Chapter 3
DESIRAE
Ilove walking along the stretch of beach where the conch homes are.
In Georgia, we called them shore shacks, but that term seems demeaning to the quiet beauty of these old-fashioned coastal cottages.
Reminiscent of old Key West dwellings, the tiny houses are scattered along the shoreline, each one boasting sand for a lawn and a perfect view of ocean and sky from their front porches.
The pastel shade of each home is enhanced by the crystal blue-green of the water; the bright blue and white of the sky; and vivid oranges, pinks, and reds of sunrises and sunsets.
The tang of saltwater in the air and the slight breeze tickle my nose as I approach a faded teal cottage with a white wooden porch surrounded by lattice.
I spot Mrs. Reilly sitting outside gazing out at the water, as if waiting for a boat to come along. As I approach, her focus shifts, as if returning from somewhere far away.
“Hello, dear. What brings you by?”
I’m not ready to tell her the real reason for my visit yet. I hold up a bag from the bakery. “I brought your favorite.”
She hops up from her chair. “Oh goody. Let me put on a pot of tea. Come on in.”
As I take my seat at the table in her kitchen area, I notice the current novel she’s reading.
Since her back is turned, she can’t see my silent brow arch and grin.
It’s a spicy-looking romance with a hot guy on the cover.
Go ahead, girl! This one is vastly different from the covers I see when she’s reading and having tea in Seaside Sweets.
There, she’s usually got her nose in a cozy mystery.
Mrs. Reilly brings over two dainty cups of steaming Irish tea, followed by plates for the muffins. Sweetener and Irish butter are already on the table.
“I haven’t seen you in town lately. Is everything alright?”
She replies with a smile. “Yes, child. I’m fine. Since you showed me how to use that instant cart thingy on my phone, I haven’t had to go shopping. I just press some buttons and my groceries appear on the front porch like magic!”
I can’t help but smile at her characterization of the shopping app. “I’m glad it’s helpful.”
“Now if I could just figure out how to get Julie’s blueberry muffins delivered…”
“I’m sure that can be arranged. I’ll talk to her the next time I see her.”
She reaches across the table and pats my hand. “You’re so good to me, Desirae. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“It’s my pleasure. You remind me so much of my Nana.”
“And you’re like the granddaughter I always longed for and never had.” Again, she looks off in the distance as if thinking about a time long ago.
I raise the teacup to my lips and blow gently to cool the hot beverage before taking a sip, hoping to find the right words to tell Mrs. Reilly about the threat to her building.
“Have you heard about all the changes around town? I think someone’s in the process of buying Mrs. Waverly’s flower shop, and there are some new businesses opening up in the harbor district.”
“That’s wonderful. We could use some sprucing up. As long as we don’t lose the small coastal town charm that’s always characterized Pelican Point.”
And that’s my opening. “This morning, I heard someone’s interested in acquiring the Reilly building.”
Mrs. Reilly wrinkles her brow in confusion. “Why would anyone be interested in it?”
I take a deep breath before continuing. “A developer plans to create an upscale and modern tourist area downtown. He wants to tear down the building in the process.”
“And what do you think about that, dear?”
I close my eyes to try to keep the tears at bay. “That building is living history. It’s your legacy. I don’t think anyone should destroy that.”
“Now, now, child. I’m the last living Reilly. And once I’m gone, it won’t matter. My legacy and history are right in here.” She pats her heart. “So don’t you worry about me. What I want to know is how you feel about it. As far as I’m concerned, it belongs to you now.”
“The moment I laid eyes on that building, I knew it was the perfect home for my store. It’s been all I ever dreamed of and more. It can’t be replaced. Certainly not by some cold, modern structure. What if the developer offers to buy out my mortgage from you for much more than it’s worth?”
“At my age, I don’t need the money. There’s no reason for me to entertain such an offer. And certainly not for it to be torn down. So there you have it. The Reilly building is not for sale. And never will be as long as I’m drawing breath.”
The pool is my sanctuary. It doesn’t judge me; it doesn’t care about my size, shape, or color.
I’ve been swimming for as long as I can remember.
When I swim, I am in command. I can control how fast or slow I go, which stroke I use, and how long I stay in the pool.
People are surprised to learn that I can still outswim most women my age, and many men, averaging just under two miles in an hour, despite my size.
Sometimes, I’ll go at a slower pace, putting my body on auto-pilot, so that I can gather my thoughts, calm my nerves, plan my next dress project, or just be…
. But today, my focus is on the threat to my livelihood. Stone Anginelli.
Despite Mrs. Reilly’s insistence that she wouldn’t sell the mortgage, some developers will go to any means to acquire a prime location, especially when they think they can take advantage of a vulnerable person.
I can’t let that happen to her. I’m not going down without a fight.
After finishing my laps, I exit the pool with a steely resolve.
I’m going to confront this issue head on.
Which means I’m making a trip south to West Palm.
Thirty minutes later, I exit my second floor condo and head for the elevator. As the doors slide open, out comes my neighbor, Regina, a sweet older woman about the same age as my mother.
“Hello, Desirae. You look marvelous, as always. Are you on your way someplace special?”
I give her a genuine smile. She truly is a nice woman, and she makes a killer lasagna. Whenever she has leftovers from fixing it for her son, she often brings me a plate.
“Regina, how are you?”
“I’m good. I just finished my daily walk.”
I nod, and respond to her earlier question. “I’m headed down to West Palm.”
“West Palm. The big city. What takes you there?”
“I’m going to talk to a real estate developer who’s trying to bulldoze the Reilly building in the name of progress.”
Regina reaches out and pats me on the arm. “Well he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, does he? You give him hell, honey.”
Fueled by caffeine and the encouraging words from Regina, I merge onto the interstate toward West Palm Beach, determined to confront this asshole who’s trying to upend my life.
Normally, I would take the more scenic route of the A1A, also known as the Jimmy Buffet Memorial Highway, but today, I’m on a mission.
As I pull off the interstate onto Route 1, the sights and sounds of the large coastal city are all around me.
The traffic is much heavier than in Pelican Point, the blaring horns and revving of engines reflecting the impatience of the drivers.
The business district is alive with activity; the old Florida charm of Pelican Point that I’m accustomed to has given way to the chrome and tinted windows of sterile structures.
I find a nearby garage to park in and cross the street to the modern monstrosity of a high-rise building overlooking the water that houses Stone Development.
As I step in front of the entrance, the double doors quietly swish open.
I march confidently through the glass and steel lobby toward the building directory, the click of my heels echoing my determination to force this man to see me as a person, a successful businesswoman, rather than someone hiding behind an email.
As I approach the elevator, the morning sunlight glints off the shiny surfaces; however, it’s impossible to create a warm vibe in this structure, which is the polar opposite of my beloved building.
Before the mirrored doors of the elevator open, the reflection allows me to straighten my carefully selected vintage-inspired dress and ensure my sleek bun hasn’t been wrecked by the humidity.
The jewels on my grandmother’s brooch twinkle in the light, reminding me of the importance of preserving what she inspired me to build.
When the elevator arrives, I step in. I won’t let you down, Nana. As it climbs to the executive floor, my heart pounds faster with each number that lights up. I can do this.
Upon my exit, I spot a set of glass double doors at the end of the corridor.
Like the main doors into the building, they open automatically as I approach, ushering me into a large reception area with various seating arrangements.
As I walk toward the reception desk, I notice a man sitting at a small table coloring with a little girl.
Not a scene I expected to see in the offices of Stone Development.
I paste on a smile and approach the receptionist.
“Hello. I’d like to see the CEO please.”
“Yes, ma’am. Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I don’t, but I’ve been communicating with him via email. My name’s Desirae Russell.”
The receptionist looks past me, focusing on something to my rear. I turn, as the man I saw with the little girl approaches.
“Desirae Russell.”
My name rolls off his tongue as smooth as the finest grade of silk I use for my designer gowns.
“And you are?” But instinctively I know.
The first sight of Stone Anginelli’s striking face and commanding presence sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
Even though I’m a big girl, his presence is larger than life, making me feel petite in comparison.
Now is not the time to be distracted. I raise my chin and prepare for the battle I came here for.
But he’s already not playing fair. The smell of leather and success, and the cut of his tailored suit that fits to perfection, might just be his weapons of destruction.