Love's Legacy in St. Augustine

Chapter 3

Because that's what I'm here for: revenge. And then to forget her.

Finally.

Sure, I'm here for money, too. I don't do anything if it doesn't result in profit.

Justine turns in my direction, and I straighten the collar of my shirt instinctively. She can't see me because of the car's tinted windows, and I grin.

She obviously didn't hear me drive up, probably because my electric car is silent as a panther. Her face is a little fuller than when she was younger. It's still the most beautiful face I've ever seen with a mouth made for sin and eyes as wide and guileless as a doe. Angelic and devilish at the same time.

Once upon a time, Justine was my Madonna and my w***e.

She scowls. A lock of hair falls over her eyes, and my instinct is to sweep it away.

And kiss her. One last taste...

She spins around when the newspaper door opens, and a pregnant woman bursts out the door and walks toward Justine. The pregnant woman looks vaguely familiar. Yes, it's Diana, Justine's best friend. She works at the paper, to0.

I'd read everything I could about the paper before I came.

I look up at the newspaper building, a Iook up at the newspaper building, a huge, historic structure that will need a s**t ton of work and eventually be a stunning condominium. The real estate market in downtown St. Augustine is hot, and Ill make a lot on this deal when I turn the building residential.

The way I see it, I'm here to repay a karmic debt to her racist, dead father. Ill buy the Lavoie family newspaper, run it lean and mean, then sell and make a killing. The business is failing miserably, and Il acquire it for a

Song.

A song that Justine will sing, while I do whatever I want with her. Now that I've seen her, I suspect it won't take long for me to get her in bed.I check my Rolex. It's nine o'clock now, and if I were a betting man, I'd place money that in twelve hours, we'll both be naked.

Sooner, if we didn't have to pretend to talk business. I glance at the building, and a sour memory of her father pops into my mind. I grimace in disgust.

Edward Lavoie had loved two things in life. One was The St. Augustine Times. The other was Justine.

A frown is etched on Diana's face.

"Rafael probably doesn't know you approached Florida Capital, but I thought you should read that before you sat down with someone from the company. If you still want to sit down with someone from the company."

I nod and gulp in a few breaths.

"Right. Okay. Yeah. I'm sure he has no idea. We're pocket change to a company like his, yeah?" My voice sounds tight, strangled.

"Mmm. I hope."

Im nearly hyperventilating. I try swallowing, but my mouth is dry and the swallow sticks in my throat.

The coffee is burning a hole in my stomach.

Rafael Menendez de Aviles. I glare at the newspaper again. My hands tremble. This is what seeing his name in black-and-white does to me.

"Im sure everythingll be fine." Her tone isn't convincing. She turns to squint into the morning sun and at the pirate.

"Yeah." I draw out the word. "]ust. Peachy."

We stand in tense silence for a few minutes, me with shaky hands, fanning my face with the paper, Diana staring at the drunk and rubbing her belly. My earlier resolve to drag the pirate away is gone. It doesn't matter if there are a d0zen passed-out drunks sleeping in front of the building.

If Rafael now owns the private equity firm, there's no way he'll Diana interrupts my dismal thoughts.

"Every year, it's always the fat, old guys in the puffy shirts and eye patches who end up at our building after the parade. It's never a dude who looks like Johnny Depp."

Now she's trying to calm me by cracking a joke.

The newsprint has gotten on my fingers and mixed with my sweat. I pass her the paper and wipe a moist, grimy palm on my black pencil skirt.

"Whoever thought the St. ARR-gustine Pillage the Village Fest was a good idea a hundred years ago should be drawn and quartered. Or made to walk the plank. Or shot."

"How long do you think the cops will take?" Diana asks.

"Who knows? Not soon enough. Guess

I shouldve scheduled this meeting after the festival was over. Or not scheduled it at all."

We're verbally dancing around the real issue.

Rafael.

"It's okay. It's not your fault that a guy's using the sidewalk to sleep off his buzz. Not like we didn't pillage the village back in the day. Remember the time I dressed like a glitter pirate princess?"

I groan. Now she's really trying to make me feel better, bringing up our wilder moments from our teenage years. Bless her heart.

Pressing my hand onto my hip, I tap my foot faster on the sidewalk. Now I'm sweating everywhere and not because it's so stupidly, unseasonably warm for February in Florida. I'm sweating because the very idea that the most important man of my past could eventually be in charge of my future and my company's future is impossible to comprehend.

"So Iguess the VP of Florida Capital -or MDA or whatever the company's called now-will see our business, warts and all. We're a newspaper. We traffic in truth. Why try to gloss over the ugly?" I shrug casually as panic pools in my midsection.

Diana shoots me a sharp look.

"Come on. We're not that bad of an investment."

"There's a lot of ugly right now at the St. Augustine Times." I spit out a laugh. "I wish Id stayed a reporter." Diana sighs. "You were a great reporter, and I know that was easier than being publisher. But what is it that you said to me when your dad died? This is your legacy. You love this. Fighting for what's right. Being the voice of the community.

Upholding the First Amendment. It's in your blood."

"Lofty, ivory-tower crap,"Imutter.

"Stop being grouchy. You believe in this paper. Otherwise, why try to save it?"

I grunt. She's right. I love this place, this business, even with all the problems. I still think we can make a difference in this f****d-up world.

When I'm having a bad day, I often think of a quote from my favorite dystopian comic book character, Spider Jerusalem: "Journalism is just a gun. It's only got one bullet in it, but if you aim right, that's all you need. Aim it right, and you can blow a kneecap off the world."

Trouble is, my gun's been dropped, kicked, and crammed with mud. If it even fires, it might blow my head off.

Diana's eyes soften. "The building alone is worth what you're asking for the loan."

I roll my eyes. The building is the only thing of value, and that's what's heartbreaking. And Diana knows it.

As the CFO, she's aware of how dire things are. Everything hinges on this meeting. My career. My newspaper.

My entire life. The Times has been my family's heirloom to the city for nearly one hundred and fifty years, and its future is uncertain. At best.

And now, Rafael is standing in between me and success.

The enormity of it all leaves me at once unsteady and detached, as though Id been plucked from my safe world and plopped into a different dimension altogether, one where the laws of sense and sanity don't exist.

Larry pokes his head out the door again and calls to me in a loud voice,

"]ustine, the police said they'd be here in five or ten minutes."

"Thanks, Larr." I smile without showing my teeth and wave. He's worked at the Times for longer than I've been alive and is only a couple of years from retirement. Sweet, white-haired Larry, who used to buy my brother and me Rocket Pops off the ice cream truck when we were in grade school and were forced to spend afternoons at the paper with Dad during summer break.

What will happen to Larry's pension if this deal doesn't go through? He disappears inside. I could be the one to tank Larry's pension. The hole in my stomach spreads into a crater.

I tug my tight pencil skirt down past my knees, then inspect my thumbnail.

My red polish hasn't chipped. Yet. I stand with my back to the street, and Diana's elbow nudges my forearm.

"Don't sweat it. Rafael won't show up today, Justine. He probably doesn't know this meeting is even happening."