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Authors: Stephanie Bond
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of construction jobs for demolition and rebuilding. It would
beautify the area, and attract home owners to Hyde Parkland. Property taxes would increase, as would business for the
downtown merchants." Any second, he expected her to bolt from her seat and start shouting damning words.
"Is that all, Mr. Healey?" president Wheeler prompted.
"Er, no," he said, then inhaled deeply. Good grief, he had to keep his mind on the matter at hand. He fumbled with an acetate
overlay for the map, upon which he drew black X s over the buildings that were falling to ruin.
"My company has attempted to sell these properties for more than two years, but has found it impossible to interest business
owners in making the investment that would be required for renovations. They can lease or buy ready-made real estate in the
malls for less money, and so the dollars continue to be siphoned away from downtown Lexington."
He replaced the overlay with another one. "This drawing represents a restoration plan my company has worked out with the
input of developers and the city planner's office. Single-family dwellings are in red, apartments in blue, condos in green."
"And the yellow?" president Wheeler asked.
The yellow area overlaid the buildings at 145 and 150 Hunt Street, where Lana Martina's shop was housed. He cleared his
voice. "The yellow represents a parking garage."
He heard her gasp, even from across the room—and tensed for a blade in his back. "If the area were optimally developed, it
could provide housing for more than twelve thousand people. And if we could increase the population within the city limits by
a mere ten thousand, Lexington would qualify for an additional two million dollars in the form of government grants to upgrade
utilities, to build more schools and to improve roads."
When the lights came up, the room remained quiet, which was a good sign.
"Once you read the detailed economic forecast for this rezoning proposal, I'm certain you'll see, the sooner the measure is
approved, the sooner the city will begin to reap the benefits."
Wheeler nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Healey."
"Yea, Gregory," came Will's voice from the back, accompanied by his enthusiastic applause, to which a few people
contributed.
Greg conjured up a smile and waved to Will without encouraging him. Leave it to his big-hearted brother to applaud
regardless of the occasion. And leave it to his big-hearted brother to offer his seat to the very woman Greg least wanted to
meet again.
"Next, we'll hear from Ms. Martina," the president said.
Greg swallowed hard and returned his presentation to his briefcase. He wasn't worried about what the woman might say
regarding the rezoning project—hell, if her behavior ran true to form, she might help his case. But he had a feeling that he and
Ms. Martina had at least one more confrontation in the cards.
When he turned and met her gaze, the feeling increased tenfold. Loathing emanated from those violet depths, reminding him
yet again why he was single. With her chin lifted, she passed him, carrying the overloaded bag she'd dropped on his foot.
He returned to his seat, then pulled on his chin, waiting, wondering what the volatile woman might reveal. If he had to defend
himself, what would he say? That he went back to her apartment thinking she wanted to have sex? That he thought a quickie
with a beautiful stranger would lift him from the holiday doldrums?
Greg removed his handkerchief and mopped at the perspiration on his brow. Jesus, why hadn't he simply walked away?
"My name is Lana Martina," she said, her voice strong, her projection good. "I run a coffee shop in the proposed zoning area.
In fact, I just discovered that I'm the parking garage."
The crowd tittered.
"I lease the building from Mr. Healey," she continued, then turned and gestured in his direction. "Although I didn't realize my
landlord was an actual person until this evening."
The crowd laughed outright, and his face burned.
She
beautify the area, and attract home owners to Hyde Parkland. Property taxes would increase, as would business for the
downtown merchants." Any second, he expected her to bolt from her seat and start shouting damning words.
"Is that all, Mr. Healey?" president Wheeler prompted.
"Er, no," he said, then inhaled deeply. Good grief, he had to keep his mind on the matter at hand. He fumbled with an acetate
overlay for the map, upon which he drew black X s over the buildings that were falling to ruin.
"My company has attempted to sell these properties for more than two years, but has found it impossible to interest business
owners in making the investment that would be required for renovations. They can lease or buy ready-made real estate in the
malls for less money, and so the dollars continue to be siphoned away from downtown Lexington."
He replaced the overlay with another one. "This drawing represents a restoration plan my company has worked out with the
input of developers and the city planner's office. Single-family dwellings are in red, apartments in blue, condos in green."
"And the yellow?" president Wheeler asked.
The yellow area overlaid the buildings at 145 and 150 Hunt Street, where Lana Martina's shop was housed. He cleared his
voice. "The yellow represents a parking garage."
He heard her gasp, even from across the room—and tensed for a blade in his back. "If the area were optimally developed, it
could provide housing for more than twelve thousand people. And if we could increase the population within the city limits by
a mere ten thousand, Lexington would qualify for an additional two million dollars in the form of government grants to upgrade
utilities, to build more schools and to improve roads."
When the lights came up, the room remained quiet, which was a good sign.
"Once you read the detailed economic forecast for this rezoning proposal, I'm certain you'll see, the sooner the measure is
approved, the sooner the city will begin to reap the benefits."
Wheeler nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Healey."
"Yea, Gregory," came Will's voice from the back, accompanied by his enthusiastic applause, to which a few people
contributed.
Greg conjured up a smile and waved to Will without encouraging him. Leave it to his big-hearted brother to applaud
regardless of the occasion. And leave it to his big-hearted brother to offer his seat to the very woman Greg least wanted to
meet again.
"Next, we'll hear from Ms. Martina," the president said.
Greg swallowed hard and returned his presentation to his briefcase. He wasn't worried about what the woman might say
regarding the rezoning project—hell, if her behavior ran true to form, she might help his case. But he had a feeling that he and
Ms. Martina had at least one more confrontation in the cards.
When he turned and met her gaze, the feeling increased tenfold. Loathing emanated from those violet depths, reminding him
yet again why he was single. With her chin lifted, she passed him, carrying the overloaded bag she'd dropped on his foot.
He returned to his seat, then pulled on his chin, waiting, wondering what the volatile woman might reveal. If he had to defend
himself, what would he say? That he went back to her apartment thinking she wanted to have sex? That he thought a quickie
with a beautiful stranger would lift him from the holiday doldrums?
Greg removed his handkerchief and mopped at the perspiration on his brow. Jesus, why hadn't he simply walked away?
"My name is Lana Martina," she said, her voice strong, her projection good. "I run a coffee shop in the proposed zoning area.
In fact, I just discovered that I'm the parking garage."
The crowd tittered.
"I lease the building from Mr. Healey," she continued, then turned and gestured in his direction. "Although I didn't realize my
landlord was an actual person until this evening."
The crowd laughed outright, and his face burned.
She
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