“What makes you say that?” Quinn asked as he glanced back at the window in time to watch Dylan move to grab another bag of concrete only to fall onto the pile and stayed there.
“Several reasons,” his father murmured as Quinn watched Dylan release a shuddering sigh before he glanced back at his father to find him watching him curiously as he paused by the door.
“Brooke’s going to destroy B.T. Construction,” Quinn pointed out as he glanced back at the window and-
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
CHAPTER 10
Dylan didn’t bother opening her eyes, not when she heard the long-suffering sigh, or when she felt the large hands wrap around her ankles and pull her free, or when those same hands picked her up and threw her over an equally large back. She simply hung there, groaning incoherently to herself as he carried her.
She didn’t know where he was taking her and she didn’t care. Not when every muscle in her body protested in agony whenever she so much as breathed. A few minutes later, she was carried up a small set of steps and nearly groaned when she was hit with cool air and-
“Where did you find her?” came the bored question as she was unceremoniously dumped on the leather couch that she’d been eyeing earlier.
“She was in the fetal position between a pallet of concrete and a stack of two-by-fours,” Tristan said while Dylan lay there, struggling to find the willpower to roll over onto her side.
“And the men?” Quinn asked as Dylan gave up trying to roll onto her back and settled for turning her head so that she could glare at the large bastard that questioned her skills.
“Took turns keeping an eye on her, ensuring that she didn’t get within fifty feet of the toolshed again,” Tristan said, dropping down on the chair in front of Quinn’s desk, effectively blocking her ability to glare at the large bastard.
With a grumble, Dylan slapped her hands on the leather couch and pushed herself up on trembling arms until she was sitting up, which was immediately followed by slumping over onto her other side, wiggling her way to the other end of the couch until she was able to rest her chin on the armrest, and once there, she commenced with the glaring.
“What did Eric find?” Quinn asked while he sat there, absently drumming his fingertips against his desk while he glared right back at her.
“Blackwood Manor should have been condemned years ago,” Tristan said after a slight hesitation, making her stomach drop. She’d spent her entire life focused on one goal, restoring Blackwood Manor, and now, she was about to find out if it had all been for nothing.
“What’s the verdict?” Quinn asked, keeping his gaze locked on her.
“The foundation needs to be stabilized, the framing needs reinforcement, the roof needs to be replaced, the building needs to be secured, and asbestos and lead paint need to be removed, but it’s doable. He’s going to certify that it can be repaired. She can start renovations as soon as he files the report,” Tristan said as Dylan lay there, releasing a shaky breath as she felt herself begin to relax.
“Were you able to confirm that they removed the historical designation?” Quinn asked, never taking his eyes off her.
“Complete removal to allow demolition,” Tristan said as she watched Quinn absently nod.
“How much is the land valued at without the house?” Quinn asked, looking lost in thought while he sat there, considering her for a moment as she struggled not to panic.
They had a deal, Dylan reminded herself only to feel her stomach drop when Tristan said, “Five acres untouched on a private lake? Easily one point five million, probably two. If we divided the lot, we could build six houses.”
“That would give us a profit of around five million dollars,” Quinn murmured, watching her as she tried not to panic.
“What do you want to do?” Tristan asked while Dylan lay there, swallowing hard as she thought about what would happen if he went back on this deal. Getting the house up to code just so that she could renovate it later would cost her close to a hundred thousand dollars, money that she didn’t have and demolishing it would bankrupt her.
She’d be forced to sell it and-
“What do you think? Eight months?” Quinn asked, absently drumming his fingertips against the desk while he watched her.
“From start to finish?” Tristan said, thinking it over. “It’s doable if we get the right crew on it.”
“Only men who have experience restoring historical homes,” Quinn said, still glaring at her for some reason.
“That narrows it down to only Bradfords,” Tristan said, sounding thoughtful.
“Even better,” Quinn said as he pushed his chair back and stood up. “Pick your crew and file the permits as soon as the certification is complete.”
“Do you want me to handle that other thing?” Tristan asked as his gaze flickered to her.
“I’m still deciding,” Quinn said, never taking his eyes off her.
