A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain #1)(19)

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s an option anymore.”

The bartender snorts.

I ignore her. “She’s pissed off?”

“You could say that. Of course, I assumed you’d called her when you said you would. So I texted to ask if she wanted to keep the reservation.”

“I dialed!” I say, trying to defend myself. I remember pulling up her number this morning. But then Ava had said something, and I put Harper right out of my mind. “I was, uh, interrupted. And I didn’t try her again.”

Sheila just rolls her eyes. “Should I send roses? Although there’s really no point. She’ll know they’re actually from me.”

“No,” I grunt. “I’ll call to apologize.” I can’t believe I forgot to call Harper. Again. That was rude. We aren’t really a couple, though. It’s casual.

Although it’s pretty telling that I walked around that gorgeous hotel suite upstairs and never once thought of her, even while staring at the king-sized bed.

“The other reason I’m mad at you—”

“Ooh, there’s more?” the bartender asks, shaking up a cocktail.

Sheila glances toward the other two women. “Hi, I’m Sheila. I work for Reed.” She glances at Ava. “Was I interrupting something? I’m sorry.”

“Not at all,” Ava says, glancing toward the door. “I’m just waiting for the same dinner meeting. Please continue to tell Reed his flaws. We are highly entertained.”

Sheila puts her hands down on the bar. “I can’t believe I haven’t been here before. Reed could be entertaining clients on the ski slopes with me to help out. Who would plan a golf weekend when they could come here?” she demands, looking up at me.

“It’s complicated,” I say grumpily. “Will you stop bitching me out if I let you run up your room service bill?”

She picks up my phone and hands it to me. “I will stop bitching if you call Harper.”

“Fine.” I drain my wine glass and carry my phone a few paces away for some privacy. Naturally, I end up apologizing to Harper’s voicemail. “Hey, I’m so sorry about my sudden change of plans, and it was really thoughtless of me not to call. I’m at my family’s resort in Colorado, where I haven’t been for more than ten years, and it’s complicated. But I hope I can make it up to you when I get back to town. Please take care of yourself, and I apologize for the change of plans.”

By the time I hang up, the Sharpes have arrived. Ava is all smiles now, shaking hands with three gentlemen of various ages, and their entourage. The three men wear matching gray suits and red ties, which means they are Grant Sharpe I, II, and III. I’d seen them wearing the same getup in a picture on their corporate website, but I assumed it was just for the publicity photo.

But no. The three generations wear matching suits right here in our lobby.

“That’s an interesting look,” Sheila murmurs at my elbow. “You’d never see that in Silicon Valley.”

“You wouldn’t see it in Colorado either,” I whisper. “They’re from Texas.”

“That explains the hats,” she murmurs, referring to the ten-gallon cowboy hats that some of the entourage wear.

The Sharpes have brought accountants and lawyers with them. I paste a calm smile on my face and approach the group. “Evening. I’m Reed Madigan.” I offer my hand in turn to the Sharpes.

“Reed!” exclaims Sharpe number one. “You can call me Grandpa. It’s great to meet one of Mark’s sons.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” For an old coot, he has a firm handshake. And at point-blank range I can see that their red ties all bear a family crest, centering on an S made from a snake.

It’s a look.

He releases my hand to take Ava’s. She’s expecting to shake, but he raises her hand to his mouth and kisses it. “And who is this lovely creature? Your wife?”

Well, fuck. That’s awkward.

Ava’s expression cools. “I’m Ava Aichers, the associate manager. We’ve spoken on the phone. I work closely with Mark on day-to-day operations.”

“I told you about Ava, Pops,” says Sharpe number two. “She’s the one who put together that presentation on occupancy stats.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Ava,” the old coot says. “You look too sweet to be the manager.”

“Looking sweet is actually very useful in business,” Sheila pipes up beside me. “They never see you coming. And then you go for the throat.”

“Is that right?” The old man laughs.

Ava flashes my assistant a grateful smile.

The youngest Sharpe buttonholes me next. “You’re the son who became a ski racer,” he says.

“Briefly,” I correct him. “The only one of us who became a superstar athlete is Crew. I tore my ACL during my first European tour, and that was the end of my racing career. So I went to business school instead.”

“Stanford, I hear. Your father brags about you.”

Challenge, I nearly say. Dad wouldn’t bother to brag about me. “Stanford, right. Got my MBA about seven years ago.” But I’d lay odds that he didn’t hear it from my dad. This guy probably googled all of us. I’d do the same if I were buying a family-owned company.