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I stare through the glass wall into the factory below, not knowing what to do next. I’m a sitting duck. The sale of Collingwood Farm has unleashed a pack of worries that seem insurmountable. My business has had its fair number of ups and downs, but this time around, it feels as if the loss of our milk supply is the one down that’s going to push the water to boiling point. Maybe I’ve been a slow cooking frog for a while.
There’s a knock on my open office door and reluctantly I swivel my chair to face whoever’s there.
“Britt. What’s up?” Every time I see my PA I still feel like shit for asking her to stay when she could have been in Miami by now. That said, her skin tone doesn’t beg for a day at the beach. Britt is the type who burns red within half an hour and summer is a full-time thing in Florida.
“I have to tell you something.” She shuts the door behind her and strides over to my desk in high heels that would certainly suit Miami much better than small-town Vermont.
“Yes?” Thank God for glass walls. No scope for speculating about what happens behind closed doors.
“Jessie gave me some intel.”
Intel? By the look on Britt’s face, those are secrets shared with the strict understanding that they would go nowhere. Good luck with that.
“Go on.” I’m not usually one to participate in gossip, but Jessie works for Brenda and Brenda is steering this ship into her harbor. Knowledge is power and if I learn something new today, it might zap me out of the mindfuck zone the past week has dunked me in. My mind has been running in circles, unable to focus on any possible solution. Derek has been sourcing additional organic milk supply, but at some point we also need to draw the line: to transport milk for over two hundred miles to our factory isn’t exactly good practice for a company that claims to have a low carbon footprint—and the only reason for that is that we don’t own any of the farting cows causing emissions to skyrocket like an atomic bomb cloud over Ashleigh Lake.
“They’ve had two development offers so far for Collingwood Farm,” Britt says. “The first came in yesterday at four million—”
“Lowballing much?”
“Yep, but this morning another offer came in for six million.”
Fuck. “Who offered six?”
“In the strictest confidence, a European hotel group called Beaumont. They’re claiming a foothold in the States and already have a project going up in Massachusetts, on the north shore.” Britt sucks her cheek as she brushes her hair from her face. “They’ve got money—lots of money. Six million is like small change to them.”
I lean into my desk and minimize our finance system to open the internet browser. “Beaumont, you said?”
“Yep.”
I type it into the search bar, scroll until I find the link to the hotel group and open the Beaumont website. My stomach spirals down into a pit of darkness. Beaumont only does five-star properties, most of them, at a glance, being restored castles and elaborate country estates all over Europe, the majority with a golf course attached. I can smell the money, glitz, and glamour through the screen. “Any offers to buy Collingwood Farm as a going concern?”
“Nope.”
With a suppressed groan I lean back in my chair and focus on keeping my face blank, but all I want to do is stand up, dig my fingers into my hair and scream a loud fuck that would reverberate down into the factory. Six million dollars would be like a dropped coin for these Beaumont people. I should make a counteroffer of eight million and make Beth an extra million just for the hell of it. If Beaumont really wanted the land, upping their offer by two million would be nothing.
“Sorry, Hunter, I wish it was better news.”
“Have they signed on an offer? Any offer?”
Britt pinches her eyes closed and presses her lips tightly together as if she could seal them and stop speaking altogether. “This is also strictly confidential,” she whispers on a groan.
Uh-oh. Give it to me already so I can move on. My neck is on the chopping block and I’m waiting for the axe to fall.
“So far, nothing has been signed. One of the owners is coming to Ashleigh Lake to give the farm a once-over and will sign the offer here.”
One of the owners is coming to Ashleigh Lake? My stomach pulls tight and my heart skips a beat. “Come on Britt, don’t hold back now!” I’m literally begging for gossip and a rosy blush flushes Britt’s cheeks. Oh, she’s been holding back on this little nugget, treasuring it for last.
“Beth O’Neill is coming to Ashleigh Lake. The only problem is, she can’t find accommodation. The whole town is full because it’s Canadian Thanksgiving and you know they always rush south this time of year as if they don’t have their own freaking trees and leaves, and then there’s also the influx from Boston and New York for leaf peeping.” She drags in a fast breath.
“And Jessie told you all of this?” I interrupt before she can carry on. For free I want to add but bite my tongue. Brenda isn’t the type to let a money-making opportunity slip through her fingers.
“Yes, but it’s strictly confidential. Nobody is supposed to know that Beth’s coming. She doesn’t want to stay in Ashleigh Lake, but somewhere outside away from the town so she can stay incognito. Within easy driving distance of Collingwood Farm.” Britt takes a step forward and sinks into one of the chairs on the other side of my desk. “You know Brenda and Jessie also manage almost all the short-term rental properties in and around Ashleigh Lake. Jessie can slap together a week for her, but she’ll have to move four times since there’s no solid week available.”
I know this. Jessie runs my summer rental of the cottage next to my house on the lake, a good ten kilometers out of town. “Well, that’s crap and won’t work.” She can come stay with me. I have plenty of rooms…bathrooms… Beds. An empty house that needs to be filled with her, if I’m honest with myself.
“We need to make a plan, Hunter!”
I stare at her, those green eyes wide. She nods slightly and makes a rolling motion with her hands as if she’s waiting for something to click.
