Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
“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.
Rhy, telling me he sincerely hoped I spent my time in London buried in women who weren’t my childhood fantasy to scratch that itch.
I pushed away my disappointment. What was I expecting, Cal to send me nudes? That ship had sailed thanks to fucking Franco. I wanted to resurrect him just so I could kill him again.
Tate returned his attention to me. “Where were we?”
“I was telling you your proposal sucked, and you were throwing a fit,” I said matter-of-factly, happy to be anchored back to the present. “I’m reconsidering it.”
I am? Why the fuck? I needed that check. Opening a new restaurant, building a house for my family, and buying a luxury apartment didn’t come cheap.
The plane began takeoff, rolling on the tarmac, gaining momentum. Tate tossed his whiskey back in one gulp.
“Am I in a bidding war?” He slammed the empty decanter on the table between us.
“No,” I said honestly. “I’m just trying to do the right thing here.”
“No, you’re not. When given the chance, you always do the fun thing, not the right one.” He studied me intently. “Something’s changed. You’ve changed. Why?”
“Grew a fucking conscience. Sue me.” I shrugged off his attitude.
“Tempted to.” He stroked his chin. “Unfortunately, you haven’t signed anything yet. How about we play on it?”
“On an eight-million-dollar contract?” I snorted. “Fucking pass.”
Goddamn. An old-money, white billionaire was a level of thrill-seeking I’d yet to meet.
“Come.” He tapped my knee fatherly, a taunting smirk on his lips. “You know you want to.”
I really didn’t want to, but we were going to have to burn the time somehow, and I had a feeling he was going to screw the flight attendant right in front of me if I didn’t keep him busy. “Fine. What are we playing?”