Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
He doesn’t answer until I take the envelope.
Sighing, I rip the thing open, pull out the contents, and—it’s a check?
“Hold up. Bee Harbor isn’t for sale,” I say, steeling my voice as I look up. “Sorry, but this is really sudden. Do you think I’ll just take your money and agree to it on a whim?”
Thick, dark brows pull down, casting a standoffish look.
“You’re offended—that wasn’t my intention.”
“Well, the next time you want to try to buy a dead woman’s property when she’s barely cold, have the decency to use a realtor. Maybe try the phone first. Then I can just say no, thanks and hang up without tumbling out here in my—”
I don’t finish that thought.
His lips curl up in that insufferable smirk again.
“I promise you, I didn’t see much,” he says. But his tone makes it sound like that’s a tragedy.
God, give me strength.
Because even when my last boss was a billionaire ogre, I never rolled out of bed before nine a.m. with an instant urge to choke a man before.
“You should go,” I bite off.
“Miss Landers, surely you must know who I am.”
“I don’t. Frankly, I don’t care. My grandmother never mentioned you.”
The harsh head shake I throw back only sharpens those silver daggers for eyes.
“Don’t misunderstand my intentions. I wanted to do this in person, so you’ll know the property is in the best hands. I fully intend to preserve its natural beauty, without any sales to developers. Also, I thought you’d be thankful to have the burden lifted off your shoulders promptly.” He pauses. It must be the lashing flames in my eyes. “What are you so mad about? The maintenance cost on this old place alone exceeds any projected revenue. You can’t possibly intend to stay.”
“Oh, I intend. Possibly,” I throw back, each word so sharp it tastes metallic.
He studies me slowly, his eyes frosting over me with amusement.
“You? Alone? Without any capital backing?” He scoffs loudly.
That does it.
My mouth drops open and I take a halting step forward.
“What do you know about maintenance on my property? Have you been snooping around? And why do you care so much if I’m staying? I just got here!”
Deep breath.
Try not to scream.
I almost want him to do something dramatic and angry and full of assholery so I can run him off my porch. Maybe even get him a visit from the sheriff.
But he’s too smug to be reckless. Too calm and levelheaded.
“Naturally, I do my research before any new real estate deal. This one is personal and close to home. Literally. It’s even more warranted when a man tries not to shit where he eats.”
I groan.
“Does that research usually make you crap yourself? Because I’m not interested. Bye.”
Before I can slam the door in his face, he throws an arm out. A happy-looking Cream darts between us and stops in the doorway, wagging her tail.
Perfect timing.
“Wait. I’ll round up my offer to an even two million, but I can’t warrant going higher. That’s well above market value and I’m nobody’s sucker,” he growls.
“Two million?” I can’t feel my toes.
I realize I never glanced at the numbers on the check he basically shoved in my face.
I stare at him as he nods.
“What kind of psycho offer did you make?” I mutter. I hate that I was too rattled to look until now.
“A painfully generous one. Nothing less.”
I pull out the check, grinding my teeth together so my jaw doesn’t drop.
Yep, those are zeroes.
Many, many zeros.
So many life-changing zeroes, I don’t think there’s any way this can possibly be real. The whole inn and its acreage might be worth a hair over a million dollars at best.
He’s offering almost double.
I’m at a loss for what to say, what to think—until he smiles like he thinks he’s won me over.
That same sinful, almost smarmy smile that spoils a face molded by the gods.
“Don’t think on this too hard, Miss Landers. You’d be surprised how far instinct has always gotten me in business. What does your gut say?” His voice is so gentle, but the intention is all brute force.
Hell no.
While I still have my wits, I hold it up and tear the cursed thing into a dozen pieces. A sharp wind blows the confetti in his face, now set like unblinking stone.
“Well, it’s safe to assume you didn’t make your fortune in real estate, I guess,” I say dully.
The paper scraps flutter onto his expensive black shoes.
He watches them with disinterest. I hate that he doesn’t flinch.
“Bad move. You won’t get another offer like that. Hell, you’ll probably wind up selling at the bottom to some second-rate developer with a taste for gold watches. He’ll turn Bee Harbor into another row of cookie-cutter houses in no time. Congratulations, Miss Landers.”
I shrug and look away. That’s not happening while I’m alive and solvent.