Chapter 10 #3
But Derek pretty quickly started undercutting us on jobs.
Started wondering out loud whether “old” companies were the best choice for the modern world.
Started pitching himself as the greener choice but still “hometown.” Opened a mill on the edge of town and started stamping his lumber with “Milled in Winsome.” Started luring a couple of members of our crew to work for him.
I keep running the numbers, but I honestly don’t understand how Sullivan Lumber’s able to make good on the contracts they’ve signed.
The number of harvestable acres Derek owns in the area simply won’t give him the yield he needs, unless he’s bought acreage I don’t know about.
And even if he has, the prices he’s offering mean he has to be operating in the red…
at least until he’s put the competition out of business.
He’s the freaking Walmart of lumber.
Customers don’t always think about that stuff, though. Some are thrilled to get a (supposedly) more earth-friendly choice at rock-bottom prices. Or maybe they simply can’t afford to make a different choice.
Folks in Winsome have stayed loyal so far—which, yes, means Dad has a point about the way he did business bringing value beyond the financial.
But when Derek’s telling everyone and their brother about how mean the Axfords are for selling him land and then “blocking” his permit to cut on land that was never meant for cutting…
well, I wouldn’t be surprised if public opinion swung in his favor eventually.
“Beckett!” Derek’s smile is wide and friendly, meant for other people to see. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Good to see you out and about. How’s business?”
“Great,” I say curtly.
“Glad to hear it.” His smile sharpens. “I heard you were having some access issues with your timber stands, but I guess that’s just idle gossip?”
Every muscle in my body tenses. “We’re doing just fine.”
“Of course, of course. But you know, if there’s anything I can do to help… I mean, we’re neighbors now. We should look out for each other.”
Not if he was Noah and I was the last man on Earth without a fucking Ark ticket.
I give him a tight smile.
“Actually,” he continues, all friendly and casual, “I was just talking to Griffin Mercer about that very issue. Neighbors looking out for neighbors.”
“Were you.”
“Mmm. Nice young man. Very… practical. We talked about some restaurants we both like in New York. Poor guy’s itching to get back to civilization.
” Derek’s smile turns predatory. “So I made him an offer to buy his entire property. Because that’s what good neighbors do.
So much more efficient than dealing with that messy easement business. ”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. “I wasn’t aware he wanted to sell.”
Derek gives me a satisfied smile. “Well, he’s been very discreet about it.
Professional. I appreciate that in a person.
Of course, I can understand why he’d want to move on.
All this legal uncertainty, the pressure from certain parties to give up his rights…
” He shakes his head, still smiling. “Can’t be pleasant. ”
The implication is clear: I’m the unreasonable one. I’m the one pressuring Griffin. And Derek Sullivan’s swooping in to play the hero.
“I hope he can trust you to follow through on your promises,” I say, keeping my voice level despite the anger burning in my chest. “You know how it is in small towns. People say one thing, then try to pull a permit to do another.”
Derek’s pleasant mask slips for just a moment, revealing something much colder underneath. “I think Griffin’s perfectly capable of making his own decisions about who to trust, don’t you?”
Before I can respond, Derek walks away, leaving me standing there with my hands clenched into fists and my mind racing.
Is Griffin really planning to sell? Is that why he was so focused on Derek during their conversation a minute ago? Because he’s considering the offer?
My first instinct is to be furious. At Griffin, for even entertaining Sullivan’s bullshit. At Derek, for being a manipulative asshole. At myself, for reasons not just about the business.
But underneath the anger is something like… well, hurt. Because after Sunday—after seeing glimpses of the real Griffin beneath his defensive anger—I thought we were starting to understand each other. To find some kind of common ground. To trust each other a little.
I head for the parking lot without saying goodbye to my family, needing to get away from the crowd and the noise, when I hear one last familiar voice call my name. The one I’ve been listening for all evening.
“You leaving so soon? Gotta get home for the latest episode of Extreme Wilderness Adventure, don’t you?”
I stop without turning around. “Something like that.”
Griffin catches up to me. His cheeks are flushed from the cool air, and when he smiles, it feels like he’s smiling just for me.
“I don’t have any more secret rooms to discover, but if you’re up for another adventure, maybe we could… I don’t know. Get coffee? My treat.”
The offer catches me completely off guard. After three days of radio silence, after whatever conversation he just had with Derek Sullivan, Griffin wants to spend time with me?
I almost say yes. The word’s right there on my tongue, because honestly?
I want to spend time with him too. I want to know more about his family situation, about why he looked so lost when he talked about his career, about what made him brave enough to climb a tree in the dark just to retrieve a tennis racket.
I want to know if Sunday meant anything to him or if I’m just another complication in his already complicated life.
But then I remember Derek’s predatory smile, his talk of Griffin being “practical,” and my dad telling me that I need to think about people, not spreadsheets, and I decide to ask him straight up.
“Are you selling Jim’s place?”
Griffin’s eyes shoot wide in surprise. He opens his mouth to respond and stops, takes a breath, and starts again. “Can we just get coffee without talking about the property?”
I clamp my teeth together, remembering that this issue isn’t the difference for him between success and failure. Between making payroll and destroying lives.
And that he doesn’t know it’s like that for Axford Lumber either.
Because I don’t want him to.
“Can’t,” I say briskly, before sheer want makes me do something stupid. “Gotta work.”
Griffin catches my tone, and his expression shifts immediately, like a door slamming shut. “I see.” He takes a step back, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Okay, then. I’ll see you around.”
He’s already starting to turn away when I can’t help but call after him.
“You definitely will. We’re still competing for Big Dill, right?”
Griffin pauses, glances back over his shoulder, and for a moment, I think I see vulnerability in his expression. Then he lifts his chin in that goddamn stubborn way of his and gives me a bright, brilliant smile that’s not Griffin’s smile at all.
“Beckett, Beckett. Competing implies there’s an actual competition,” he scoffs. Then he disappears into the crowd.
Leaving me wondering why focusing on winning… feels so damn much like losing.