“Of course,” he clips out.
I smile. “And I don’t want you calling me every day and harassing me about what’s going on. I’ll call you when I have information. Deal?”
“You’re a real pain in my ass, Weston.”
My smile turns into a grin. “I love you too, baby.”
He hangs up without another word, and I laugh, but the humor dies quickly when my thoughts turn back to Finley.
I have to convince her to sell to Oliver somehow and also convince her to not murder me in my sleep for pleasuring her on her porch before abruptly informing her of my true intentions.
Thinking about her is a bad idea. My blood heats. Again.Jesus. It’s as if I’m fourteen instead of thirty-four.
I go outside, following the wraparound porch to the darkness in back. I lean my elbows against the railing, facing the woods, letting the cold air cool down my body.
The property is perfect for what Oliver has in mind. There’s enough acreage to create additional buildings, especially since he’s purchased surrounding parcels. The existing cabins can be renovated or completely rebuilt if needed.
I owe him this, and that means I need ideas. I need to get Finley to sell. Everyone has a price. There is always a path. It’s just a matter of figuring out what the cost is, and that doesn’t necessarily have a dollar amount. This place is falling apart around her. It has to be more of a burden than anything else. There has to be something she wants more than retaining ownership of this sinking ship.
I stay outside for long minutes, and eventually, my vision adjusts to the dim light.
Earlier in the day, when I first arrived and made a cursory exploration, she had been down by one of the cabins, digging. At least, I assume it was her, since the figure I had glimpsed from a distance was a woman wearing overalls.
There’s a dip in the grade in the rear, suggesting potential water buildup. Someone’s been digging trenches, clearly attempting to divert the flow, with little success.
I could fix it. I could help her.
I need to spend more time with her too. The thought of doing something active, something that will make her life a little easier, is appealing, and I don’t want to examine that urge too closely. My mind latches onto the idea in favor of the lingering guilt.
One thing is abundantly clear: she can’t sustain this place alone. From what I’ve seen so far, she’s been trying her damnedest, but it’s not enough.
I’ve learned how to give people exactly what they need, even if it’s not what they think they want.
She’s going to be over here first thing in the morning to either kick my ass out or attempt to maim me or both.
I need to make sure she changes her mind and allows me to stay.
And I know just how to do it.
I smile into the darkness.
ChapterFive
Finley
Iwake up before the sun with a pounding head and a foul temper. I barely slept, my mind rolling over and over the events of the prior evening, my emotions pivoting between pure fury, acute embarrassment, and unwanted arousal.
I’m groggy and exhausted and not thinking clearly. On autopilot, I go through the familiar motions of getting dressed, heading to the office, and booting up the computer to check for any reservations or emails that may have come in overnight, all the while stewing over Archer and the fact that he works for . . .him.
I don’t think it was Satan’s plan to send in a seducer to convince me to sell. Reflecting on the events of the prior evening, knowing what I know now, Archer was hesitant to stay. The hesitation, the way he didn’t push me into anything, the way he tried to tell me a couple of times about his work, the way he stopped to make sure I really wanted to go on. I basically had to jump on him, and oh, holy hell, the shame of that now.
Even if he tried to tell me, it doesn’t matter. My blood is still boiling. He should have made more of an effort before I straddled his lap.
My fingers jab with extra emphasis at the keyboard as I pull up his reservation, like each angry punch of my finger is whacking him right in the face.
Hedidonly reserve cabin four for one night, but obviously, he intends to stay longer. Dammit. He’s here to convince me to sell, and that’s not happening ever, let alone within a twenty-four-hour period.
How dare he. How dare he come here, all hot and built and kind and . . . and helpful, and turn out to be one of those pretentious fucknuggets. What a jerk.