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)
“Not sure what you’re used to doing down in Manhattan, but in Descartes, you will not be playing charades, dancing to infamous nineties songs, or singing Adele ballads to customers. You’ve made a fool out of yourself under my roof, and I won’t tolerate it.”
She blinked rapidly, digesting the words that seemed harsh even to my own ears. There were better ways to drive the point home. I could’ve had Rhyland put in a word. Unlike me, he had the tendency not to offend entire nations every time he opened his mouth.
“I understand,” she said finally.
“You do?” My gaze swept skeptically over her face.
“Mm-hmm.” She forced a smile on. I hit the accelerator, scowling at the road ahead. Her eyes clung to my face like they were the glue to keep it from falling.
“Problem?” I growled.
“Several, actually.” She nodded. “Where shall I start?”
“How about telling me why I should care?”
“Because you have a conscience, and because, no matter what you say, you’re a good-hearted person who historically stands up for what’s right. When people’s feelings are involved, there’s—”
“Spare me the big Disney speech. Just spit it out.” I clutched the steering wheel in a death grip. “Use as few words as possible.”
“So I finally found out why everyone hates you. Suzanne, who owns the spa down the street, was one of my customers tonight. She filled me in.” She puckered her lower lip, pinching it between her fingers.
Here we go.
“Are you really going to do what they’re saying you’re going to do?” Cal asked worriedly.
“Yup.” I itched to light up a cigarette.
“But…why?”
Descartes was built over an old railroad that was no longer in operation. I’d bought the land—all five acres of it—for a pitiful price and restored the train station building, turning it into a dazzling restaurant. Gutted it and spent most of my savings on it. I had attracted tourists. Revived this shithole. And put Staindrop on the map. Six months ago, when I’d received a jaw-dropping offer from GS Properties, one of America’s biggest construction companies, to sell the land and everything on it, I hadn’t thought twice. I’d needed a way out and a fat paycheck for my next venture, and they’d needed space to build a luxurious monster mall attached to a hotel close enough to the Canadian border.
I wanted to get out of here, fast. I’d already achieved what I came here to do and saw no need to stick around in Buttfuck Creek. That was why the locals were angry at me. For cashing out and handing the town’s keys to a bunch of corporate suits who, in their eyes, were going to kill its quaint charm and small-town legacy and inject it with Botoxed designer stores.
“Why not?” I stroked my jaw. “Descartes was a vanity project. I came, I saw, I conquered. Time to move on. Selling the land is the logical thing to do.”
“For you, maybe. But what about the people in this town? The small business owners? The folks who grew up here and stayed because they love the old-fashioned lifestyle?” Her entire body was angled toward me. I had her undivided attention, and suddenly I felt like someone had poured lava down the pit of my stomach.
You’re not smitten. You’re horny. Which is a form of excitement that can be dealt with using your right hand and some shower gel.
“The local morons couldn’t spot a good idea if it hit them in the face with a Sub-Zero fridge,” I drawled. “Building a five-star hotel is exactly what this place needs. Employment is nonexistent, opportunities are scarce, and once Descartes shuts down, people won’t even make this a pit stop to get gas and take a piss. Whatever family businesses are still open here are struggling and would only benefit from the rush of tourism.”
“Even if what you’re saying is true, the station is the crown jewel of this town. It is the second oldest train station in America. It’s historical. It’s a holiday draw—”
“It’s dead.” I cut her off through gritted teeth. I didn’t usually give a crap about criticism, especially not regarding this subject matter, but being seen as the villain in Cal’s eyes didn’t sit right with me. “You haven’t been here in five years. Business is at a standstill, the population is in decline, the median salary is thirty percent lower than the national average. It’s mostly elderly people and poor folks forced to stick around who are left. If building a hotel and a mall means cannibalizing one drawcard, I’ll take my chances.”
“It’s not for you to decide though, is it?” She tilted her chin up courageously. “Let them vote. It’s a democracy.”
“The country is, my wallet isn’t,” I corrected her. “I’m selling.”
“They’ll never forgive you if you go ahead with it.”
I took a right turn and entered her street, with its manicured trees, white picket fences, and ice cream–colored houses. “Good thing I don’t give two shits about what people say, huh?”