I grimaced. I knew all of these players. I knew exactly who and what she was talking about. These were not choirboys. There was a lot of money at stake in building, and they were not going to play nice with someone who was planning to change the game and cost them money, time, and potential projects.

“To be clear, what is it you think I can do for you?” I asked.

“I need public opinion on my side. I need the powerful dealmakers in Phoenix to get on board,” she said. “And I need the politicians to want this for the city.”

“That’s a tall order,” Jackson said.

She glanced at him. And I noticed that the sympathy in his gaze made the tension in her shoulders ease. Jackson was good like that.

“What’s your plan to make this happen?” I asked. “And how do I factor?”

“I’m proposing that we have a gala,” she said. She dropped back into her chair and leaned forward, obviously hoping to sell me on her idea. “Black tie, champagne, hors d’oeuvres, you know, all the good stuff, held at the Phoenix Country Club with photo ops galore. We invite anyone who is anyone in the city. We announce your comeback from early retirement to support your sister and we get them on board with Green Springs.”

“Green Springs? That’s what you’re calling it?” I asked. “No wonder it’s tanking. It sounds like the name of a cemetery.”

She stuck her chin out and glared at me, crossing her arms over her chest just like she used to when she was six and wanted her way whether it was cake for breakfast or one more story. It felt like a punch in the chest to see it again.

I wanted to howl for all the years we’d missed, but I was a broken man and there was simply no way I could let Lexi back in my life again. Not like this.

“I appreciate that you think I can help you with this,” I said. “But I can’t.”

“Because you retired from the building game?” she asked. She held her arms out wide. “You’re telling me that you’re barely thirty-five and you bought this colossal waste of space and cashed out and that’s it?”

“Hey!” I cried. “I happen to like my home.”

“It’s not home, it’s a supersized mausoleum,” she said. She was more on point than she knew. “I suppose it could be worse. It’s mostly concrete, steel, glass, and the wood in here looks to be repurposed. At least you didn’t rape the rain forest”—she paused while Jackson choked on his own spit—“for the oh-so-precious teak flooring most McMansion owners opt for.”

“Um . . . thanks?” I said.