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“Come up with a new plan. And get started right away.”
Charlie folded her arms. “Even if I were to agree to this arrangement, how can we trust Mr. Anderson to not accidentally knock out the building no matter the results of the vote?”
“If Mr. Anderson damages the building without express approval from the town council, he’ll have to contend with the penalties, fees, and repairs that ensue,” Mayor Greene said, and it sounded like a threat. He turned to Charlie. “As far as I’m concerned, this is the best option. I’m putting my foot down. You two need to figure it out and fast. I’m holding both of you responsible for your own proposals. The vote will happen at the gala. The future of the town rests in both of your hands.”
Charlie and I stared at each other. My heart raced at the injustice of the outcome. And maybe a little because I’d have to deal with her all day and all night if her floor wasn’t repaired soon. All I knew was I wouldn’t be the first to speak. Never be the first to speak at a moment like this.
When the silence stretched just a little too long, there was a crack that echoed through the room. Each of our heads turned up in the direction of the snap. One of the water-stained tiles had given up and dropped into a crumpled mess of pieces and dust on the ground.
Charlie and I looked back at each other with a knowing look. If we’d learned anything from the last sixteen hours, we were stuck together whether we liked it or not.
SIX
SEBASTIAN
My head spun. How in the hell had I gotten roped into refreshing the Dumpicello for a festival I couldn’t give two shits about? I should’ve skipped town by then. Seeing as we had a gigantic hole between our apartments, I not only had to live with the enemy upstairs, but I’d have to work with her too?
Seething, I gripped the steering wheel and turned onto Viognier Way, following the signs for the newly renamed Sinclair Vineyards to meet the man who’d offered me a way out of this town.
Theo Sinclair was the linchpin in the whole plan. He’d been known for his tried-and-tested process for refurbishing old, rundown buildings in town to make something better. Problem was, the town hadn’t been too happy about his efforts in the past.
Apparently, he’d bought up the empty cigarette factory while the Powers That Be were fighting over what kind of museum to install in its place, knocked it down, then leased the land to a big-box grocery store. The town’s local greengrocer had fought for survival ever since, and Sinclair had secured a fat income stream for the next two decades.
Sinclair was Enemy Number One as far as New Elwood was concerned.
That’s where I came in. In exchange for a more-than-market-value price, I’d get the new hotel approvals over the line then sell him the crumbling building, and none of those vindictive councilmembers would be able to do a thing about the fact that he’d own the right to knock it down and rebuild. And then I’d get the hell out of Dodge and invest the money where I actually wanted it. Where it would make a difference for me—and my family.
Well. That’s what was supposed to happen. Now, who knew? The whole thing might fall apart.
If I couldn’t get the town council to agree to the rebuild, Sinclair wouldn’t buy the Monticello from me. And if Sinclair didn’t buy it, I’d forever be tied to this dump of a town. I’d lose my investment opportunity in Arlington and forever have to look at some musty old theater dragging my portfolio down.
It wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t happen.
Sinclair was already waiting for me when I pulled up.
“Sebastian Anderson, welcome to Sinclair Vineyards,” the man said, offering me a firm handshake and looking me straight in the eye.
“Theo Sinclair, we meet at last.” We’d been doing business virtually for months, so this was the first time I’d seen the independently wealthy organic vineyard owner in person. Judging by the fine lines on his forehead, Theo was roughly my age. He had dirty blond hair and bleached white teeth.
“Why don’t I show you around?” Theo offered, gesturing toward the vine rows. While he seemed perfectly pleasant, I felt a twinge of hesitation. Charlie’s face popped into my head. If she hated me now, she’d absolutely loathe me when she found out about this. But seeing as Sinclair had offered to buy all of my family’s properties at a staggering price, I proceeded.
We walked row after row of grapevines, and Theo droned on about every variety of grape on the property. I’d rather have drowned myself in a wine vat than hear another word of his terror-driven approach to winemaking. I was antsy. I needed this deal, and he was wasting my time.
“Now this,” he said, standing in front of a wispy vine with the tiniest little grape buds. “This is Muscat, one of the oldest grape varieties. It dates back to ancient times.”
An ancient grape in an ancient town? What a surprise.
“Theo, are we going to keep talking about wine or are we actually going to drink some?” I asked, finally.
He smirked, squinting his sharp blue eyes in the late-afternoon sunlight. “I like the way you think, Anderson. Follow me.”
Back at the main property, we settled at a patio table on the balcony overlooking the local landscape—a lush green expanse with leafy shade trees filtering the sunlight and rolling hills ahead. I’d never seen New Elwood from this vantage point. And it wasn’t half bad. A member of his staff brought over an opened bottle of white wine and a pair of stemmed glasses. Theo did the honors and filled my glass with champagne-colored liquid. “This is our best traminette.”
I took a sip of the small-town-grown wine. Slightly sweeter than I liked, but still pleasant on the tongue. “Very nice.”
“I know.” The vintner swirled the grape nectar in his glass then stuck his nose over the rim before sipping with his pinky slightly raised. I enjoyed wine as much as anyone but found the whole pretentious tasting show a bit annoying.
“So listen, there’s been a little hiccup with the theater,” I said, watching a honeybee float between us.
