CHAPTER 9
Victoria
I’m so appalled I stumble again. He catches me.
Again. And to my complete and utter horror, I fall against his chest and his arms go around me.
It’s like falling into a brick wall. We stay like that for a moment too long, my softness against his hard-as-iron body, until I remember that he just tricked me.
Made a fool of me. And I hate him for that.
I push against his chest, and he releases me.
I must be a crumpled, wind-blown, discombobulated mess. This is not exactly the first impression I wanted to give.
I shoot Cal a dirty look. I can’t believe he played me like that. I just sat there in his Jeep and basically called his family a bunch of ignorant country bumpkins. And he sat there smiling, watching me dig my own grave with my big fat mouth.
My stupid mistake could jeopardize not only the biggest deal of my career, but it could also make my father furious at me.
I’ll never make partner if he finds out how badly I’ve screwed the pooch.
Normally, I’m about as hush-hush as a person can get. I always play my cards close to the vest. But today, all I needed was a sexy smile from a hot cowboy and I forget everything I’ve ever learned. I forget myself.
I’m such an idiot.
I glare at Cal again. If it wasn’t for his gorgeous violet eyes and his six-feet-whatever of hot Alpha distraction, I never would’ve said a thing. He’s a deceiver who can never be trusted.
Good thing I’m doing the deal with his father, and not him.
Taking a deep breath, I gather my wits about me. I need to make this right, right now. I have to take back control.
I step away from Cal and toward the house. I raise my hand for James MacLaine to shake. He produces a big smile, comes down the stairs, and gives my hand a vigorous shake.
He's a silver fox. He has the same violet eyes as Cal and the same hair, although a little thinner—and a lot whiter—with age.
“Hello, Mr. MacLaine. I’m Victoria Backlund. It’s wonderful to meet you.”
“I’m so happy to meet you, too. Thank you so much for coming to visit. What a wonderful surprise. I loved our conversations on the telephone. You’re a delight, little lady, and with such attention to detail!”
I take another deep breath. “That wasn’t me,” I confess, offering him a sheepish smile. “That was my assistant, Millicent.”
I hear Cal laugh behind me. I turn to see him leaning against his Jeep, arms folded, legs casually crossed at the ankles. What an asshole. Rage builds inside me. That’s the second time I humiliated myself in front of him, and I don’t like it one bit.
“Then it looks like I’ll have to disappoint two lovely young women instead of just one.”
I shake my head at Mr. MacLaine’s statement. “What?”
“Millicent was very nice, and you seem very nice too, but I’m not sure I’m ready to sell part of the ranch.”
Cal pops up from the Jeep and crunches the gravel as he moves toward his father. His eyes are wide with disbelief. “Sell part of the ranch?”
“Cool your jets, cowboy,” I snap at Cal. I’ve lost all patience at this point. “My company’s not interested in buying any part of your working ranch. We’re only interested in an area called Sulfur Springs.”
Cal narrows his eyes at me. I feel the anger come off him in waves. “We’re not selling Sulfur Springs.” His velvety, deep voice has turned into a growl, and the fierceness of it pins me to the ground.
Mr. MacLaine clears his throat. “Why don’t we all go in and talk about this? I don’t want you to think I forgot my manners, Miss Backlund. I wasn’t raised to keep a lady out in the sun, especially in those shoes. Come on now. I’ll get you some refreshments and you can put your feet up.”
“There’s nothing to talk about with this woman, Dad.”
Thankfully, Mr. MacLaine ignores his son. He gives me his hand and guides me up the steps. He places a gentle palm on my back and escorts me inside his large house.
I look around. Millicent told me that the ranch was built just after the Civil War, and I can believe it.
This is probably the property’s original structure, with centuries of add-ons and updates.
One interior wall is made up of rough-hewn logs, another is river rock, and another is almost all windows.
It’s a single-story home with high ceilings, rustic wood, and a huge rock fireplace. I’m sure there’s a design term for this—shabby-chic ranch?—but whatever the term, it’s the exact polar opposite of my San Diego condo.
I live on the top floor of a brand-new building, and everything in my home, from the appliances to the linens, is as modern as modern can get. Sleek and clean.
From what I can see of the living room, there isn’t anything in here that was made after the Reagan years. I wouldn’t be surprised if their kitchen features a wood stove from the pioneer days.
An elderly man is seated in an armchair near the front windows. He pushes himself to a stand. “Who do we have here, Jamie?”
Mr. MacLaine gestures to the man, who smiles and walks toward me. “Victoria Backlund, this is Arlo Westervelt, my dear friend and the ranch’s accountant. Arlo, Miss Backlund is here to talk about buying Sulfur Springs.”
“Say what?” Arlo rears back in shock. He looks to Cal for clarification.
“We’re not selling,” Cal barks.
“She’s with Renaissance Employed, a company out of San Diego,” Mr. MacLaine says.
“It’s Renaissance Empowered.” I shake this Arlo person’s hand.
“Never heard of ’em.” The old man shrugs and returns to his chair. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just be a fly on the wall while you talk about Sulfur Springs.”
“We’re not selling,” Cal snaps, yet again.
Mr. MacLaine invites me to sit on a leather couch. He sits in a chair across from me. Just as we take our seats, a woman about Mr. MacLaine’s age walks into the room and beams at me with a brilliant smile. “Do we have company?” she asks, delighted. “I’ll bring refreshments.”
I know that she’s not Mr. MacLaine’s wife, because he’s a long-time widower. But I don’t know who she is. As if reading my mind, Mr. MacLaine says, “This is my sister-in-law, Phyllis. She’s the brains of this house. She’s the boss, too.”
Phyllis swats the air. “Jamie, you’re full of crap. You only say those things when you want me to make prime rib for supper, and I’ll do no such thing. Not after your latest cholesterol test.”
“Dammit, woman.” Mr. MacLaine chuckles. “Nobody ever died from a little prime rib.”
Phyllis winks at me. “A little prime rib? That man can eat an entire side of beef before the rest of us pick up our forks. Be right back.”
As soon as Phyllis leaves for the kitchen, Cal starts up on me again, ranting about how ridiculous it is for his father to even discuss the matter. He’s standing, staring down at me like I’m a snake that’s slithered through a crack in the wall and he’s about ready to grab his ax.
I understand why this angers Callum MacLaine. He doesn’t want his father to sell off a portion of their holdings. He grew up here, and he’s attached to the piece of land we want, even if it’s a desolate, unused part miles away from the heart of the ranch.
I see this kind of reaction a lot. People don’t like change. People don’t like transitions. Even if change is good for them. Even if it means they’ll have enough money to enjoy life to the fullest.
Cal will figure out soon enough that I’m not the enemy. He’ll see that I’m good for him. That this deal will make his family rich.
Mr. MacLaine looks from Cal to me and back again. He smiles a little, but he covers it up quickly with his hand and clears his throat. He looks at us again. Something amuses him. I don’t get it. I don’t see anything remotely entertaining about this situation.
“Well now, Cal. I think we should hear her out.”
“But—”
“Maybe we’d be interested in what she offers. Maybe Sulfur Springs should go to somebody who would love it more than we do.”
“What the absolute honest fuck are we talking about here, Dad?” The tendons in Cal’s neck look like they’re about to snap. I worry he’s about to have a seizure.
True, negotiations would be easier with Cal out of the picture, but I don’t wish harm on anyone. Even this asshole.
“We’re not going to hear her out, Dad. Sulfur Springs isn’t for sale.” He glares at me, his lip curled in disgust. “There isn’t a pebble or pine needle or cow paddy on this ranch that we’re selling to this scavenger, no matter what she says.”
Of course, I’m the target of his rage. But I know not to let it get to me.
His father is calling the shots here, not Cal, so his little temper tantrum doesn’t intimidate me in the least. I lean back on the sofa and cross my legs to show that I don’t notice his anger.
There will be no sweating in front of this shark.
Then I see Cal staring at my leg. Oh, shit. I yank down my skirt, realizing that I’d just exposed a stretch of my thigh. That wasn’t part of my cool-customer routine. And now I feel my face get hot.
Hello again, discombobulation.
Just then, Mr. MacLaine says he’s ready to hear what I have to say and gives me the floor.
I stand, take a deep breath, and begin.
For the next ten minutes, I dazzle them with my sales pitch.
I’ve been practicing the phrasing for weeks, the precise wording and inflection designed to get what I want.
And I nail it. I don’t come off as demanding, of course.
I make sure Mr. MacLaine sees that I’m competent and confident—and in possession of all the pertinent facts—but not pushy.
I explain why he should consider selling Sulfur Springs to Renaissance Empowered.
The acreage is far enough away that he’ll never even see what we do there.
The ranch isn’t performing as well as it should.
He can’t keep getting high-interest private loans to support operating costs.
That would be foolish and short-sighted.
Mr. MacLaine and Arlo stare at each other. They seem confused.
“What the fuck kind of loans?” Cal looks like he could spit nails. “What the fuck is this chick talking about?”
“Please, go on, Miss Backlund,” Mr. MacLaine says.
I explain that Renaissance Empowered is here to save him. That this is the way to put Yosemite Ranch on secure footing for the rest of his life.
When I finish, Cal’s hands are on his head, fingers interlaced. His mouth is open, but no sound comes out. Finally, he turns to look at his father. “Have you ever heard any bullshit that’s more bullshit than the sack of one-hundred-percent, Grade A bullshit delivered by this woman?”
Mr. MacLaine smiles, nods at Cal, and then nods at me. He slaps his palms to his thighs and stands. “I think I need a little time to think this over,” he says.
“What?” Cal extends his arms to his sides. His exposed forearms are elegantly muscled, and his hands are large. “Has the world come to an end? Has hell frozen over? Dad, have you lost your damned mind?”
“A week should be enough time.” Mr. MacLaine says this to me, ignoring his son. “You can stick around until then. Oh, by the way, Phyllis and I are going out of town. We’ll be back in a week.”
As the words come from his mouth, Phyllis enters with a large tray of iced tea and a variety of baked goods. She stops in her tracks. “We’re going somewhere? We never go anywhere.”
“Yes. It’s that thing we were supposed to do, and now we’re going to do it, Phyllis.”
She looks confused, still holding the tray.
“The termites!” Mr. MacLaine seems weirdly happy about this statement. “Yes, the house is going to be locked up and treated for a termite infestation. One week should do it.”
Cal squeezes his eyes shut and lifts his face to the ceiling for a moment, as if praying for patience. “Termites?” He looks at his father with exasperation. “I didn’t hear anything about termites. Since when do you have termites, Dad?”
“It’s dry country,” Mr. MacLaine says. “You know how it is with these little critters. They come and they go. Anyway, Miss Backlund.” He turns to me.
“You can’t stay in this house because of the termites, but Cal has a bigger and nicer house with plenty of room for guests.
The biggest home on the ranch, in fact. And beautiful.
He’s got an oven so large that you could cook for an army. ”
I don’t have the heart to tell him that I don’t cook. Not for myself and certainly not for a large crowd. The La Cornue oven in my condo’s kitchen has never been turned on. And I’m shocked that he wants me to stay with Cal for a week. Cal looks shocked too.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cal says. “I’d take her to the hotel, but it’s closed. She’ll just have to go home, and we’ll do a Zoom call in a week.”
“I don’t want to do a Zoom,” Mr. MacLaine says. “So let me be clear with both of you. Victoria will stay here for a week. And she won’t leave until I get back. Got it?”
Mr. MacLaine’s voice was stern. It does the trick with Cal, who finally shuts up. Then Mr. MacLaine wags his finger at me.
“If you want any chance of this deal, Victoria, and if you are a serious businessperson, then you need to stick around the ranch for a week to better understand what goes on here and how Sulfur Springs fits into the big picture. And the only place to stay is in Cal’s house. Understood?”