Chapter 5 Beck #2
"Ever hear of knocking?" She snatched the jacket from my hands.
"I did." I stared at the black rubberized flooring. "I heard something fall and thought you might need help."
"Help?" Her voice was low, but shook. "Help?" she repeated.
I looked up, meeting her narrowed eyes. "Beckett Shepherd. I'd rather bleed out on this floor, sniff the armpit of a hockey jersey, or choke on a dill pickle chip—"
"I got it." I wasn't sure when she was going to stop.
There was more.
"Or get kidnapped by Frosty the Snowman than accept help from you."
She dismissed me with a flick of her wrist.
"Ouch." Rob laughed.
I turned. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." He motioned for me to join him. "Come on, Mavis has planned an afternoon tour. Have you got any other high school girlfriends kicking around town? This is the best entertainment I've had in years."
That was the moment the punch I'd already played out in my mind would've happened.
But I had a seven-figure commission riding on the deal.
Squeezing my fists, I waited until the veins on my forearms popped to release them, then put on my real estate smile.
The deal hinged on council's approval, and this fucker had a lot of influence.
Having Rob in my back pocket would make things a hell of a lot easier.
Unlike Mavis, Rob was easy to read. He was a slimy asshole, and slimy assholes loved their own.
"That's what happens when they miss your cock. They get dramatic," I whispered.
His eyes lit up. "They're all crazy."
"Loco." I elbowed him and gave my best fake laugh. His laugh was louder, and I knew I'd drawn him onto my team. Through his corny guffaw, I heard the distinct sound of a metal door clicking shut.
I didn't care. Let her hear me. Business was business.
That was something a small-town girl like her, one who never got out of here, would never understand.
By the time I'd said goodbye to Mavis, darkness had fallen over Chance Rapids and snow was falling. Again.
"Do you want to go for a drink at The Last Chance?" Rob asked. Over the afternoon, he had gotten comfortable with me, even pulling me aside to let me know he was fully 'on board' with the plan. "It's amateur night.” He raised his brows.
"They're still doing that?" I chuckled. Chance Rapids wasn't big enough to have a full-time strip club, but the Last Chance hosted an amateur night once a week. Participating had been part of The Bobcats' hazing, and I had no desire to relive that moment.
"Thanks, man, but I've got a call with the boss."
"Next week." He winked. "You can meet my favorite, Stacy."
"You got it." I returned his wink and doubled down with 'the gun' hand gesture.
Laughing, he opened the arched wooden door of the seedy tavern, and rock music and voices filtered up the stairs.
Rob disappeared and the door thudded shut behind him.
The metallic click of the latch brought me back to the one from the rink.
Again, I shook it off. Beckett Shepherd was in business mode.
My walking tempo was fast, fuelled by excitement as I made my triumphant return to the Snowy Peaks Inn.
I slowed at the frosty window of the old tailor's store, now a fancy flower shop.
A wreath made from holly hung in the window.
Beyond it, a pretty girl with blonde hair fussed with an arrangement of roses.
Silent Night, a really sad version sung by a choir, played from the speakers on the lamp-posts along Main Street.
Pausing, I watched the girl. She stepped back after each placement, her lips turning up into a smile at her work. Clara used to get that look on her face after she landed a jump. It was pride.
Clara.
So what if Clara heard me today? I'd said worse in boardrooms. This was how deals got done, finding common ground.
Unfortunately for me and the girl I'd now hurt not once, but twice, that meant being a chauvinistic piece of shit.
The good news? Rob was on my side now. That mattered more than some girl's feelings.
Right?
The florist stepped back and gave a final nod of approval at the flowers, then wrapped them in brown paper.
Clara already hated my guts. What was a little more of that piled on top going to do? This justification eased my mind for about two seconds.
A gust of wind bit the back of my neck. Shivering, I continued my way to the Inn, but my steps had lost their pep. The further I got away from slimy Rob and the seven-figure deal, the shitty thing I'd said about Clara got louder. The crunching under my boots slowed as my words repeated in my mind.
Clara wasn't just some girl, and I was no better than Slimy Rob.
My phone buzzed. I tugged my glove off my hand with my teeth so I could fit my hand in my pocket to get it out.
There was only one person who intimidated me more than my boss. And her name lit up the screen.
Everleigh King. My boss's daughter and right-hand woman.
My finger hovered over the screen, but instead of answering, I sent it to voicemail. Like game seven in the playoffs, answering a call from the Ice Queen required preparation, both physical and mental.
She didn't leave a voicemail, but a text popped up.
Heading into meetings all week. Will be in touch.
My shoulder muscles relaxed. I gave it a few minutes, then replied.
Sounds good. Will update you when I have more details.
What updates would I have? I didn't know. Suddenly, going to sit in my room at the Inn with the crocheted doilies and handmade quilts seemed like torture. I needed to keep working the town. I only had a few days to close this deal.
And right now, half the town, and probably the majority of council, was sitting in the Last Chance Tavern.