Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Oooh, snap! Chrissy and Jed are hitting low and hard.
I’m on the edge of my seat, morbidly curious how he’s going to reply back to that, but Robert forcibly pulls Jed back to his seat and leans over to whisper in his ear. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but Jed is turning redder by the moment, mostly because I don’t think he’s breathing in his effort to bite his tongue.
Keeping a straight face, I look to Oliver, who’s holding out a staying hand at Chrissy’s. He looks . . . pleased? This must be some sort of bluff on their part, a negotiation tactic to get the ball rolling in Chrissy’s favor, which isn’t unusual. Start at seventy-thirty, Jed counters fifty-fifty, and they settle at sixty-forty, which still nets Chrissy more than she probably expected from Jed.
Robert gets a nod from Jed, and leans forward to look at his phone screen. Typing on his calculator app, he repeats, “We’ve looked over your financial auditor’s evaluation.” Type, type, type. He holds up the calculator, showing the number to Jed with raised brows. When Jed doesn’t react, Robert finishes, “We agree to its contents.”
That alone surprises me. Even if he’s not hiding money, I figured Jed would want to undervalue some things and overvalue others. It’s a common tactic in contentious divorces so that one party gets more than their “fair share,” and totally something Jed would do.
“Okay,” Oliver agrees slowly. His answer is solid, but his shoulders have inched up a bit. Why is he nervous? It’s his idea.
“Agreed.” Robert’s single word sets the room ablaze.
“What?” Chrissy squawks.
“What?” I hiss.
Ben makes a gurgling noise that has me worried for a second.
Even Oliver seems shocked, but maintaining professionalism, he holds his hand out to shake on the deal.
Robert grins. “Ah, ah, ah, not so fast—”
Thank fuck. There’s got to be more to this, because otherwise, Chrissy just became the CEO and owner of Ford Construction Company and the person I’ll have to deal with for Township. And as bad as Jed is, Chrissy is . . . Chrissy.
“With one consideration. Jed wants to retain the ownership of the name Ford Construction Company, with no noncompete to enforce.”
“Wait. What?” Chrissy demands. “It’s my company. That’s what you just agreed to.”
Jed smiles now. “You buy out my share and you get the company . . . assets. The Ford name is mine, and I won’t have you doing business as me, trading on the success I’ve built.” He stands, and Robert mirrors him. With an evil grin, Jed slides a whole ring full of keys across the table, pinging right into Chrissy’s chest because she’s not remotely prepared to catch them. “Good luck.”
“We’ll be in touch,” Robert tells Oliver. The two men exit, both with matching shit-eating smiles that terrify me, and Chrissy looks at Oliver in confusion.
“That’s good, right? I got it all?”
Oliver frowns. “Yes, but it’s way too easy. I’ll read through the settlement carefully to make sure there are no surprises.”
Chrissy quit listening after the “yes” and is basically jumping around the conference room like she’s won the lottery. “Let’s go, Ollie! We’ve got celebrating to do! Champagne’s on me!”
Oliver stands, still looking concerned as he gathers his papers.
“Looking forward to working with you on Township, Wren.” Chrissy’s statement might as well have swept my feet out from underneath me because it definitely steals my breath.
“Whaaat?”
But Chrissy’s gone, quickly tippy-tapping down the hallway in her excitement and taking my pride in Township with her.
My first big contract deal for Cold Springs has turned into a clusterfuck of explosive proportions. There’s no way Chrissy can finish out the development, completely clueless about not only how to build a house, but how to run a business. I don’t know what Jed actually does all day, but he’s got more experience at it than Chrissy does.
“Wren—” Oliver says quietly. “Can we talk about this?”
I drag my eyes back to him, anger turning my gaze icy. Holding up a hand, I tell him snidely, “Don’t. Whatever’s best for your client, I know.”
“Yes, but I never thought . . .” He glances to Ben, who’s sitting silently by my side cataloging everything he sees and hears. I don’t need to look to know what’s on Ben’s face—complete blankness. Not because he hasn’t figured out there’s an undercurrent of something else going on, but because he’s holding judgment until he’s compiled all the facts.
Fact number one—Oliver should’ve followed his client, but he’s still here to talk to me.
Fact number two—the request to talk about this sounds more like a date than a work thing.
Fact number three—I sound like a scorned woman.
“It’s fine. Go with Chrissy, read the settlement, and we can set up a meeting to discuss Township moving forward,” I add. “The book club already reserved the conference room for tomorrow morning, so it’ll have to be after that.” Crisp, clipped, and professional is my goal. I’m not sure I hit it, but I for sure land somewhere around bossy bitch.