Chapter 8 #3
Damn. This woman did not stop.
“How about we take a breath and debrief before you plan your hostile takeover of the entire state of Vermont?”
In slow motion, she looked up, her expression darkening, her pen still stuck between her teeth. “There’s no time to take a breath,” she said around it.
“We made progress today.”
“We obtained information,” she retorted. “Some of it useful. And I’m getting more.” Head down, she tapped at her keyboard. “We’re up against more than we thought. This isn’t just about the murder and bad press.”
“How? You heard them. From here, we need to build up organic support, particularly with the farmers and local businesses. Rebuild trust, show them we’ve recovered. Engage in the broader community, maybe plan some small events, win back the festival.”
She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly through her nose. “No,” she snapped. “This hold hands and smile and hope for the best approach won’t work. In fact, it’s potentially catastrophic for the people who elected you to represent them.”
I straightened, my gut twisting. Wow. And here I thought I knew what it meant to not throw punches. “Sorry that I’m trying to build consensus and community,” I grumbled. “I assume your complaint means that the blackmail, murder, and mayhem plans in those color-coded folders are better?”
Fury flashed in her eyes, but she didn’t respond.
So I kept going. “Perhaps you’ll even have time for a few curses, hexes, or voodoo spells too.”
“Fuck off.” Her voice was razor sharp. “This is bigger than Maplewood. It’s bigger than you. And it requires actual adult solutions.”
I scoffed, hands on my hips, stepping closer. “And rebuilding trust and our reputation is not adult enough for you?”
“No. Because it won’t make a difference. We need to expose Birch Hollow and the corporate partners backing them,” she argued. “Pressure the state to own their cover story about attendance numbers. Gain and apply leverage.”
“And by leverage you mean blackmail?”
She reared back, a breath escaping her. “Blackmail is for losers and wannabe mobsters. I handle things. I have conversations. And then I reach mutually agreeable solutions with the people I’m negotiating with.”
Head tipped back, I laughed. God, this woman was delusional. This was small-town Vermont, not Davos. “The last thing the town needs is you burning all our bridges.”
“Actually, the last thing the town needs a mayor who’s not willing to fight for them.”
I held my hands up, anger flooding my veins.
“I’m fighting, Sabrina. I’ve been fighting for a long time,” I told her, pacing.
“This way of life? It’s dying. Towns like Maplewood are dying.
That’s before we factor in global warming, which is killing the plants and the maple syrup industry.
So every day is a fight for survival. But you don’t understand how these things work. ”
Stopping, I forced my fists to unclench. Shit. What was wrong with me? I never raised my voice. I never used my height to my advantage, and I certainly never spoke like this to women.
She sat perfectly still, shoulders pulled back.
Unbothered.
Didn’t even flinch when confronted with my raw anger.
“Someone like you,” I said, frustrated by her nonreaction. “You have no clue how relationships and loyalty work or how communities function.”
She stood slowly, focus locked on me, like a lion ready to pounce. “You know nothing about me.”
“Of course I don’t. Because you left.”
That got her to flinch.
Interesting. It looked as though I’d found her weak spot.
“You took your talents to the highest bidder. You make fun of me for my loyalty to Maplewood, but I’m the one who’s been here for years, doing all I can for my neighbors. You?” I scoffed. “You’ll ‘handle’ this, then skip town, leaving a path of ruin behind you.”
She rolled her eyes. “And good boy Gabe Harding will clean up the mess.”
“Yes.” I took a step toward her. “I fucking will. Because I’m the one who has the skills and local connections to do it. The sense of loyalty.”
I swore she drifted closer to me too. So close the warmth of her body seeped into me.
Her breath hitched, her lashes fluttering.
She was tiny like this. Without her heels and her armor. Though she was no less fierce.
Lips parted, she studied me. Like she was surprised I could give as good as I got. That I wouldn’t let her steamroll me.
My heart pounded so violently I swore it would burst through my chest. The air in the room buzzed with energy.
She didn’t get it. She never would.
While I was kindness and hard work and community, she was power and blackmail and individualism.
“One of us actually cares,” I growled.
She didn’t respond. Didn’t look away.
“One of us has a heart.”
Hand flexing, I fought the urge to touch her.
The space between us crackled.
“One of us is going to save the town.”
I loomed closer, my body desperate to close the small space left.
“And sweetheart,” I muttered, “it’s not gonna be you.”
In one quick move, she clutched the back of my head and pulled me in until our lips crashed against one another.