Page 4 of Preacher

The man’s attention shifted to him. His smile stayed in place, but something behind it changed. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Preacher.”

There was no offered hand or explanation, and apparently that was enough. The representative looked back at me.

“I wanted to see whether you’d had a chance to review the revised closing schedule. My client is prepared to move immediately if we can have signatures by Friday.”

“Friday?” I asked. “You said next week.”

“We’ve simplified the due diligence requirements. Given the company’s current position, my client sees no benefit in prolonging the process.”

Preacher’s eyes hardened, but I kept mine on the representative. “What exactly do you mean by the company’s current position?”

He hesitated, only slightly, but I caught it. “The financial position you disclosed.”

“I didn’t disclose the unpaid regional account.”

Silence filled the office before the representative recovered. “I may be confusing that with another file.”

“Which regional account?” Preacher asked.

The man looked at him as though he’d misheard. “I’m sorry?”

“You said you were confusing it with another file. Holly didn’t tell you which account was behind, so which one did you think she meant?”

The polished smile disappeared, and unease prickled over my skin. The representative closed his case. “This is clearly a bad time. Ms. Curtis, I’ll call you this afternoon.”

“You do that.”

He left without another word, and we watched through the window as he crossed to the SUV without looking back. Preacher waited until the vehicle disappeared beyond the gate before picking up the offer again.

“You still signing Friday?”

I folded my arms, annoyed that the answer wasn’t as immediate as it had been ten minutes ago. “I’m still selling the company.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“No, I’m not signing Friday, so don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“I’m not pleased. I’m trying to work out what he knows.”

I looked at him and found whatever heat had been in his eyes earlier replaced by something colder.

“What?”

He tapped the papers against the desk. “Man didn’t drive out here to save himself a phone call. He came to see whether you were ready to sign, and he knew something he shouldn’t know.”

“That doesn’t automatically mean⁠—”

“No.” Preacher’s gaze settled on me. “But it means I’m looking into this.”

I wanted to argue, mostly because Preacher had walked into Dad’s office acting as though my decisions required club approval. Instead, I kept thinking about the representative’s hesitation, the rush and the number on the offer.

Preacher moved closer and lowered his voice. “Two days, Holly. Don’t sign anything until I know who wants this place.”

I looked up at him, close enough now to see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and the gray threaded through the dark stubble on his jaw. He was Dad’s best friend, the man who’d been fully grown while I was still worrying about college, and the last person in Salvation I should have been noticing like this.

My body clearly hadn’t received the memo. “You get two days.”