Page 29 of The Right Garza
It wasn’t until I joined Slim’s team that I saw her again, shocked to discover she was a member. Her nickname on the team was “Lucky Mage.” She couldn’t count cards for shit, but she had unimaginable luck at Poker and Russian Roulette.
Our re-bonding was instant and effortless. We were both strongly motivated and focused. While my reason was Mama, hers was to make start-up capital for an interior decorating business. Consequently, after making her first three hundred thousand, she was out.
We kept in touch, but much like when she’d left Redlands, our connection sort of faded again.
A few days ago, however, she messaged me asking for Slim’s digits since the one she had no longer worked; she wanted to get back on the team.
When I poked a few inquisitive questions at her, she told me her business plan had failed and she was currently running on E. That it’s too hard to make it in her field in California without having big projects and big names in her portfolio.
Seeing an opportunity for the both of us, I told her about the guesthouse and offered her the interior makeover job. I low-balled her, big time, knowing she would’ve taken it even for less, because having a project like this in her portfolio is what her businessneeded.
The budget for the guesthouse is decent, but Trent warning me not to overpay for anything is loud in my head, and I’d rather beunderbudget than over budget and have to deal with that ornery asshole, so I don’t allow myself to feel bad about low-balling one of my oldest friends.
I spent the last couple of weeks researching like mad, binge-watching HGTV, creating an idea folder, and even joining an “Accommodation Owners” group online where I got to pester real owners of small hotels, guesthouses, and bed and breakfasts with questions, to which they would kindly and enthusiastically answer.
So far, the most I’ve done is hire a gardening company, got all the security cameras upgraded, and had some more added in a few other areas to make sure there are no blind spots. I also brought in an inspector. Aside from some plumbing issues caused by rusted pipes, most of what he found was minor. Solid roofing, zero mold, lots of recent upgrades to the bones of the structure. A plumbing company is already scheduled to come in and start replacing the pipes next week.
So, yeah, things are in motion.
Maggie parks and folds from out of her small car. As she approaches, she slides her sunglasses from her face to the top of her head, which scoops back her mass of long, ombre-streaked brown hair.
“Oh, wow,” she says, gazing up at the house. “Those pics you sent didn’t do it justice. This isjustthe kind of project I need.”
“Yep. It’s a task for sure.”
Magnolia Glades is hitch-in-your-breath gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that’s noticed right away and demands compliments and comments. Her Instagram page is a smoke-show, and with an almost perfect, model-figure body, she could easily become one of those internet models who make thousands of dollars off endorsing garbage products they don’t use. But that’s not her personality. All she ever talks about is running and owning her own business,Glades Custom Interiors.
Granted, I don’t know for sure if she’s any good at this and I’m taking huge a gamble here, but I do know I’ll feel more comfortable fumbling and figuring this out with her than with some bigshot who would no doubt seek to take advantage of my ignorance.
Once she’s done gawking at the house, she drags her storm-gray eyes to me and crosses her arms. “You stopped calling me.”
I give an apologetic dip of my chin. “Things got wild once we began traveling more. And then I left and…long story. Stuff I don’t even wanna think about right now.” I stretch my free hand out wide. “But look, here we are again.”
Shaking her head, she grins. “Here we are again.” She bounds up the steps and pulls me into a hug while I hold the coffee mug up and out so nothing spills. “It’s so good to see you again, Lexi.”
“Same, Lucky Mage,” I say with teasing a grin. “The universe will always push us back together. We’re meant to be.” Looping my free arm through hers, I say, “Now, come. Let me show you what we’re working with.”
Chapter TWELVE
“You’re asking for a beating.”
Trent
The jeep rocks asmy twin loads his luggage into the trunk, grumbling words I’m too tuned out to hear over the noise of the busy airport.
When he finally dumps himself into the passenger side, he gripes, “You couldn’t have gotten out and helped me with my shit like a normal person, asshole?”
I lift my attention from my phone screen and direct it to him. “You still got two balls on you, right?”
He grunts and fakes a punch at me. “After being gone for six weeks, I thought I’d get a better reception than this.”
“Nah.” I drop the handbrake and shift into drive. “It’s more fun when there’s only one of me. I get to piss people off and have them hate you by extension ‘cause you aren’t here to smile it away.”
“For shit’s sake. How many people do I have to apologize to on your behalf this time?”
I navigate out of the lot. “How’s the Denver office?”
“Running smooth. Putting Scratch in charge was a good move. Business is steady. Everyone’s on their A game.”
