Chapter 5 #2
“I’ve only upgraded a few key pieces to make us more money in the sale.
” And hopefully make you fall in love with the house and want to keep it.
“Mom and Russell loved this place. They never got the chance to design anything custom. Don’t you want to honor their wishes and make this a stunning beachside haven? ”
He slowly shakes his head. The glare in his amber eyes could burn a hole through a wall if he kept it up long enough.
“I don’t. It’s a house. They’re gone, and this is our inheritance.
We’re either going to make a killing or be forced to sit on a For Sale sign for a house that we spent too damn much on and put ourselves in a financial bind.
Money doesn’t mix with emotions. A budget exists for a reason because the real estate market doesn’t give a shit about your feelings or our dead parents. ”
I freeze at the words. He blinks, revealing a tiny shred of regret, but it’s too fucking late. He already said it, and I hate him more than I ever have.
We stand a few feet apart, an uncomfortable silence stretching between us.
He won’t apologize, and I refuse to cry in front of him.
I turn away, fearful that my eyes are growing watery.
I silently blow out a breath. The gentle whisper of the waves on the shore draws a thin veil of calm over me.
I finally turn back to him, my jaw set. Now it’s on.
His voice is softer now. “Do you even know what I do for a living, Cupcake? Do you have a clue?”
“Steal candy from babies? Make the women you date question whether or not they have the will to live another day? Kick homeless people when you walk by them on the street?”
The corner of his mouth twitches up by a centimeter.
Shit, he almost smiled.
“This is what I do for a living. I make rich people richer. I’ve seen it time and time again.
You want to make something personal, exactly how you like it, and you think everyone else will see the value in it you see.
The problem with that is, you have a limited pool of buyers who can afford a house like this, and they all have their own individual taste.
Some rich fucker could buy it who wants it all modern, stainless steel, and cement. ”
I gasp in horror.
“If you blow the budget on hand-painted tiles and a fucking mural on the wall, the buyer is going to come in and paint over it with a bucket of whitewash, and all that money is down the drain.”
I step closer to him, throwing my hands up. “This isn’t just an investment! This was our parents’ dying wish! They were saving it to surprise us. They wanted us to come here and feel at home, to be together. To spend Christmas and birthdays and—”
He steps toward me, entering my personal bubble and cutting me off. “Yeah, okay, let’s just do it how you feel like it! Who cares if we miss out on millions of dollars because nobody else cares about your fucking hand-carved cabinets?”
“LIFE IS NOT JUST ABOUT MAKING MONEY, YOU EVIL, SELFISH, SATANIC PRICK!” I scream the words directly in his face.
He blinks at me. His gaze dips over my face, resting on the mouth that just called him an evil, selfish, satanic prick.
I lick my lips. He jerks back, putting space between us.
I release the oxygen I didn’t realize I was holding on to, turning away from him once again to regain my composure.
I have to stop letting him get to me. This is what he wants—to see me lose my shit.
Don’t give him the satisfaction.
A few beats later, he speaks in a calm, controlled tone.
“I own a wealth management company. The headquarters are in New York City, but I have a branch in Miami. I’ll be setting up my office there so that I can fly in to check on the progress here at least once a week.
I’m going to make it clear to Javier that no changes are to be made without my express verbal permission since he was apparently under the impression that you and I were communicating. ”
I wouldn’t answer him even if he did try to call me, and he knows it.
Hearing that he owns his own company doesn’t surprise me.
My mom never said so directly, but I got the impression from what she did say over the years that Dayton had done well for himself.
I don’t really know what wealth management is, but I’m sure with the connections he made at Yale, he knows a lot of rich pricks with generational wealth.
I make a mental note to google it later.
He attended Yale on a baseball scholarship.
He’s one of those annoying people who is incredibly athletic and intelligent.
But, hey, I bet he can’t hold a scorpion pose.
“I don’t see why you need to show up here, but suit yourself.” I turn around, walking back through the house and out to the backyard.
My phone buzzes in my hand with a text from Axel. It’s a link to a San Diego surfing account that tagged him in a post.
Axel
Check this out!
I shut the phone screen off. I don’t have the energy to fake enthusiasm for him right now. My emotions are depleted after the argument with Dayton.
The date on the screen reminds me that it’s almost my first birthday without my mother. I swallow back the loneliness. I don’t want to cry right now, not while he’s still here.