
That land might be protected, but it was also a prime piece of real estate that could put money into the coffers of FLLT for other projects. Since Finger Lakes Land Trust encompassed all of the lakes, there was a perpetual push/pull between directors that I didn’t envy Dave having to navigate.
“Why this one? There are a hundred other projects like it.”
“Frankly?”
“Yes, please.”
Dave’s gray and white peppered beard made him look very fatherly, and usually, he did take care of his staff, and the land we tried to protect, like a dad sometimes. But like my own father, tough love was sometimes the name of the game.
“The proposed sale price is twenty percent more than market value.”
My eyes nearly popped out of my head like one of those old-fashioned cartoons. “Are you kidding me?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Shit,” I said, slinking into my chair, completely forgetting that I was a professional and sitting across from my boss. This was worse than I thought. “They’re gonna sell it?”
By “they” I mostly meant “you” since Dave had to approve the sale before it went to the FLLT board. But throwing him under the bus wasn’t any way to get what I wanted. And I wanted to conserve this land.
I sat up. “Dave,” I began. “This has only a little to do with my rowing program and the community well-being. There are a million reasons why that inlet should not be developed. Water quality. Erosion control. Old-growth trees.”
I was just getting started, but Dave stopped me. “Natalie. You know as well as I do all of that will be taken under consideration in the impact assessment. This is far from a done deal.”
“But—”
“I wanted you to know first because of your ties to the property. But it’s moving forward.” His tone, firmer than it had been before, left little room for continued discussion. “Now unless you want to actually meet the buyer, you might want to head home early.”
I sat up even straighter. “He’s coming . . . here?”
“In fifteen minutes.”
Oh man. Part of me wanted to meet this douchebag, but the other part of me wanted to be as far away from this place as possible when he came. Watching Dave watch me was the clincher. For the most part, the guy had been a great boss. The best call here was probably to leave without doing anything I would regret.
This would be a battle, keeping the inlet in the Trust. One that wouldn’t be won this afternoon.
“Leaving early,” I said, standing, torn between saying “thanks for the heads up” and “thanks for rolling over so easily for some cash.” This Bitter Betty needed to get out of here.
“Good call,” Dave said as I opted for neither and simply walked out of his office.
Opening the door, I half expected to see the devil incarnate himself on the other side, but instead, the office was, as usual, mostly empty. The majority of us usually worked in the field, and today was no exception.
Grabbing my stuff from the small office at the end of the hall, I flipped off the lamp—I’d dismantled the disgusting fluorescent lights that did no one any favors—and headed out. But just as I got to the front door, a perfectly see-through front door, he appeared.
Black suit. Black tie. Short, dirty-blond hair that reminded me of Nate or Lucas, sort of military-like but a little less perfect. Walked liked them too, as if he owned the place.
Drop. Dead. Freaking. Gorgeous.
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped walking until he saw me and opened the door, forcing me to confront him. For a second, I couldn’t find the words. His presence filled the entire room in a way I couldn’t compare to a single person I knew.
This was the guy trying to take my land?
The universe had one hell of a sense of humor.
When he stepped inside the small lobby, if it could be called that since there wasn’t really a reception desk, I got my first whiff of him. Dear lord in heaven. I had to get out of here.
“Do you work here?” he asked as I attempted to step around him.
Crap.
I didn’t like the guy, but it wasn’t in my nature to be rude.
“Yeah. You’re looking for my boss,” I said, pointing to Dave’s door within sight of us. “You’re early,” I blurted.
“If you’re not early, you’re late.”
His tone wasn’t condescending, necessarily. But it wasn’t not condescending either.
“I guess.”
Looking at him would just not do. I tried again to walk around him, but this time he physically stopped me. Though his hand lay gently on my arm, it felt as if he were branding me. Likely because he was trying to steal my land.
I looked down at his hand, and my expression must have said it all.
He immediately removed it.
“You don’t like me. Why?”
Condescending and direct. What a surprise.
“I don’t know you,” I said honestly, trying like hell not to bury myself in a hole here.
“Even more confusing then,” he replied.
Don’t say it. Do not get into it with him, Natalie.
“Let me enlighten you then.” Oh shit. So much for using my head.
“I thought I heard voices.”
Spinning back around, I made eye contact with Dave, who silently asked how much damage control he needed to do. I pursed my lips together, refusing to say anything more.
“So you’ve met Jaxon?” he asked me.
Jaxon. Stupid name.
“We didn’t exactly meet yet,” Jaxon said.
“Ahh, well, you will eventually anyway.” Dave seemed resigned to the fact, confusing Jaxon even more.
“Jaxon Hayes, Natalie Hartwell.” Then with a behave look, he continued. “Natalie works here and”—he shrugged—“can’t say she’s exactly pleased about the potential for this inlet sale.”
Jaxon’s sharp gaze met mine.
His eyes. Blue? Green? I couldn’t tell. Must be hazel then. But so light, almost like you could see through them. Why did the guy have to be so damn hot?
“I see.” His voice was assured, like the rest of him.
Smiling, though one hundred percent sure my smile didn’t reach my eyes, I said, “Glad to hear it. Have a good meeting.”
Half running toward the door, I swung it open, wondering if I’d managed to keep the sarcasm out of my voice when I said, “Have a good meeting.” Probably not.
Thankfully my apartment was about an eight-block walk to work, and I’d walked today. I needed the time to clear my head after that. First, Dave’s news. And then, meeting Jaxon. It was too much for this simple girl for one afternoon, and I needed to walk off having met my nemesis and, frankly, him looking like that.
Jaxon Hayes.
You’ve met your match.