Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Zoe
S tanding on the sidewalk, I looked at the building and felt confused.
It seemed like the architect was going for a classic style with the wooden fa?ade and sand-colored, hipped roof with slate roof tiles. But beyond that, the building looked like a clinical hospital, with its large, modern white structure and flat roof, the windows obscured by heavy concrete overhangs.
I wasn’t up on architecture terms, so I just called the first part homestyle, and the other part, ugly as shit.
The grounds weren’t bad, I had to admit. There were a lot of trees and bushes that were well-tended. As we went inside and up the stairs, I looked out and saw a pond snaking around the building with two ducks. One duck looked to be waging war with a balloon on the water.
I grabbed for Warrick, and he stopped as soon as my hand brushed his. “Look at this. Is that normal?”
“For Terry? Yep,” he said. “It’s a local legend that the Duck was a reincarnated truck driver with two minor felonies and a drinking habit.”
A laugh punched its way out of my chest, and I turned away. “Where are we going again?”
“To meet Gregory,” he replied, turning and heading down a hall. “And we need to hurry.”
We crossed the front part of the office building, and I could see where we crossed from the homestyle to the ugly as fuck building. The halls had changed from warm to austere and cold, with white plaster and gray tile.
The biggest conference room, where this meeting was taking place, was clear on the other side of the building, and we hurried past staff offices, storerooms, and—was that a kitchen? I broke into a half-walk, half-jog, my boots stomping on the tile floor, and came to the broad doors.
We got to the room, and Warrick opened the door for me, gesturing for me to step in before he did. The room was medium-sized, with white and gray walls, a long, scrubbed ash table in the middle, and ten cushy chairs all around. Three men were in the room: two older men with salt-n-pepper at their temples and another with an almost perfect dye job.
His slick Italian suit could have paid for my four-year college degree in one go and still have a good hunk of change left over.
“Ahh, Warrick.” Mayor Treeve stood and extended a hand. “Glad you made it.”
“We’re not late, are we?” Warrick asked while shaking Mayor Treeve's hand.
“No, Donovan, just in time.” Mayor Treeve nodded. “And Miss Zara, pleased to see you again. Mister Drayton, Mr. Peter Johnson…Miss Zara Harrington, Warrick’s new PA. Please, take a seat, you two.”
This Drayton guy turned to look at me; the tilt of his chin and the tiny smirk on his lips told me Warrick was right; this guy was a prick. “Miss Harrington, I have heard about you, but I did not think you were real.”
“Heard about me? From where?”
“This is a very small town. Rumors and whispers spread faster than fire in a dry field,” Drayton said. “Anyway, I asked the mayor to call you here to let you know that I will be exiting my place on the town council, and my son, William Drayton the Third, is going to take my place.”
First of all—was this guy allergic to contractions?
Second, people who gave their kids The Third or The Fifth , must have some patent on the Napoleon Complex. Drayton Senior looked over my shoulder. “God knows that boy still does not know how to read a watch.”
“Not so,” a strange voice said from the doorway. A tall man walked in with icy blue eyes—before I saw him wearing a darker version of what his father was wearing—told me he was Drayton’s son. “When is fashionably late a crime?”
Standing, Drayton Senior walked around the table and clapped his son’s shoulder. “About time you got here. How long was the drive?”
“Why would I drive?” William laughed. “JFK is much easier.”
I tensed—this man was from New York.
“You didn’t get Rellford up, did you?” Drayton asked.
“No; I didn’t call our pilot up. Besides, the Gulfstream is being retrofitted,” the younger Drayton—by this time, I was mentally calling them Douche Senior and Douche Two.
I looked at Warrick and saw him staring straight ahead, his face a slate rock. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I sure was sneering inside. I hated humble braggers. So, they had a private plane; big whoop.
Drayton Two came forward, a tooth-commercial smile pasted on his face. “Pleased to meet you all. I assume you’re the Mayor, Mayor Treeve? My father talks about you all the time.”
The mayor pumped his hand with vigor. “Welcome to Silver Ridge, Mr. Drayton.”
“William, please,” Drayton Two replied. “No need for the extra formalities.”
“These are Mr. Peter Johnson, a local wildlife guide and an honored member of the Town Council and my office, while we have Warrick Donovan, a rancher, and his assistant, Miss Zara Harrington. I don’t know if you have had time to review the files your father sent you, but he is responsible for the proposition for the Processing Plant on the fifty acres outside of town. Your father was on that proposal but never got to it.”
“For seven fucking months,” Warrick muttered.
My head snapped to him—and my mouth dropped. That was the first time I had ever heard him curse.
“Oh,” William nodded. “I did read over them on the flight here. It sounds like a splendid investment and a solid move to make the town much more self-sufficient. I will look into it deeper. And you, Miss Harlington, was it?”
“Harrington,” I corrected.
“My mistake,” he said smoothly. “But, pleased to meet you as well. Are you native to Montana?”
“No…” I said, unsure of what to say. “I’m from out of town.”
“You do look like a Big City girl,” he said. “If you don’t mind me speaking. East Coast or West?”
“South,” I lied. “Miami, Florida.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Warrick’s head snap to me, his brows lowering. Clearly, he was wondering why I was lying, but hopefully, by the time this meeting ended, I’d have come up with another lie to cover this one.
“Can you give me any tips on getting a tan?” he laughed. “I could never hold onto one. I wonder if the sun in Fiji is different.”
“Good sunscreen,” I said with a flickering smile.
“Can we get back to the subject at hand?” Drayton Senior said, his tone having all the pompousness of a man who saw other people as peons. “We just need to sign off on the transfer of power, have it notarized, and we can move on. I have a weekend conference in Malibu to attend, and I must be on the way.”
“Ah, yes.” Treeve opened a folder and slid a paper out. “Just drop your John Hancock here, and you two are going to sign as witnesses.”
Drayton took a fountain pen from his inner pocket and signed off. His son followed, and, when the paper was slid over to Warrick, he took the offered pen and signed a loopy signature, left-handed. I’d never noticed that before, but now that I think about it, he had held his coffee cup in his hand, and he did ride with that hand on the reins.
“Here,” Mr. Johnson said, after finishing his part. “All free and clear.”
“We’ll have it notarized later on and send a copy to you,” Treeve said. “You don’t have to wait anymore.”
“Good,” Drayton said, plucking some keys from his pocket and handing them to his son. “The penthouse is cleaned and ready for you. Try not to run my SUV into a ditch.”
Drayton Jr. took the keys. “Thank you.”
When his father left, William turned to us. “I have my own car, but it’s sometimes easier to say yes to my dad. He can have his nose stuck in the air at times.”
“I think he has it stuck somewhere else,” Warrick grunted while Drayton, Johnson, and Treeve spoke to each other.
I pressed my lips tight and ducked my head, trying not to let out the laugh stuck in my throat. Warrick really did not like this guy, did he?
Fortunately, I managed to swallow the laughter and cleared my throat. “Erm, excuse me, I know this is not what the meeting is for, but how are we on the fair? Do we have a timeline to start or any issues that Mr. Donovan has to clear up? Surely the grounds have dried by now.”
“Oh, oh yes, yes.” Treeve nodded and tapped a pen on the desk.
“The organizers have rebounded, and all the stakeholders have been apprised that, God willing, we’ll start in three days, so hopefully on Monday, after the weekend. By then, the ground should be dry enough, and we’ll have our ducks in a row. Thank you for shooting two birds with one stone, Miss Harrington.”
The mayor spoke to Warrick a little more about the fair while I tried to pay attention, but I felt William Drayton’s eyes on me. His gaze was not threatening, but it still made my skin itch.
Warrick seemed to sense it too as his gaze flickered to Drayton, but back to the mayor. By the time the impromptu meeting ended, I left feeling unsettled.
As we were about to leave, Drayton Jr. asked, “Where in Florida did you say you were from again?”
“Miami,” I said. “Coral Gardens. Have you been there?”
“No, sorry,” he laughed. “The only part of Miami I know is Palm Beach.”
“A bit out of my beaten path,” I lied with a soft laugh. “But if you go back, avoid the sharks.”
“Why? I’m the biggest one,” Drayton grinned.
What the fuck was that about?
“Oh, I forgot. Warrick, Janie Blackwood asked for you,” Treeve said. “She’s about to get a couple of machines that her foundation sourced for you. You might want to run by her some time.”
“She found the Q-Line Solarium?” Warrick’s jaw dropped.
“And the Horse Vibration Plate,” Treeve added, rubbing the back of his neck. “I tell you, there is nothing that lady cannot find. She’s got contacts who've got contacts. She could probably get you an audience with the President if you want.”
We said our goodbyes and left for the parking lot. Hopping into his truck, I let out a long breath. “Was that me, or was that…strange?”
“The nepotism or unwanted attention Drayton was giving you?” Warrick said as we weaved through the town.
“Both.” I shivered.
“Well, forget him,” he said. “He’s probably just like any other high roller playboy, a hit-and-quit-it kind. He’s probably one of those men who flies a girl out to Cabo or Fiji or…or…Jamaica or somewhere just to have a roll in the bed and move on.”
His knuckles were tight on the wheel, and his tone was harsh and grated—but even he sounded pissed off and made me want to laugh. “Warrick. Do you know you sound…like a jealous boyfriend?”
“Do I?” he snorted. “Sorry. There is just something about that family that rubs me the wrong way. I don’t like how Drayton Senior looks down on others over the tip of his nose as if he alone was on the top of the mountain and we were all shit under his silver tip boots.”
“Oh. I’ve met a couple of those guys—” I said. “The pompous dickheads, not the gazillionaire with some kind of robot butler. Anyway, who is this Blackwood lady?”
“Janie Blackwood is the matriarch of the Blackwood family,” Warrick said, “She manages the largest ranch, and with her ties to Europe and DC, she has dedicated herself to a lot of charitable causes. You know what, I think it’s time you meet her.”
Warrick got the truck going, and he headed another way through the town that I didn’t know about. We crossed a wide bridge with a river running under it. “That is the Silver Ridge River, and over there—” he nodded to a café with a green awning “—is Riverbend Café. A lot of tourists stay there for a drink. They have the same artsy-fancy drinks you like.”
I gave an aghast gasp. “You mean to tell me they have my venti caramel Frappuccino with nonfat coconut milk, two and a half cups of sugar with four chocolate drizzles, six and a half pumps of caramel drizzle, three espresso shots mixed in, and extra whip cream there? And you didn’t tell me?”
“That’s exactly why,” he snorted.
I rolled down the window and got a whiff of clean water and earthy smell, and…dead leaves? Huh. Strange scent.
As we passed the river, the road started to curve, and at one point, it drew close to the canyon, exposing its colorful layers of striated rock. A sheer cliff overlooking what seemed like an alien landscape was off to the east. It looked like this part of town was the opposite of Warrick’s mountain home because all I could see were sage-covered plains.
We crested another hill, and a never-ending prairie stretched out before us and across the landscape around us, and then the cows appeared. Most of them were red; a few black ones were there, and some big white ones broke up the herd.
I was not used to so much open space. I was also not used to driving miles and not seeing a single soul. “Holy shit, how big is this ranch?”
“Thirteen thousand acres,” he replied. “Not the largest in the state, but it’s the biggest one around here.”
I watched out the window as we drove up to a house that might have been ripped out of time. Its solid brick edifice and solid stone foundation led up to a very tall and sprawling house with multiple stories, grandiose ceilings, and an inviting wraparound porch. Rocking chairs were on the porch, and a vase of petunias stood on a round table.
Warrick shut the truck off and hopped out. “Let’s go meet the woman who is about to save my ass.”