I shrugged. “You know what I decided last night? This inn is a part of the family, and it belongs in the family, not in the portfolio of some money-grubbing corporate real estate developer who doesn’t give a shit about the Gilleys or McBride.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Couldn’t agree with you more.”
I started walking backward toward the conference rooms in the wing behind the registration desk. “I don’t plan on letting some asshole lawyer from New York ruin my fucking life, excuse my language.”
She flashed me a rare grin. “Then you tell that asshole where to put it.”
“That’s my plan,” I said with a laugh, before reaching for the door to the conference room. But it was already open, and through the crack I could see from the expression on my uncle Mark’s face that he’d heard every word of what I’d just said and he wasn’t pleased. Nevertheless, I refused to let the flash of disapproval in his eyes flag my determination.
Today I planned to fight for the future of the inn, and I planned to win. After that, I planned on finding sexy James and convincing him to let me have another taste of him.
I squared my shoulders and stepped into the room. My three uncles were already there, seated on either side of a beat-up wooden table. At the head of the table, a fourth man pushed back his chair and slowly stood.
I froze. Everything inside me ground to a halt, and the stupid grin I hadn’t been able to shake all morning faltered. Because I recognized him instantly. The salt-and-pepper hair, the slightly too-long tips starting to rebel against the lingering dampness from his morning shower. The sharp cheekbones and slanted jaw. Those eyes boring into me, his expression unreadable.
Uncle Mark spoke first. “Sawyer, this is James Allen.”
An unsure smile touched the corner of James’s mouth. “The asshole lawyer from New York.”
3
James
Seeing him here in the light of day was even more jarring than I’d expected, and Sawyer’s reaction was awful. I’d hoped my joke might disarm him, relieve some of the tension so clearly roiling through him. It didn’t. If anything, it made things worse.
The grin he’d been sporting when he’d entered the room had vanished, replaced by an angry scowl. My heart hammered against my chest, wondering how I should play this. Act like we’d never met? No. The waitress at the pub had seen us together. Act surprised? I wasn’t a particularly good liar.
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but his eyes narrowed in warning. If he’d been a cat, he would have doubled in size and hissed at me. And I could hardly blame him.
When his name had finally permeated my lust bubble in the bar last night, I’d felt sick. The sudden reality of who he was crashed in and forced me to take a step back. Instead of some townie bartender, it was Sawyer Gilley himself, one of the actual owners of the Sea Sprite who had laid his heart bare to me about his wishes and dreams.
Wishes and dreams that hinged on him revitalizing the inn as the cornerstone to revitalizing McBride itself. Last night they’d sounded like the fanciful musings of a young bartender with grandiose ambitions. But now that I knew he was a part owner? That changed things. Because that meant he was in an actual position to make those dreams a reality.
Of course it was just my luck that the one man I’d instantly connected with was now on the opposite side of the negotiation table from me.
And he was furious.
The room was silent, everyone waiting for Sawyer to acknowledge me in some way. But he didn’t. Instead he stalked to the remaining empty chair and pulled it roughly from the table before sitting angrily.
“Everything okay?” his uncle Brian asked under his breath as Sawyer stubbornly crossed his arms. There was obvious tenderness in his uncle’s voice, and it was clear he was surprised by his nephew’s rude behavior.
Sawyer’s eyes cut toward me but never quite met mine. A muscle ticked along his jaw. “Fine,” he grumbled.
One of his other uncles—Mark, the plumber—rolled his eyes and shook his head dismissively, and I found myself balling my hands into fists, wanting to punch him for disrespecting Sawyer. Instead I blew out a long breath and stretched my fingers out against the uneven grain of the old table. It wobbled under my weight, as unsteady as everything else about this place.
How Sawyer thought he could actually fix this place up and turn it around financially, I wasn’t sure. Everything about it screamed neglect and disrepair. It would be better for the family to sell the property, to take the money and get out while they could.
At least that’s what I told myself.
I decided to dispense with the preamble, figuring the Gilley men were probably the type who appreciated folks cutting through the bullshit and getting right to the point.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet me on such short notice. As I mentioned over the phone, I represent Dunning Capital, and my client is interested in purchasing the Sea Sprite and associated land.”
Sawyer let out a snort and shook his head.
His uncle Mark ignored him. “How much?”
The question made it clear his motivation was dollar signs which was a point in my favor. If the other uncles felt the same way, I’d have this deal done in a matter of minutes.
Which should have normally made me happy, but somehow this time it didn’t.
I held my breath a moment. If Sawyer hated me now, he was going to despise me once I mentioned the offer amount.
“My client has authorized me to spend up to four million dollars to secure this property.” He’d actually authorized me to pay far more than that, but four million seemed like a good starting point.
There was a collective intake of breath from the men in the room, their disbelief and giddiness almost palpable. Except for Sawyer. He looked like he’d been sucker punched. His face had gone pale, his shoulders slumped. My fingers itched with the need to touch him, to somehow reassure him everything would be okay. But of course, I couldn’t. And if keeping the Sea Sprite was what he wanted most, everything wasn’t going to be okay for Sawyer at all.
I let the number settle in a moment before continuing. “Of course, that amount is predicated on several conditions being met.”
Mark’s expression soured and his eyes narrowed. “Here we go. The fine print. I knew this was too good to be true.”
His brother Greg, the lawyer, placed a hand on his arm. “Just hear him out.”
Mark pursed his lips but said nothing more.
“Time is of the essence for my client, and he wants this deal to close as soon as possible,” I told them.
“How soon?” Greg asked.
I stole a look toward Sawyer, bracing myself for another murderous stare. “Three weeks.”
Greg let out a whistle. From my research I knew he’d spent a couple of years as a corporate attorney at a big firm in Boston before moving back to McBride and hanging out his own shingle. While he mostly dealt with smaller matters now, he was probably still familiar with what was involved with a deal this size. Usually it would take months, not weeks.
Mark crossed his arms. “We haven’t even put the place on the market. Three weeks isn’t nearly enough time to see who else is interested and what they might be willing to pay.”