Chapter 16 #2
“A place. There’s a place here in Luview that is causing you distress. You can’t mention it because of work. Is it part of the deal?”
“I can’t say.”
“That means it is. Hmm. How would I find out about a place that’s being considered for something connected to Markstone's?”
“That’s not a valid Twenty Questions question.”
“Okay. Is it a place where there’s a public record I could see that would give me clues?”
“Ask that question a little differently.”
“Is there a public record about this place?”
Before Rachel could answer, Deanna’s eyes narrowed.
“Hold on. This is about some kind of land or building other than Lucinda’s shop. Your company is buying something else?”
Rachel pressed her lips together.
“Is the place big or small?”
“Big.”
“There isn’t much available around here, other than–oh!” Alarm filled Deanna’s face. “The camp?”
Rachel closed her eyes.
As the daughter of a lawyer, she knew she’d just gone too far, but as a human being who cared about the town, and who loved Kell–yes, loved–she couldn’t let this happen.
Once again, Rachel was stuck in almost territory.
She was almost breaking her contract with Markstone's.
Almost clinching the deal with Lucinda.
Almost in a relationship with Kell.
And all these almosts left her walking too many tightropes.
Eventually, she was going to fall.
She could leave that up to chance, or she could choose which one.
In fact, she just had.
Opening her mouth and closing it twice, all she could do was look down, like a little girl being chided for breaking a rule.
“Oh, dear. No. No!”
Rachel inhaled slowly through her nose, Deanna’s distress unbearable.
Even more unbearable because she was part of what caused it. No, she hadn’t found the camp. Someone at Markstone's had.
But she was a messenger.
She wasn’t supposed to be this kind of messenger. Tipping her hand like this could be the death of her career. She could be sued into oblivion.
“No wonder you’re so tormented. Oh, Rachel. I am so sorry.”
Deanna couldn’t have shocked Rachel more if she’d slapped her.
“What?”
“This is an impossible situation for you! I mean… uh, hypothetically. You know something this big, and you also know that we’re all rallying around Luke and Harriet to create this shared family haven. It must be agony for you. How long have you known about all this?”
“Hypothetically, since yesterday.”
“The rug was pulled out from you! I saw how you jumped right in during your special date with Kell, joining the rest of us to deal with Marty and Stella’s emergency.
You were one of us in that moment! And Kell–oh, my son was bursting with love for you.
The man changed for you! Shaved his beard, got his hair cut, went to all that trouble to get the tailor to redo his suit.
Got Blake to do takeout for the very first time ever, and somehow Lucinda lent him the chocolate shop.
All for a single date with you! You must be so special to him. ”
“And now it’s all ruined!” Rachel moaned, her mouth shaking as she forced another sip of coffee. “If this deal doesn’t go through, I’m fired!”
Clapping her palm over her mouth, she stared at Deanna in horror.
That wasn’t a breach of confidentiality, at least. But it was a shameful truth Rachel hadn’t planned to reveal.
“Fired?”
Rachel nodded sadly. “Fired. Destroyed in my industry. Put on the ‘no hire’ list in every HR department. It’s a small financial world and people who reveal company secrets are, well–ruined. Professionally, at least.”
“You have a lot riding on Lucinda selling to Markstone's.”
“Or not selling,” Rachel whispered. “I’m damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t. I’m a failure either way.”
“Failure? What on earth?”
“Yes, failure. Either Markstone's buys the chocolate shop and the camp and I keep my job but the town is ruined and your family dream is destroyed, or Lucinda refuses to sell and I’m fired. I could hypothetically tell Kell, but he might not believe me because he doesn’t trust me.”
“He wouldn’t spend all this time with you if he didn’t trust you.”
“He doesn’t, though. Not all the way. He’s getting there, but this? This will ruin it. I have to choose between the man I’m falling for and my job. But worse than that–my job will destroy so much of this town and this family I really, really like.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want it to all go away!”
Deanna chuckled, a rueful sound that reflected wizened experience. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could do that.”
“Yes!”
“I think you know what you really want, Rachel.”
“What’s that?”
“You want a feeling. Everyone does. We make a huge mistake fixating on goals. We think meeting our goals will make us happy. But happiness makes us happy. Being accepted. Being loved. Being seen. Being known.”
“Feelings aren’t achievements.”
“Sure they are! Most people spend their lives avoiding their feelings. The really lucky ones are able to craft their whole life around the ones they want to feel.”
“You think I want to build a life around–what? Love? Like this town?”
“Would that be so bad?”
“That’s ridiculous. You can’t focus your entire life on love.”
“Why not?”
“Because you can’t pay the bills with love. You can’t buy a house with love. You can’t–”
“You can. You just think you can’t because no one’s ever talked about it with you before. You’ve heard the language of achievement, not love.”
“What’s wrong with success?”
“Nothing. In your case, it’s all external. What about internal? You have to want to achieve because it feels good from the inside out, not the outside in. Nothing you work hard for is ever going to be enough if it doesn’t come from within. And what’s the feeling everyone wants most in their life?”
“Love,” they said in unison.
“Love,” Deanna repeated softly, stroking Rachel’s face with a soft, warm hand. “You love my son.”
“I do.”
“And I think he loves you right back, honey.”
“Then what do I do, Deanna? This really is impossible. There’s no way out.”
“First of all, you never said a word to me other than yes or no. I’m a smart woman.
I can figure stuff out on my own, and if anyone gives me flack, I’ll point that out!
I’m going to reach out to our real estate agent and pump her for information.
I am sure I can get the scoop on Markstone's’ interest from her directly, and then you have plausible deniability. ”
For a small-town tree service owner, Deanna was wily. Rachel suddenly had mad respect for her.
“Second of all, isn’t your father an attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Why not ask him about all this?”
“Me? Call home and tell Dad I’m–I’m doing what I can’t say I’m doing?” she said cagily, earning a conspirator’s wink from Deanna. “Admit my failure to my father? I’d rather listen to my brother tell me all about how he drinks his own pee again.”
Deanna gave her a flat stare.
“And you think our little town is weird?”
Deanna’s suggestion, though… would her dad actually be able to help her? Distraught and unsure, she wanted help. Needed help to settle this painful dilemma.
Stan Hart had a cunning mind. If he knew what your desired outcome was, he could arrange all the pieces of information, add new ones, and identify possible paths to the goal.
Then help you implement those steps, one by one, to win.
It was how he negotiated well. How he’d married well.
And how he terrified Rachel.
Because asking her dad for help was uncharted territory. Sure, he’d always offered her the world. Private school, private university, her MBA. Anything she needed, he provided.
But Rachel didn’t ask. If it was offered, she accepted.
Go to Dad and admit she had a weakness? That she couldn’t fix her problem on her own and needed help? In a family of overachievers, that felt like a kind of death.
Deanna opened her arms and Rachel gratefully stepped in for a hug. The woman should hate her guts, and instead here she was, giving advice, acting like the friend Rachel deeply needed in this moment of crisis.
What kind of person hugged the woman who represented a company intent on destroying her way of life?
Deanna Luview. That’s who.
“There is no situation so bad that talking about it and asking for help can’t make it better,” Deanna said in a soothing tone, stroking Rachel’s hair.
“And your father is in a unique position to help you. Parents love to help their kids, especially once they are adults. It makes us feel important and needed.”
“It does?”
“I’m going to take a fairly educated guess and say that your dad will be thrilled to have you call and need him.”
“My father? He needs his Ferrari. He needs his astronaut son.”
“He needs his smart, intuitive, kind daughter, too.”
Taking in a shaky breath, Rachel nodded. “Okay. I’ll call him.”
“I’ll put these groceries away while you call.”
Rachel looked at the clock. Ten fifty-two. That meant it was seven fifty-two a.m. in L.A., so unless her dad was traveling, he was in his office after an hour at the gym, and likely on the phone.
Dialing his number, she waited, knowing his executive assistant would answer. This was her father’s personal number, but Beatris still screened for him.
“Hello, Rachel?” Beatris’s surprise was evident in her tone. “My goodness. Is everything all right?”
“It’s fine, Beatris. Is Dad around?”
“He is. You normally speak on the third Friday of the month at five.”
Stan Hart was, if nothing else, incredibly consistent.
“Yes. I know. I need to speak with him now.”
“Can I help? If you need something ordered, or overnighted, or–”
“Beatris,” she said sharply, going back to her L.A. voice. “My dad. Now.”
Deanna started and gave Rachel a raised eyebrow.
“Of course.”
Second later, her father’s booming, smooth voice came on the line.
“Rachel! Sweetie! What’s wrong?”
“Why do you assume something’s wrong, Dad?”
“Because it isn’t our usual monthly call, and you never, ever call me otherwise.”
“I–well, something is wrong.”
“Is it about money?”
“No.”
“Then why would you call me?”