![]() The woman carried a large black vinyl artists’ portfolio in one hand and an easel in the other. An air of confidence and the woodsy sweet smell of musk followed him in, as did a woman. He straightened his tie, tugged on his suit jacket and followed the mayor’s lead as he gestured for him to take his place at the podium. Zeke Reynolds had entered the back room of Debbie Devereaux’s clothing boutique in his navy blue skinny three-buttoned suit with the mien of a politician. They were out of character with the earlier poised, melodic tone he’d used with his words of introduction. His voice ragged, the last words he’d read from the notes he’d now abandoned had spilled from his lips, hesitant and broken. “A vertical mall on the square.” He stepped beside the tabletop lectern, his eyes returning to focus on his audience. ![]() ![]() “A mini mall.” Sputtering, he couldn’t seem to find the right words, obviously disturbed by the reaction in the room. The cheeky smile that had curled at the end of the lips when he first began to speak was put on pause as his eyes drifted to the place the word of scorn had emanated from. He ran his fingers through his summer bleached blond hair, pushing the stray strands back in place. It was obvious he’d felt the disaffection his words brought. ![]() Reverberating from a back corner of the room, the sneer seemed surprisingly appreciated. ![]() “Booo.” The jeer lingered as all eyes fell on the speaker. ![]()
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