Nic: An Enemies-to-Lovers Billionaire Romance by Monica J. Miller

Author:Monica J. Miller [Miller, Monica J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-09-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Jazz

“Mr. Giordano?”

Jazz turned away from Nic when she heard his name. A few feet away from their table stood a man in a suit, with a plain black tie and wire-rimmed glasses. About forty, his side-parted hair was an obvious comb-over, but he wasn’t unpleasant to look at. Just boring.

He gave Nic a pleased smile as he stepped into the dining area of the café. The lunch crowd was starting to pour in. Her parents had resumed work. Wait staff moved around the room, carrying trays filled with food and beverages, barely glancing at one another as they avoided crashing into each other by mere inches. Jazz knew she should assist, but she was still numb from the doctor’s assessment.

Instead, she cast a curious glance at this plain-looking man and then looked at Nic, who suddenly looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here. He cleared his throat.

“Have we met before?” he asked. Jazz picked up on the edge in his voice.

The other man didn’t seem to notice. Instead he said, “Very funny, Mr. Giordano,” sounding amused. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to make it today?” He offered his hand to Nic, who just stared at it, his jaw clenched. The man’s smile vanished. “Is something the matter?” he asked, looking at his outstretched hand.

“Nic, are you okay?” Jazz asked. “Who is this?”

Nic didn’t answer her.

“Miss Garcia?” the man asked, turning to her.

“Yes, that’s me.” She tilted her head. “Who are you?”

“My name is Jim Fletcher,” the man said, now offering his hand to her.

She shook it, searching his face, waiting for him to give his affiliation. Nic’s stricken reaction told her something was wrong.

“I’m a partner at Byron, Fletcher & Masters Realty,” he continued. He reached into his suit jacket’s inner pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to her. “We’ve been looking into your business property and would like to make an offer.”

She looked at the card, turning it over in her hand. “‘We’? Who’s ‘we’?” She glanced at Nic, who steadfastly avoided her eyes, too busy staring daggers at Mr. Fletcher.

“Oh, um…” Fletcher’s eyes were glued on Nic. He cleared his throat. “My client...an anonymous buyer,” he said, sounding considerably less confident, “saw this business and is interested in making quite a generous offer, if you’re interested in selling.”

“Well, we’re not,” Jazz replied, flicking his business card back at him. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“‘We’?” Fletcher asked, ignoring the card that Jazz allowed to fall to the floor when he didn’t take it back. In what looked to Jazz like a nervous action, he adjusted the knot of his tie. “You’re not the sole proprietor, are you?” He said this as if he already knew the answer.

“No, I’m not,” Jazz crossed her arms over her chest. “My parents are the owners, but I can tell you they’re not interested in selling.”

“Excuse me,” Fletcher said dismissively, walking past Jazz.

“What the fuck?” she hissed, turning around and watching as the man approached her mother at the counter.

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