Hoaley Ill-Manored (21 page)

“That’s great, man. We need to line up a
crew for the flip on Jackson tomorrow morning at seven. It’s a
major demo; a kitchen, three baths, and a twelve foot long
wall.”

Silence met this announcement and Adam
pictured Peter scribbling notes in his small, spiral bound
notebook. Adam had given the man a tablet to use for scheduling but
he insisted on doing it the old fashioned way. Though he was only
forty-five years old, Peter was old school all the way. “Got it.
You want eight people?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. We’ll need a
structural engineer too. Bud says the wall that needs to come out
is load bearing.”

“I think Sam Sheppard is available.”

“Good. Okay, if you need me I’m meeting with
Max.” Adam hung up, grimacing internally. He’d saved the worst for
last. Adam tried to mentally prepare for the meeting he was about
to have. Like just about every other business he knew, Hoale
Construction had begun to suffer under the government’s latest
round of new regulations and a seemingly unending array of new
taxes, fees, and penalties. The company was pretty much showing its
ribs and he was worried complete starvation was just around the
corner.

He and Max Fishe, his accountant, had had to
get very creative to keep the business operational without firing
anybody. To the point where Adam had quietly sold his home and was
living at the office, taking only the bare minimum in salary for
himself. Just enough to live on and not a lot more. The next new
tax hike or layer of regulations would probably be the end of
him.

Max was waiting for him when he walked into
his office. The two men had been friends since college, even lovers
once, and Adam wouldn’t trust anyone else with the financial
stability of his company. If it weren’t for Max’s creative
financing, Hoale Construction might have been deep into a real hole
years earlier.

Adam clasped his old friend’s hand as he
entered the neatly kept office. As usual, Max was dressed with
almost obsessive neatness, in a wrinkle-free pinstriped shirt,
burgundy tie with a gold clip shaped like a tennis racket, and
charcoal gray slacks that were creased to within an inch of their
lives.

He kept his thinning auburn hair military
short and spiked on top. His wide jaw was baby smooth and hairless.
Despite the changes wrought by the years, Max was still a good
looking man. Max settled a thick-lashed, green gaze on Adam and
squeezed the hand he still held between his. “Nice stubble. Growing
a beard?”

“No. I went to the gym a couple of nights
ago and Zeke had me swimming laps for an hour. My arm’s too sore to
hold the razor.”

Max laughed. “That explains why you look so
tired.”

Adam laughed off his concern and retrieved
his hand. “I’m fine. How about you? You played any tennis lately?”
Max had been captain of the men’s tennis team at their
alma
mater
, Indiana University.

“Actually, I have. Sid and I played
yesterday.” Sid was Max’s current boy toy. “I trounced him of
course. He’s no competition at all. You and I need to play again
soon. I need some real competition or I’m gonna lose my edge.”

Adam laughed. “You have about as much chance
of that as those poor slacks have of losing the razor sharp crease
you compel them into.” Adam had never played on the school team,
but he’d been Max’s training partner for years and he’d gotten
pretty good at the game.

Max was used to Adam’s teasing. He just
shook his head and indicated his client chair. “Have a seat. I have
the preliminary numbers on the Jackson flip.” He sat down and
opened a folder, pulling out a neatly organized stack of pages that
contained cost estimates, comparables, market projections, and
other details regarding the financial end of flipping a home.

“Don’t bore me with the details, just give
me the three thousand foot view.” Adam settled his ankle over his
knee and plucked at a string on the bottom of his jeans. He hated
the nitty gritty financial stuff. Which was why he wouldn’t work
with anyone else. He trusted Max not to take advantage of his
disinterest. “What do we need to sell the house for to make it
worthwhile?”

“If you don’t get at least seven fifty for
it you’re wasting your time.”

“Is it worth that?” Adam’s gut and
experience…and Maddy…told him it was, but he wouldn’t really
believe it until Max confirmed it.

“Yes. But, in this market it will take
longer to sell. You’ll need to plan on sitting on it for six to
nine months. That’s why you’d be better off getting at least nine
for it.”

Adam whistled. “Nine? That’s a tall
order.”

He grinned. “It is, but I have an ace in the
hole…so to speak.” He handed Adam a news release.

Adam scanned it and looked up, his gaze
wide. “Dirk Williams is moving back?”

Max fanned himself. “I’m having heart
palpitations at the very thought.” Max had a huge crush on the sexy
movie star. Williams was originally from Indianapolis and rumors
had been flying for a while that he wanted to move back…or at least
buy a home there.

“They’re finally doing that sequel to
Indianapolis Jones?” The fun, action thriller had been a huge hit
three years previous. Fans had been screaming for a sequel since
opening day. But Dirk had declared he hated sequels and had been
fighting it. Unfortunately for pretty boy Dirk, fate, in the form
of Hollywood fickleness, had made Dirk yesterday’s news.

Adam figured he’d do just about anything to
rise to the top of the pile again.

He threw the news release onto the top of
the desk. “Old Dirk must be really suffering if he’s willing to go
back on his questionable standards.” Adam was pretty sure the real
reason Dirk had refused to do the sequel had nothing to do with
professional standards and a lot to do with the broken
relationships he’d left behind.

He stood up. “I’ll sell Dirk the Dick the
house if he wants it. But it’s gonna cost him a million and a half.
No bargains for him.”

Max shook his head, but his eyes sparkled
with dollar signs. “He’s got the money. Even if he hasn’t done a
blockbuster in a while. He’d probably pay it.”

Adam left Barrister Accountants and climbed
back into his truck. He glanced at the clock on the dash. Six
o’clock. He needed to head home and let his dog, Walter, out. His
cell rang as he pulled away from the curb. It was Maddy. “Hey
darlin’.” One of the advantages of being openly, comfortably gay
was that you could address female employees, or partners as darlin’
without worrying about a sexual harassment suit.

Of course you had to be more careful with
the male employees.

“Hey there. Are you still at Barrister?”

“Just leaving, why?”

“I left my cell phone at the house on
Jackson. I think it’s sitting on one of the staircases in the
foyer. I set it down when Bud and I were discussing the railings.
Could you swing by and pick it up for me?”

Adam would be meeting Maddy later at Bobby’s
gym. They worked out together a few times a week, after work.
“Sure. Then I need to swing by the office and pick up Walter. I’ll
probably be a few minutes late to Bobby’s.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll see ya in a while.”

Adam disconnected and made a u-turn. He
figured it would take him about ten minutes to find the phone and
get back on the road, and another twenty to get to the Hoale
Construction offices.

He’d need to feed Walter and let him out
before they left for Bobby’s gym.

He was deep in his mental timeline as he
turned the corner on Jackson and started down the street. Both
sides of the road were lined with large properties on immense,
manicured lots. The street had been around for a hundred years and
many of the homes were historic, if not historical. Oversized trees
lined both sides of the narrow street, attesting to the age of the
homes and adding elegance to the carefully tended lawns.

Adam had been drawn to the Jackson project
immediately when Maddy had told him about it. He’d always loved the
area and had a weakness for homes that had been around when
Indianapolis was young. He usually drove slowly down the street so
he could enjoy perusing the mature lines of the homes and elegant
architecture, but he was in a hurry so he barely noticed the
neighborhood. He glided to a quick stop behind a small, red car and
climbed out of his truck. He’d started up the cracked and
weed-strewn sidewalk before he noticed the slim form standing in
the patchy front yard, staring toward the house.

The man was wearing a hoodie, and had the
hood pulled over his head. He stood with his hands stuffed into his
pockets and one knee cocked, and didn’t seem to realize Adam was
there.

“Can I help you?”

The figure jumped, obviously startled, and
turned. Beneath the hoodie, Adam could see curly, blond hair around
a pale face with a square, masculine jaw. A pair of wide, blue eyes
blinked at him, clearly showing the younger man’s surprise.

Adam walked over, extending his hand. “I’m
Adam. I own this house. Are you looking for someone?”

The young man blinked again and opened
delicately tinted lips that looked exquisitely soft. He hesitated,
glancing back toward the house. “I…I’m Sean. I live here.”

DS

Declan Sands writes erotic fantasy and
romantic suspense, creating stories that celebrate the joy of love
in all its forms. Known for writing great characters, snappy
dialogue, and unique and exhilarating stories, Declan has been
writing for over a decade under several
noms de plume
.

You can visit Declan at the following online
spots:

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