Seeking Single Male (8 page)

owners in making the investment that would be required for renovations. They can lease or buy ready-made real estate in the

malls for less money, and so the dollars continue to be siphoned away from downtown Lexington."

He replaced the overlay with another one. "This drawing represents a restoration plan my company has worked out with the

input of developers and the city planner's office. Single-family dwellings are in red, apartments in blue, condos in green."

"And the yellow?" president Wheeler asked.

The yellow area overlaid the buildings at 145 and 150 Hunt Street, where Lana Martina's shop was housed. He cleared his

voice. "The yellow represents a parking garage."

He heard her gasp, even from across the room—and tensed for a blade in his back. "If the area were optimally developed, it

could provide housing for more than twelve thousand people. And if we could increase the population within the city limits by

a mere ten thousand, Lexington would qualify for an additional two million dollars in the form of government grants to upgrade

utilities, to build more schools and to improve roads."

When the lights came up, the room remained quiet, which was a good sign.

"Once you read the detailed economic forecast for this rezoning proposal, I'm certain you'll see, the sooner the measure is

approved, the sooner the city will begin to reap the benefits."

Wheeler nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Healey."

"Yea, Gregory," came Will's voice from the back, accompanied by his enthusiastic applause, to which a few people

contributed.

Greg conjured up a smile and waved to Will without encouraging him. Leave it to his big-hearted brother to applaud

regardless of the occasion. And leave it to his big-hearted brother to offer his seat to the very woman Greg least wanted to

meet again.

"Next, we'll hear from Ms. Martina," the president said.

Greg swallowed hard and returned his presentation to his briefcase. He wasn't worried about what the woman might say

regarding the rezoning project—hell, if her behavior ran true to form, she might
help
his case. But he had a feeling that he and

Ms. Martina had at least one more confrontation in the cards.

When he turned and met her gaze, the feeling increased tenfold. Loathing emanated from those violet depths, reminding him

yet again why he was single. With her chin lifted, she passed him, carrying the overloaded bag she'd dropped on his foot.

He returned to his seat, then pulled on his chin, waiting, wondering what the volatile woman might reveal. If he had to defend

himself, what would he say? That he went back to her apartment thinking she wanted to have sex? That he thought a quickie

with a beautiful stranger would lift him from the holiday doldrums?

Greg removed his handkerchief and mopped at the perspiration on his brow. Jesus, why hadn't he simply walked away?

"My name is Lana Martina," she said, her voice strong, her projection good. "I run a coffee shop in the proposed zoning area.

In fact, I just discovered that I'm the parking garage."

The crowd tittered.

"I lease the building from Mr. Healey," she continued, then turned and gestured in his direction. "Although I didn't realize my

landlord was an actual person until this evening."

The crowd laughed outright, and his face burned.

She turned back to the council members. "I'm speaking on behalf of thirteen Hyde Parkland shop owners. Part of the reason

we're here tonight is that the ownership of the property is so deftly hidden in holding companies and leasing agents, we simply

couldn't
find
the owner." She bestowed a magnanimous smile upon the council and the audience. "I'd like to believe that our

being shuffled around like a deck of cards was simply an oversight, but I doubt it."

She knew how to work the crowd. A couple of the council members shot a disapproving glance in Greg's direction. He bit

down on the inside of his cheek—he'd had no idea any of the shop owners had been misled or ignored.

Lana Martina plunked her own transparency on top of the rezoning map. "What Mr. Healey didn't tell you was that around the

vacant buildings here, here, and here, are over a dozen viable businesses whose owners have a considerable investment in

their locations and who will lose their livelihood if they're forced to move."

He frowned.

She whipped out another transparency, this one with statistics. "This graph shows that similar downtown rezoning projects in

Dukeville and Franklin resulted in a
decrease
in city taxes because the residential buildings could not be filled and eventually

were turned into low-income housing. The
reason
the residential buildings could not be filled to capacity was that the retail

area, the character of the city, had been decimated, and there weren't enough attractions left to draw potential buyers

downtown."

He blinked.

Forty minutes later, he'd lost count of the pie charts and bar graphs, not to mention handouts of the possible negative

economical effects of his plan if 1) interest rates rose, 2) unemployment increased, or 3) property taxes jumped. She had

projected housing costs, population growth and the effect on the city's declining sewer system, which was currently costing the

city such-and-such in fines every day because untreated water was being dumped into a nearby lake.

"So as you can see," Lana said with a flourish, "the proposal before the council is far more than a simple rezoning project.

You, ladies and gentlemen, might be held accountable for passing a proposal that would lead to the decline of the entire

downtown economy simply to line the coffers of Regal Properties and—" she shot him a pointed look "—the pockets of Mr.

Greg Healey."

The shop owners burst into applause, and Greg shifted in his chair. Despite the woman's emotional argument, however, he

felt confident the city council would side with him. After all, leaving the zoning as is would only lead to more decline.

"Is that all, Ms. Martina?" the council president asked.

"Just one more thing," she said in a charming voice.

Greg's heartbeat thrashed in his ears.
She was going to spill her guts about their encounter.

Leaning closer to the microphone, she said, "I'd like to go on record, saying that even the timing of the proposal is suspect,

considering this is the busiest time of the year for those of us who run our own retail businesses." She sent a stinging look in his

direction. "One might conclude the owner was trying to sneak this rezoning project by the shop owners and the city council."

A decidedly suspicious mood descended over the audience, and it was all directed toward Greg.

"Thank you for listening," she closed in a solemn tone typically reserved for eulogies.

Greg closed his eyes briefly, as the crowd once again erupted in applause. Christ, she was good. Everyone in the room either

wanted to hire her or sleep with her. Except him, of course. And she'd as good as painted a bull's-eye on his back.

LANA GATHERED UP
her papers, her heart beating a relieved tattoo that she'd gotten through the presentation. Actually, she

felt an incredible rush of satisfaction, a sensation that lasted until she made eye contact with Greg Healey as she returned to her

seat. The man's jaw was clenched, and his eyes were dark. Gone was the carefree Science Club guy she'd shot the breeze with

on the way to her apartment. Here was the real Greg Healey, and he was the kind of person she loathed—powerful and greedy.

She lowered herself into the chair, positioning herself on the edge farthest from him. The meeting couldn't end soon enough as

far as she was concerned.

But there were more speakers: a few private citizens who wanted to voice their opinions, and two politicians who simply

wanted to get their name and face in front of potential voters. At the end, the president called for a fifteen-minute recess so the

members might confer. Lana's nerves jumped with the knowledge that her life as she knew it could be over in mere minutes. Oh

sure, she might have six months to clear out. But the loans—holy Chapter 11, she'd have to return to the corporate world just to

make a dent in her debts.

Before she could worry about what, if anything, to say to Greg Healey during the recess, Alex and her other friends gathered

around, showering her with accolades while shooting barbed glances over her shoulder at the enemy. His energy prickled the

skin on her back.

"I have to leave," Alex murmured, her eyes brimming with questions. "But call me tomorrow and tell me what the devil is

going on."

"If I figure it out myself," she whispered back. As Alex slipped away, the council members filed back in, and the president

banged for quiet.

"The members have considered the arguments presented this evening. A formal vote will take place the second week of

January, but the council is not convinced that this proposal has been properly investigated. We will reconvene two days before

the vote for final arguments on both sides. In the meantime, the council charges Mr. Healey and Ms. Martina to work together to

come up with a compromise that will benefit both parties."

"But—" Lana said.

"But—" Greg said.

The banging gavel interrupted their protests. "Meeting adjourned."

8

LANA WAS STRUCK SPEECHLESS
. Work with Greg Healey to come up with a compromise? Her mind reeled with the

new development, her consolation being that he looked as displeased as she, his handsome face caught somewhere between

bewilderment and mortification.

A week ago she hadn't known this man existed, yet in the space of a few days their paths had intersected at rather bizarre

crosshairs. She'd read about these kinds of coincidences, something about the inevitability of two souls crossing that were

destined to meet from the beginning of time. Her fingertips tingled. Did he feel it, this…
mystique
that reverberated between

them?

He leaned in close, and she held her breath.

"Did you set me up?" he demanded.

She gaped. "Excuse me?"

"I don't believe in coincidence."

So this was the real Greg Healey—condescending, arrogant. suspicious. Lana crossed her arms over her stained sweatshirt.

"Haven't you heard, Mr. Healey—it's a small, small world. Or are you always this paranoid?"

The man's ears twitched.

She smirked. "Listen, about the other day—"

"Stop," he cut in, causing her to blink. "If you mention what happened the other day to anyone, I'll slap a civil suit on you for

assault."

Maybe it was the fact that she knew he cooked a mean omelette, or that she knew he liked astronomy, or that he'd told her she

was the most desirable woman he'd ever met—but this man did not scare her. In fact, she realized she had this puffed-up Richie

Rich right where she wanted him: off balance. A warm, fuzzy feeling of feminine power infused her chest.

"Oh,
please
sue me. Then I can tell the court how I had to defend myself with a bottle of hair spray from an unwelcome

advance."

His expression was incredulous. "You invited me back to your apartment! You even talked about money, for heaven's sake."

"The only thing I charge for, Mr. Healey, is coffee."

"Really? Does 'four hundred a month' ring a bell?"

She shook her head and snorted softly. "Like I was
trying
to tell you earlier, there was a mix-up in the ads."

"Mix-up?"

"There were two ads, Mr. Healey, and I realized later that our wires got crossed. I thought you were answering my ad for a

roommate."

He balked, and she actually enjoyed watching the color leave his face. "Room…mate?"

"Which was why I was giving you a tour of my apartment."

He shook his head. "I'm supposed to believe you were running
two
ads—one for a roommate and one for a…playmate?"

Lana hesitated. If she told him that her employee Annette had run the ad, would he arrange to meet Annette again? Annette

didn't need this man trampling on the fairy-tale image of Mr. Right she had conjured up in her head. And despite Lana's

warning, Annette might throw caution to the wind and agree to meet him, just because Lana had told her he was good-looking.

And a smooth talker like Greg Healey might even talk Annette into giving up her fiercely guarded virginity, to no good end.

"Yes," she lied. "I ran two ads."

He looked dubious. "I think you made up this cockamamy story about two ads to save your pride."

Her laugh of outrage was genuine. "Deposit? Pay by the end of the month? If I
were
a prostitute, Mr. Healey, I'd be charging

more than four hundred a month, and I
wouldn't
be offering term payments."

His ears moved again—
how did he do that?
She could tell he was starting to believe her. She almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

"But don't worry," she added, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I won't tell anyone that you shop the singles ads for sex."

His face turned a mottled crimson. "You—"

"Mr. Healey and Ms. Martina?"

She turned to see council president Wheeler walking toward them.

The older woman lifted an eyebrow. "I'm going to take the fact that the two of you are already talking as a good sign."

Greg cleared his throat and Lana extended a forced smile. Talking, yes, but the woman would probably faint if she knew