Imperfect Love: Hostile Fakeover (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

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  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Ryann Kerekes. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Imperfect Love remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Ryann Kerekes, or their affiliates or licensors.

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  An Imperfect Love Series Novella

  Hostile Fakeover

  Cary Hart

  Cover designed by Mary Ruth of Passion Creations http://facebook.com/thereadingruthcreations

  Editing provided by Dani Hall of DMH Editing Services http://facebook.com/dmheditingservices

  Editing provided by Dawn Yacovetta

  Table of contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  What’s Next?

  Books by Cary Hart

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  To all my readers – Thank you!

  #coffeesaveslives

  Chapter One

  Bianca

  “Thirty days to come up with how much?” I squeak, shocked that this is even happening. My home that I have shared with my Grans is in jeopardy of being taken away.

  “Three hundred thousand dollars.”

  “For what? What could she have possibly needed that money for?” I sit, waiting for an answer. This has to be a mistake. Right? Grans made sure everything was taken care of.

  “Well, let me see if they made notes on the original paperwork.” He starts scrolling through the computer screen. “We upgraded our files last year.” Scrolling. Scrolling. “They’ve now been digitalized.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Please be wrong. Please be wrong. Please be wrong.

  “Looks like she needed it to pay for four years of art school for her granddaughter.”

  “That’s me.”

  She told me not to worry. That she had saved for it.

  “Yes, Miss Black.” He swivels in his chair, facing me, hands on desk. “Bianca…may I call you Bianca?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I know this is a tough situation for you, but here’s my best piece of advice.” His face softens a little and this is where he tells me my options. The ones that keep replaying in my head. The ones that I refuse to listen to. “Your grandmother’s building is in a prime location. Sell it, pay the loan and pocket the rest of the money.”

  “Sir, I can’t do that.”

  “Bia—”

  “It’s the only thing I have left. That building was her dream for me. Sir, if I gave up now, then it would be like giving up on everything she provided for me.”

  “I understand. I really do.” He leans forward. “But if this loan isn’t paid in full in thirty days, then you lose the building altogether. The dream will be gone.”

  “So pay up or give up.”

  “Yes. For lack of better words…you’ve been dealt a shitty hand.”

  He doesn’t even realize how true those words are. This morning, my hair dryer blew a fuse, the water heater gave out and a freaking bird flew in the window, taking up residence on the top floor. There’s now bird shit everywhere.

  “I’m not giving up.” I stand, offering my hand. “I have thirty days.”

  “Yes, Bianca.” He takes it, giving it a little shake and squeeze. “I really hope this works out for you.”

  “It will!”

  It has to.

  **********

  If I could just get the gallery up and running before the note is due, then maybe, just maybe, I might be able to make enough to pay off the loan.

  Standing in the middle of my soon-to-be-gallery, I admire my work. Each piece I have completed in this collection is on display, waiting to be viewed and acquired by someone who shares my vision.

  Straightening the pieces, I know something is missing. The room…it’s cold and devoid of color. I need to find the money to clean this place up, make it appealing to the eye so it will enhance my pieces, but I can’t do that until I have the loan paid off. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

  Hearing the door chime, I see a sexy-as-hell guy walking through the door, distracted, on the phone. Hair cut a little close, bright baby blues and a suit that was fitted just for him.

  “Yep, I’m here now. I’m pretty sure the deal will go through and this place will be all ours. Spotlight will soon be expanding to Manhattan and San Francisco. It’s just a matter—” He turns around, catching sight of me standing here watching him. “Hey, James, looks like the Realtor is here. Let me call you back later.” He ends the call, taking a minute to eye me up and down.

  “Hello, can I help you?” I keep my distance, not sure why he’s here. He could be some crazy stalker serial killer dude. I mean, he doesn’t have the glasses — you know, the nerdy kind that all serial killers seem to have. Well, maybe they all don’t have them, but all the freaky ones do. This guy…he doesn’t.

  “Hello. I’m Ford Phillips.” He stalks toward me with purpose. “I’m your two o’clock.”

  “I’m sorry? My two o’clock?”

  “Shit! Don’t tell me the bank failed to call. I know I’m a last-minute add in, but they told me you would be willing to stick around.” Bringing his phone back to life, he starts to dial a number. “Hey, James. Looks like she wasn’t expecting me. Did you send over my information?” He turns around lowering his voice, but I can still hear him so I really don’t know what the point was. “I need in this building today. Yes, of course. I’ll have it sent over. Thank you.”

  “Sir, I’m sorry but…”

  “I have my guy sending over my information to your agency. The bank is fully aware that I’m looking at the building and am ready to move forward. So if you could just stick around and show me the layout, that would be great.”

  He thinks I’m the Realtor? I could either tell him the truth, or…I could convince him this place is a dump and not worth his time. Which isn’t too far from the truth. I mean, it does have its issues, but it’s totally repairable. Not that he needs to know that part.

  “Of course! Would you like to see the good or go straight to the bad?”

  “The bad?” His brow furrows.

  “What kind of Realtor would I be if I didn’t fully disclose this information?” I give him my sweetest smile while I’m mentally throwing all the middle fingers his way.

  “Just give me a quick tour.” He loosens his tie and undoes a few buttons, allowing a little chest hair to peek through.

  Stop it, B. No time to think about what’s under there.

  “Follow me.” I lead him toward the basement, flipping on the light, knowing it won’t turn on. “Oh! I completely forgot. This place is wired all wrong. I’m pretty sure the basement light is over here.” I walk over to the other side of the room hitting the dimmer. “Bingo! We have light.”

  “Is it like this throughout the whole building?” He walks around flipping all the switches.

  “Yes,” I say, walking right past him.

  Bianca – 1, Ford – 0

  **********

  Ford

  Unbelievable! It’s goi
ng to be a hell of a lot more work than I had anticipated, but worth every penny. Even with the added expenses.

  “Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems.” I try to stay positive. Electrical issues could be costly, but I have a few friends who owe me favors. Time to call those in.

  “Between you and me, this place seems like a dump. A real money pit.” She walks over to one of the paintings and straightens it.

  Interesting.

  “Whose are those?” I run my hand over the canvases and the Realtor shoots me an irritated look.

  “Please, Mr. Phillips, I’m sure the artist wouldn’t appreciate your fingerprints all over their treasures, devaluing them.”

  Getting a closer look, I notice the artist’s signature, BB. Holy shit, it’s the old lady’s granddaughter. Glancing over at the so-called Realtor I realize that she is her. BB.

  “So, this BB…is he a local artist?”

  “What makes you think it’s a man?” she questions, hand on her hip.

  Yep! It’s her. This should be fun.

  “Well, look at this.” I point to the brush strokes. “Not very graceful. It’s lacking the feminine touch.” I shake my head and go in for the dig. “It’s a little too paint-by-numbers for my taste.”

  “Actually…you know what? Maybe we should just look at the rest of the place.” She takes off for the kitchen, leaving me behind.

  I head after her, but the door chiming catches my attention. Turning, I see a woman carrying a couple files walk in.

  “You must be Ford Phillips.” She pushes her glasses up. “I’m sorry I’m late, but I had an errand to run.”

  Busted!

  “It’s not a problem, I’m pretty familiar with these types of places. If you don’t care, I’m just going to walk around.”

  “That’s fine. If you need me or have any questions, I’ll be right here, going through some paperwork for the bank.”

  “Thank you.” I head for the kitchen to find out exactly what BB is up to.

  Pushing through the kitchen doors I notice her looking out the back windows. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I got your name?”

  “Uhh I-I’m sorry?” She takes her time turning around.

  “Your name?” I say, slower this time.

  “Oh, yes. I’m sorry, I thought I had.” She walks over, holding out her hand. “Bianca Black.”

  BB. I knew it.

  “Bianca Black,” I repeat, taking her hand. I’m not prepared for the feeling; her touch is electrifying.

  “Oh! I’m…” She tries to jerk her hand back, but I pull her in.

  Face to face.

  Chest to chest.

  “What are you trying to pull…BB?”

  “Excuse me?” Her eyes go wide.

  “Bianca Black, BB…the granddaughter of Angela Morgan…”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.” She tries to look away.

  “Look at me.” I bring my free hand up, lifting her chin.

  “Game over.”

  Chapter Two

  Bianca

  Who does he think he is? Game over? This isn’t a game to me. This is my livelihood…my future.

  I can’t take it anymore. His proximity is making me claustrophobic. I need to get away, to be able to think. Pushing off him, I turn, breathless, and grab on to the counter. I try to clear my head; this whole situation is overwhelming.

  “This isn’t a game.”

  “I’m pretty sure you pretending to be a Realtor trying to scare me off from taking over this place is some kind of game.” He comes to stand beside me. “Especially when the real Realtor is out there as we speak.”

  Too close.

  “That wasn’t exactly my intention.” I turn to face him “Wait, she’s out there?”

  “Then why? Why pretend to be the Realtor?” He ignores my question.

  Throwing my hands up in the air I say, “I don’t know.” I start to pace the room. “I buried my grandmother four days ago. I thought everything was right with my world, but come to find out Grans lied to me.” I turn to face him. “I thought this was my building, but she took a loan out on this run-down piece of crap to pay for my schooling.”

  “It’s not a piece of crap, Bianca. This is a prime piece of real estate right here. One that if you were to sell to me, it would pay off the loan and let you sit comfortably for a few years.”

  “Don’t!” I swing around. “My situation is not your problem. It’s mine.” I point to myself. “And I’m not selling. This building, as run down as it is…is my dream. My gallery.”

  “I’m more familiar with your problems than you think. I knew your grandmother. She actually trusted me enough to leave the building to me. If you decide to pass, that is.”

  “You?” My voice is barely audible.

  “Yes, I have first dibs if you decide you want to sell.”

  “That’s you? The one she thought of like a pesky grandson?” I recall the reading of the will — the mystery man, the one who couldn’t even be bothered to show up.

  He begins to laugh. “Yeah, she always used to say I was the pesky grandson she never had.”

  “How…how is it…”

  “Bianca, what is it you are asking?” He’s in front of me, a little too close for comfort.

  I’m not sure myself what I’m trying to say. Am I accusing him of something? Asking? I’m not really sure. “Why you?”

  “Well, it’s actually a funny little story.” A smile creeps up on his face, genuine and almost child-like. “I approached your grandmother a couple years ago about selling your building. Offered her a pretty penny — that I was sure she would take — but she did something I wasn’t used to. She rejected it.” He shakes his head. “Nope, she didn’t take it, but she shook my hand and told me if I wanted to buy her lunch the following week she would reconsider my offer.”

  “That was you? I thought she had a secret boyfriend or something.”

  “Nope, but each week, we would meet up and have a nice lunch. One that would start with an offer and end with a rejection.”

  “She wasn’t going to sell.”

  “Well, after about the fourth or maybe the fifth week, I began to realize that, but something about your grandmother and her stories kept me coming back.”

  “I loved her stories. I never knew if they were real, but it’s those stories that inspire my paintings.

  “She had that way about her—”

  “Bianca, I don’t mean to interrupt our trip down memory lane, but we have bigger fish to fry right now: the building.”

  “What about it?”

  “You have a loan you have to pay off in thirty days or the bank takes possession.”

  “I’m so tired of people telling me that today. I get it. I have a shit ton of money to come up with, but I’ll do it. I’ll figure it out.”

  “How?”

  He’s pissing me off. Who does he think he is and why is he even here to begin with?

  “You know what?” I swing my head around, ready to chew him up and spit him out. “You don’t know me.”

  “Well, actually, I do,” he interrupts. “You were the topic of conversation every week. I feel like I know more about you than most.”

  “Like what? You know what? That doesn’t matter.” I head toward the door. “You don’t belong here and neither does some money-hungry Realtor. I own this building and neither of you has the right to be here. Both of you are trespassing.”

  “The bank says different,” he points out.

  I hate the way he thinks he knows everything. “They have to notify me before they show the place, and guess what; they didn’t.”

  “I’m pretty sure you were carbon copied on the same letter I received.”

  My stomach drops. That little card that I failed to take to the post office.

  “Is it coming back to you now?” He mocks me, making my blood boil.

  “You know what, douche canoe? Forgive me for not remembering. My Grans just passed away; and I spent
the last four days getting things together and burying her, so excuse me for letting it slip my mind.”

  “Bianca, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Nope. It’s fine. I have everything under control. I don’t need you…or anyone else, for that matter.”

  “Just listen to me. Please.”

  “Why should I listen to you? You don’t care about me or my situation.” I’m beginning to feel frantic. The circumstances are becoming more than I can handle. Him, here, in front of me. Her, out there. Everyone waiting for me to fail.

  “I have a proposition that could be beneficial to both of us.”

  “One minute, Ford. That’s all you get.”

  One minute before I kick your ass out.

  “The will states that if you choose to sell the building, I have first dibs. Well, if you don’t pay the loan, that option goes out the window. The bank will then take the property, and they have a right to sell it to the top bidder.” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Bianca Black, let’s make a deal.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Let me in. Let me start to bring this building up to code — get a head start on the renovations.”

  “What? I thought you said we’d make a deal. What I’m hearing you say is I’m going to fail.”

  “Well, do I think you can come up with three hundred thousand in thirty days? No, I don’t.”

  Why is it people doubt me? I’m not about to let him or anyone else tell me I can’t do something. If I have to beg, borrow, and steal, I’ll come up with the money, proving him and everyone else wrong.

  I reach up and push his hands off my shoulders. “Well, I’m going to get the money, so why would you want to invest in a property that you don’t own?”

  “The deal: If for some reason you can’t pay the loan, you sell to me. The renovations I want to make give me a head start on the opening of my newest club.”

  “If I do pay the loan? What then?”

  “The repairs you needed done to this place were just made free and clear.”

  “Why would you do that?”