One Bossy Offer (7)

Boom.

I slam the door in his face and run.

It’s the only thing that keeps me from dwelling on the proud, stupid thing I’ve done.





2





No Free Lunch (Miles)





I grind my shoulders against the leather cushion of the car seat.

I can’t get comfortable even though I’ve been in the back of this car a thousand times.

“Of all the shitty, stubborn, pigheaded things she could do—”

“A little advice, boss?” Benson chuckles from the front seat as we pull onto the road.

I glare back at his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Perhaps it was a tactical error to think she wanted to sell so soon. Her grandmother’s passing was recent and rather sudden. She’s still grieving. Now might not be the best time while her emotions are swirling.”

“Like hell. A million dollars over fair market value would mend my broken heart.”

His eyes hold mine silently until he says, “We can’t all be you, Mr. Cromwell. You were born cold-blooded.”

Finally, a compliment.

I sigh.

“I got the letter from Lottie’s lawyer, Waldo, three days after she died. It was practically begging me to make a good faith offer. She said the old inn would be a handful for her granddaughter to take on. I thought it was a done fucking deal. Never imagined I’d have to reach for the moon to convince this cactus-woman to sell.”

I’m not used to this insanity.

People don’t tell me no.

Some negotiations are tougher than others, but until today, I’ve never had a check unceremoniously torn up and tossed in my face before.

When the dog flung her robe open, I thought I knew what I was dealing with.

A distraught splash of auburn-haired beauty with long lashes and legs made for sin.

Not a complete ballbuster who seemed to enjoy the dumb look on my face when she set my olive branch on fire.

Not someone I ever imagined going to war with.

Benson laughs again. “Lottie always was one to inject some fun into life, wasn’t she?”

“This is not my idea of fun.” However, the late Lottie Risa was the only local I ever trusted with the code for my gate. I’ll miss the apple pastries and fresh honey she foisted on me every time she dropped by. “You should’ve seen her, Benson. Tossing that hair of hers, cheeks all cherry-red, ranting and raving like I was some goddamned intruder who came there to chop her up instead of pay double for that old place.”

My hand forms a fist, balanced on my knee.

“Since the negotiations didn’t go so well, now you’ll have to see a pretty lady twice. Tragic.”

Again, my gaze daggers him.

Again, he isn’t fazed.

“How do you mistake stubborn mule for beautiful?” I demand.

In fairness, Miss Landers is easy on the eyes. Disarming when she shouldn’t be.

I figured as much going in, but the photos I’ve seen over the years with Lottie didn’t do her justice. I did a basic scan of her before putting together the offer. In the portrait on her new business page, she looked professional, all prim and proper in her turquoise cat-eye glasses and tight updo.

I thought professionalism would come naturally to her.

Not a hopeless desire to cling to old houses that are nowhere near the trendy Seattle coffee shops and yoga places she probably frequents.

Fuck, I thought this was a done deal.

Benson smirks, forming lines under his weathered eyes, making me ask why I keep him around. “You forget I was around when other deals fell through. You usually climb in the car roaring about some bloodsucking leech scheming to drain you dry. Frankly, sir, I don’t recall another business meeting where you left mentioning your adversary’s hair or her flushed cheeks.”

I jerk my face to the window, fumbling to form a response.

“She’s striking, I’ll give you that,” I say slowly. “But a starving goddamned tiger has a better personality. I can think of a billion things I’d rather do than deal with her,” I snarl.

“Enlighten me.” He throws back a skeptical look full of innuendo.

“Why do I keep paying you again?”

“Because no one else wants to haul you around while they put up with a litany of insults, I imagine.”

I nod briskly.

He’s right about one thing.

Doug Benson has also been around long enough to warrant his shit-talking. That’s because I demand the best.

Normally, I get my way.

Which is why I can’t fathom how a crumbling bed and breakfast that’s seen its better days still isn’t mine.

“What the hell do I have to offer to grab that lot?” I mutter absently.

“You may not want to use that word with Miss Risa’s granddaughter, for one.”

“What word?”

“Grab. If she thinks you see her grandmother’s property as a spot on a Monopoly board, you won’t make this any easier.”

I roll my eyes. “Why must people be so damn sentimental? It’s no game at all. It’s the last piece I need to ensure total privacy from the townies and tourists forever. You know that.”

“I do,” he agrees quietly. “Just like I know you’ll never face much competition for happiest loner on the planet.”