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“And…?” He tilted his chin down expectedly.
“It’s shit.”
“Shit?” he asked calmly. “How so?”
“The provisions, the architecture, the structure, the brands attached to the retail project—pure crap. I’m jamming this project down people’s throats, so I have to sell it to them. There’s nothing marketable about your plan for Staindrop.”
My shitty mood had begun the moment I’d boarded the commercial flight to London the day after kissing Cal. I found myself replaying the kiss in my head time and time again, and remembered Cal’s Brain Boyfriend remark. Itching for a distraction, I had decided to dig through the blueprint Tate had sent me when he’d made the offer and nitpick every small fucking thing about it. I didn’t actually think it was bad. Tate was a terrible human but a top-tier businessman. He had the talent and ability to turn the town around. But the real answer—that I didn’t want to sign the contract because I wanted into Cal’s pants—wasn’t acceptable. Not to my business partner, and not inside my own head.
My mood had taken a further nosedive later that day when I’d checked on La Vie en Rogue. Not because the progress wasn’t to my satisfaction. On the contrary—everything had gone according to plan. The rose-pink stained marbled bar was pristine, the black granite walls were already up and covered in eclectic art and graffiti, the handmade upholstered leather stools were lined up over the shiny parquet floor, and the bulbed chandeliers looked like a Milky Way constellation map.
Everything was perfect, and yet I couldn’t, for the life of me, find any excitement and pleasure in it.
“Let’s try again.” Tate sat back, lacing his fingers and tapping his indexes over his mouth. “I’m going to pretend you have the greenest clue about city planning and ask why you think this proposal, designed by three of America’s boldest and most prestigious architects, is shit?”
“It’s like planting the Woolworth Building in a cornfield. Completely out of character for the town.”
“It’s like putting a profitable, high-end business in a shithole, breathing life into it,” he countered, his lips thinning impatiently. “Of course it’ll change the town’s makeup. That’s a pro, not a con. What’s wrong with the retail lineup?”
Nothing. You killed it. Problem is, it’s killing my chances to be with Cal. I knew she didn’t like I was shoving this plan down the townspeople’s throats.
“Too bougie. Prada and Gucci in a small Maine town? That’s not running out of business, it’s sprinting away from anything remotely lucrative, kicking and screaming.”
“The town is only a couple hours’ drive from the Canadian border, and there isn’t an outlet or a five-star hotel in a fifty-mile radius. We’ve done our research. The numbers track,” Tate assured me. “Rich assholes always want to put their credit cards to good use. I’m here to help.”
“How gallant of you,” I grumbled. “Still, this plan isn’t gonna work for a town like Staindrop.”
“With all due respect—which is currently at an all-time low, by the way—that’s not your problem, is it?” Tate sat back, crossing his legs. Both of the flight attendants he’d hired stole glances over their shoulders at us.
“Can we get you anything, Mr. Blackthorn?” one of them cooed.
“A logical business associate would be nice.” Tate unbuttoned his blazer, eyeing me like he was dying to throw me off the plane.
“I’m all but illogical,” I countered. “You know numbers, but I know Staindrop. And I’m telling you, a mall this big and a hotel this glitzy is the wrong way to go.”
“You’re here to sign the dotted line and hand over control, not to make suggestions. Staindrop is gonna be in good hands, trust me.”
“No offense, Blackthorn, but I’d sooner trust a broken condom.” I folded my arms over my chest. “And when this all goes to shit and you move on to your next venture, you’re going to leave my hometown with two huge-ass structures that are unusable and ugly as sin.”
“And you care because?” He lifted one eyebrow.
He had me there. Giving a shit wasn’t in my nature. It wasn’t like I was going to stick around. Dylan and Mom would still live in Staindrop, sure, but their future was secured. Cushioned by my never-ending stream of cash and quarterly visits.
I didn’t have any reason to care, other than the fact that Cal didn’t like this idea.
“Takeoff in two,” echoed the pilot’s announcement above our heads.
“Whiskey?” One of the flight attendants parked her ass on my armrest, smiling down at me suggestively.
“Pass.” I slid to the other side, rejecting both the drink and her.
Tate checked his phone, waving a dismissive hand in her direction. “Keeley, I’ll take a double, neat. And a charcuterie board. No carbs.”
I guessed he was one of those pricks who ate every single hour to keep their metabolism as fast as they were in the sack. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked my messages too.
Mom, asking if I was okay.
Dylan, venting about the fifty-pound baby who was currently squeezing her bladder like a WWE contestant—her words, not mine.
