“What?”
“You heard me. Ours.”
“You can’t just—”
“Yes, I can,” he says nonchalantly as if he’s used to people agreeing to whatever he tells them. He is a Sharpe, after all, and they have a reputation for getting exactly what they want. “We’d make a good team. You’re stressing about capital, and I have capital I was already willing to spend. You’re worried about risks, while my forte is the market and what the property needs to be competitive. The remodel part is your baby since that’s your specialty. And then when you’re done, I have the connections to market and sell its uniqueness to the clientele I have in mind. Add to that, us going in fifty-fifty lessens our financial exposure and risk.”
“But it also splits the profits,” I counter, more to sound like I’m being reasonable.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he teases as I stare at him dumbfounded. Here’s a man I’ve met a whole of two times, asking to partner with me, telling me we’d be a good team, and the levelheaded, look-before-I-leap me is considering it.
What is wrong with me?
“What if our visions for the property are different?”
“We’ll compromise.”
I snort. “A Sharpe compromising?”
“Are you judging me, Ellery?” he asks, that playful grin of his owning my attention.
“No. Yes. I mean, you are probably used to—”
“Having partners and having to compromise? Yes. In fact, I am. What else are you going to throw at me?”
“But what about the division of duties? I’ll be living on-site. If I’m there one hundred percent of the time while you’re here in the city, then it shouldn’t be a fifty-fifty split. I think we should revise your proposal to a forty-sixty split.”
“Ohhh, she’s already playing hardball. That means you’ll negotiate well with subs. I’m impressed. And I like it.” He rocks his head from side to side as he contemplates my comment. “Well, if you’re going to be on-site, then I will be too.”
“You’ll what?”
“You heard me. Hell, I’d welcome the change of scenery. I can work from anywhere, and if I’m needed in the offices, I can always have the chopper come get me.”
The Sinclair/Haywood family is successful by almost anyone’s standards. If we never wanted to work another day in our lives, we’d still be fine.
But we’ve got nothing on the Sharpes. They are at a whole other level of ridiculousness.
And Ford casually mentioning their private helicopter is a stark reminder of the disparity between our lifestyles when I live a damn good one without complaints.
“You’re out of your mind, you know that?”
“But you’re considering it, aren’t you?” He flashes a boyish grin that has a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
I am, aren’t I?
“Just like that?” I ask. “I mean . . . you don’t even know me.”
“I do too.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You do? What do you know about me?”
“I know you hate pretzels in Chex Mix, aren’t shy about germs, and that you prefer red wine—a good cab to be exact—over whiskey. What else? Hmm. That you deserve more credit than you’re given when it comes to your dickhead stepbrothers. That you rub your feet together like a cricket when you sleep.” His shrug complements his chuckle. “Oh, and you have a vagina.”
A woman walking past us gasps at that last part as I crudely burst out laughing. “Jesus.” I cough the word out.
“You were the one who let it be known, not me.”
I take a step closer to him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I thought we already established that.”
“Don’t you have to consult with your brothers or something? I mean . . . your fight that night. Are things better? Will they want approval? I mean—”
“Everything is status quo. Not the same but not any different. And, no. No approval needed. This is my decision. My choice.”
“Ford . . .” I look around at the people walking through the courtyard as if they’re going to give me an answer I’m pretty sure I already know. “I can’t let you do this. I don’t even understand why you’d want to—”
“Give me one good reason why you can’t.”
Because this is ridiculous.
Because I barely know you and we might end up hating each other.
Because this is supposed to be mine.
“All those reasons flashing through your eyes aren’t good enough. Okay. You wore me down,” he teases and holds his hand up in surrender. “Fifty-fifty split, we both live on the premises, and I’ll make sure you have an endless supply of Chex Mix without pretzels in it.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure if that’s enough for me,” I say, my grin telling him my words are just that. Words.
“Okay. Fifty-fifty split. We both live on the premises, and you get first pick on where you want to sleep. Final proposal.”
“Final proposal?” I belt out a low whistle. “You drive a hard bargain, Ford. That must be why you Sharpes rule the world.”
How did I go from feeling like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders when I walked out here to suddenly feeling like this could be feasible?
“C’mon, Celery Ellery. Take a chance on me. Take a chance with me.” He holds his hand out—the one he withheld from my brother’s handshake. “Deal, partner?”
“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” I groan as a thrill of excitement shoots through me.
“Is that a yes?”
I meet his eyes, take in his smile, and reach out to shake his hand. What the hell am I doing? “Yes.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ford
She didn’t have a ring on her finger.
I just signed on the dotted line to co-own a property with a woman I don’t particularly know, and as I slide into the back seat and my driver heads back to the office, that’s the one constant that keeps going through my head. That big, sparkly diamond engagement ring was nowhere in sight.
And believe me, I looked.
My cell rings, and I know who it is before I even look at the screen.
“It took you long enough,” I say as a means of greeting.
“Dude. If you only knew the hell I’ve just endured. A bazillion-hour Zoom call. Trying to figure shit out through broken English and my non-existent Portuguese. I deserve a goddamn medal,” Callahan says.
“Oh. Poor baby. You actually had to put in some hours today where you couldn’t fuck off in between calls?”
“Says the man trying to buy . . . cottages? A motel?” He snorts. “What the fuck, Ford?”
“So you’re calling to read me the riot act because I ignored the one that Ledger gave me earlier?”
“Nope.”
I let silence sit on the connection as I wait for the but to come. However, nothing comes. “What do you mean, nope?”
“You have an MBA. I’m pretty sure you know the meaning of the word.”
“Fuck off.”
“Gladly.” He chuckles. “Honestly though, I think it’s an interesting idea that has decent potential.”