Page 6 of Billionaire's Coastal Haven

“Are you recently elected?” I ask.

She flutters her eyelashes. “Something like that.”

“I see.” We stare at each other and let the silence hang.

Objectively, she’s a beautiful woman. In her heeled cowboy boots, the top of her head barely reaches my chin. Toned legs, bright teeth, hair with a subtle curl to the ends, signifying she put effort into her appearance but didn’t go overboard. Her eyes are a brilliant hazel that reflect the sun. Same as the mayor I remember from my teenage years.

His daughter, then?

An air of naivety and innocence I normally don’t encounter surrounds her. My guess is she’s hiding fear behind her bravado. Maybe she was giving herself a pep talk in the car because she’s new to the job.

It doesn’t matter.

She has no control over this estate or my purchase. So why is she here? What does she want?

“How can I help you, Mayor Winslow?”

She adds more teeth to her fake smile, but the matching crinkly lines around her eyes are missing. “Oh, I just wanted to stop by. Introduce myself and welcome you to town.” She gestures to the view behind me. “This will make a lovely home for your family.”

I don’t miss how her gaze pops to my left hand and back to my face. Her eyes widen ever so slightly with a tinge of panic.

No ring. No family. Not the grizzled, old man looking to hide in retirement she hoped to find.

She’s not so naïve and innocent, then.

I’ve played this game before too. Themake the harmless assumption and get me to spill my plan so she knows how to manipulate megame. It’s a common one in my business circles.

I’m not a fan. It never works.

It’s derivative and insulting that she doesn’t come out and ask what I’m doing here. Silence stretches. She waits for me to correct her and fill in the flaws in her logic.

I won’t be doing that. If she wants information, she needs to come out and ask me for it.

I match her plastic smile with one of my own. All teeth. “Good day, Mayor.” I bow slightly.

Her head tilts to the side, and a crease divides her forehead as her brown hair tumbles over the shoulder of her leather jacket. “Excuse me?”

“I’m a busy man.” I walk past her toward the house.

“Wait.” Panic rings in her tone.

I call over my shoulder. “You aren’t the firstpublic official” —I put a heavy dose of sarcasm in my tone— “who has shown up on my doorstep to sweet talk me into or out of whatever you want, so spit it out. I have work to do.”

The sweet, innocent act is probably why she’s pretending to be mayor in her dad’s place. Disarm people with her innocence until she gets what her dad wants. Neat trick, pimping out your daughter for information.

I’m not falling for the act. I’ve faced titans of tech and real estate magnates without an ounce of nerves or a drop of sweat.

I won’t be derailed by an upstart mayor faking innocent curiosity.

She scurries to catch up. “Spit what out?”

“Why are you here? What ultimatum, warning, favor are you looking to secure?”

She drops the fake smile and gestures to the house. “What’s your plan for the estate?”

I stop walking, turn, and hold my hands out, palms up. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

She scowls at my non-answer.