“Thanks,” I mumble.
My salad comes out and is placed in front of me. I waste no time diving in. It’s not the butter lettuce salad with dried organic cranberries and creamy French feta from Joan’s on Third, but it will do. I pour on the oil and vinegar dressing and shovel it in. The lettuce is fresh and crisp, and the veggies taste better than I could’ve imagined.
“This is amazing,” I say around a mouthful.
Stephanie nods. “I know. Every ingredient is homegrown. That’s one good thing about country living.” She smiles and winks at me.
“What about coffee?”
“We have coffee and so does the diner. No coffee shops though.”
At that, I want to throw myself down on the ground and kick and scream until I’m given my way, but I refrain. “A gym?”
She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Movie theater, mall, or salon?”
“Nope, nope, and yes! Jenna Lindon runs a salon out of her garage. She does real good work.” She nods as she points to her head. “She did these highlights for me a few weeks ago. Not expensive either.” She leans against the bar. “She makes monthly trips to the beauty supply down in Campbell, where she gets dyes and bleach. She even does nails.” She holds her hand out to show me her manicure.
“Does she have a license?” I ask, a little worried about some random woman doing my highlights. I’d die if my hair fell out due to inexperience.
She nods her head vigorously. “She does. She lived in Chicago for a time, but it didn’t work out. So she moved back here and the ladies of this town have never been happier.”
I smile but continue to eat. This town is literally like some forgotten part of the map. Why do people want to live here? Don’t they want cell phones that work? Wouldn’t it be easier to just order something from Postmates than to have to drive over an hour out of town to reach civilization? I’ll never understand small towns or the people who choose to live in them.
I’m happy to see that Stephanie and I are hitting it off so well though. I was told that it’s needed for this job. I need to get to know and become friends with every single person in this town if I want my job to be as easy as possible. I had no idea what that meant—and still don’t—but I think it just means that to get anywhere in this town, I need to be liked by everyone. I have a feeling the locals stick together. If one of them doesn’t like something, then none of them will like it. Since I’m needing to get an expansion approved by the city, I need the city to like me.
When I finish my salad, I look around and find that everyone who was once staring at me has now lost interest. There’s one guy sitting at the end of the bar, watching TV. Two others are playing a game of pool. And the last one is falling asleep on the bar.
I point in his direction. “Is he okay?” I ask Stephanie.
She waves him off. “It’s Jerry’s bedtime. I’m sure his wife will be here soon to pick him up.”
“This happen often?” I ask, finishing off my drink.
She nods. “Daily. She drops him off in the morning on her way to work. He sits here and drinks his breakfast, then he has a burger for lunch and drinks the rest of the afternoon.” She shrugs as she tosses a towel at his head. “Wake up, Jerry. Your wife will be here soon.”
He groans and sits up, but is having a hard time keeping his eyes open.
“Remember what she said the last time she caught you sleeping on the bar?” Stephanie reminds him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles as he wipes his hand down his face and stands. Without another word, he walks off to the bathroom.
Stephanie walks back over, laughing and shaking her head. “You want another drink?”
“No, I think I’m just going to go back to my shitty motel room and take a long, hot shower. I’ve been on the road since Monday, and I could use a little rest before getting to work tomorrow.”
She nods as she hands over my bill. For my drink and salad, the total is only five dollars. “Five dollars?” I ask, surprised.
She nods. “Yeah, why?”
“In Los Angeles, this would’ve cost at least $14!”
She laughs. “I guess you found the second good thing about living here, huh?”
My money is still on the bar, so I leave it and tell her to keep the change.
“Thanks,” she says with a wide smile as she begins cleaning my place at the bar.
“I’ll see you soon, I’m sure. Something tells me I’ll see a lot of everyone in a town this small.”
“That you will,” she agrees.
I drive back to my shitty motel and drag my luggage back into my room. I stand in the middle of the tiny space and look around. What can I do to make this room a little bit more clean and homey?”
I have an idea, and with that, I head back out to see what the local store has to offer.
Two hours later, I’m standing in my nice—er, nicer—motel room. I’ve stripped the bed of its pea-green comforter and replaced it with bedding of my own. I purchased a homemade quilt the store was selling on behalf of someone here in town. It’s white and has tiny little flowers sewn onto it. I bought new pillows, sheets, and throw pillows to decorate. I got a couple of rugs so my feet never have to touch the dirty carpet. I ordered a new flat-screen TV on Amazon—I literally had to hardwire my laptop to get internet access—and it’ll be here in a week. I even bought my own mini fridge, microwave, and hot plate so I’ll be able to keep food and prepare it in my room. It’s not the best, but it’s better than it was, and it will have to do—at least for now.
Now that my room is a little more livable, I head to take that shower. The hot water feels amazing beating against my tense, sore muscles. My lavender body wash eases away the stress I’ve been carrying all week and almost makes me forget that I’m in a town that has nothing to do. I wonder what people do here? I push the thought away, choosing instead to focus on resting and relaxing so I can get to work tomorrow. I need a clear head. I have a lot of people to meet around town, including Mr. Slade, and I have a lot of cases to familiarize myself with before I can represent my clients.
When I finish my shower, I step out, pull on some pajamas, and sink into my nice, fluffy bed. My cell phone rings and I see Gavin’s name flash on the screen. I answer but the call drops. I quickly send him a text, letting him know the landline number for my room. Minutes later, the phone beside the bed is ringing.
“Hello?” I answer, a smile stretching across my face.
“How was the trip, beautiful?”
I want to giggle, but hold it back. “Long, tiring, boring. Not eventful at all unless you’re amused by fields and tractors. And in case you’re wondering, I’m not.”
He chuckles. “Really? You struck me as a modern-day Daisy Duke,” he jokes.
“Ha ha,” I retort, and my fake laughter makes him laugh.
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve arrived safely.”
“Thank you for checking on me. How are things at the office?”
“Same old,” he says. “Jeremy’s been telling anyone who will listen that the company moving you out of state is their way of pushing you out. He’s got people taking bets on whether or not you’ll return next year.”
I scoff. “Ugh. I hate him.”
“What’s the deal with you two, anyway? Everyone knows how much you hate each other, but no one knows why.”
I chuckle. “It started back in college. I was his only real competition. That competition turned into hate. And then we both somehow got a job at the same company, and all that competition came back with a vengeance. He thought he was finally rid of me, but there I was, still beating him at every turn.”
He laughs. “Yeah, sounds about right. From what I’ve seen, you do kick ass at your job.”
My face flushes with the compliment. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”
His voice gets low and hushed. “Tell me we’re still on for that date next year when you return? I just can’t get yo
u off my mind.”
Hearing the desire in his voice makes my heart race. “Absolutely. If you think I’m passing on that, you’re crazy.”
“Just . . . don’t go falling in love with a cowboy or anything, okay?”
I laugh long and hard. I don’t stop until my eyes are watering and my lungs crave oxygen. “That’s never going to happen. Could you see me on the arm of some cowboy?” My laughing picks back up just from thinking about it.
He chuckles. “Good night, Celeste.”
“Good night, Gavin.” I hang up the phone, turn out the light, and curl up in bed. The only thing I can think about is Gavin and our lunch date and how things could’ve been between us right now if we’d revealed our feelings sooner.
My alarm goes off at 5 a.m., and I move quickly to shut it off. When the room is silent, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, hoping to prepare myself for the day. I throw back the blanket and get up—moving toward the small single-serve coffee pot sitting on the counter. I start myself a cup as I move toward the sink. I brush my teeth and wash my face before starting on my hair and makeup. As I apply the finishing touches, I finish my coffee and toss the paper cup into the trash.
I pull on a black skirt and a white button-up dress shirt. I tuck the shirt into my skirt and put on a wide belt. I slip my feet into my favorite black heels and look myself over in the mirror. My hair is down—curled to perfection—and my makeup is perfect—not too much, but just enough to make me look professional. I add a silver necklace, my hoop earrings, and a thin chain bracelet. I put everything I’ll need into my purse and grab my briefcase on my way out the door.
On my way to the office, I swing by the diner and grab a muffin and a cup of coffee. The restaurant isn’t full, but it isn’t completely empty either. There are a few old men sitting at the counter, drinking coffee, eating breakfast, and talking. They give me quick glance, smile, and nod their heads in my direction, but never actually address me.
When I get to the office, it’s going on 6 a.m. I park my car and carry my things to the front glass door. I insert the key I was given and notice that my name has already been put on the door. I smile to myself as I walk inside the dark, quiet office. I turn on the lights and lock the door behind me since we don’t open for two more hours. Turning to face the office, I look over everything.
Dark gray carpet covers the floor, and the walls are a light gray—almost white. The trim is done in white and there are lights on the walls, making it look clean and classy, but also like an upscale country office. The assistant’s desk is up front, and the nameplate on the desk reads Deborah Wiles. There are pictures on the walls, and I step closer to find that every picture is a little piece of town history. The photos show the local post office being built, a ribbon-cutting ceremony at the diner, the brewery, plus multiple photos of farms, animals, and tractors.
I move further into the building and find my office, with my name already on the door. I push it open and flip on the light. The same gray theme greets me. I have a big oak desk with a bookcase and filing cabinets. The desk is an L-shape, with one end holding the computer, and the other side empty and clear for when I meet with clients. There are two chairs on one side of my desk, and the remainder of the room has a nice little seating area with a couch, coffee table, and big flat-screen TV. If this place had a full bath and a kitchen, I’d stay here. It’s clearly nicer than the motel I’m stuck in now.
Instead of sitting down and getting to work, I take a moment to let it all soak in as I enjoy my breakfast and coffee. I sign in to my computer, email, and calendar. My meeting is already set with Mr. Slade. Listed alongside his name is his address with a note declaring the meeting is to take place on his property. I let out a sigh and shake my head. Clearly, Mr. Slade isn’t the come-into-town type.
I was told to expect a lot of local travel with this position. Apparently, Mr. Burns didn’t require his clients to come to the office, and instead visited them so they didn’t have to take time out of their schedules. It’s not a big deal, but it would be easier for me if meetings took place in the office. I’d be able to fit more people into one day instead of having to spend extra time traveling.
For the next two hours, I look over my calendar and pull files to look over for the clients I’m going to be meeting this week. Before I know it, I hear someone unlock the office door and walk in.
“Hello?” someone calls out.
I move quickly from my desk to the front of the office.
A woman with blonde hair is placing her things on her desk. She’s an older woman with wrinkles forming around her blue eyes. She smiles kindly and holds out her hand. “You must be Celeste. I’m Deborah, your assistant. But you can call me Debbie.”
I shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Debbie. I’m so happy to have you here. I feel like this would be a lot more to adjust to if I had to do it all on my own. At least you can give me a rundown on everyone in town.”
She laughs. “I know all the details,” she agrees.
“I have a meeting later today with Mr. Slade. What can you tell me about him?” I ask, leaning against her desk as she takes a seat and starts up her computer.
Her eyes grow in size and she presses her lips into a tight line. “Well . . . Mr. Slade is . . . to be frank, he’s a total pain in the ass and I feel for anyone who has to deal with his shit on a daily basis.” She smiles sweetly, like that last sentence just got away from her.
“Really?” I ask, sitting down in the empty chair across from her.
She nods. “He’s been nothing but a problem for Mr. Burns. You see, the brewery has been in the Slade family for years—decades, actually. When they took us on as their legal counsel, Morty Slade was running it. But it’s since been passed down to Morty’s son, Drake. And that’s when all the problems really started.” She brushes a grayish-blonde strand of hair behind her ear. “That family has been surrounded by scandal since the brewery started. It’s common knowledge around here that Alan—Morty’s father and Drake’s grandfather—paid off the zoning commissioner and got him to move some property lines so he could build the brewery. The thing is, there’s no proof, which means he got away with it. Since the day construction started on the brewery, the other families in town have had serious issues with the Slade family. And those problems haven’t stopped. They believe their land was stolen from them—making the Slade family billions in the process as they’ve grown to become one of the largest breweries in the country. Every now and then, one of them will pitch a fit about something, but mostly, it’s just bad-mouthing around town. The Slade family is basically the black sheep of this town. In the eyes of the locals, they can’t do anything right. It doesn’t matter that they single-handedly rebuilt the only school in town, or that the tax money the brewery pays is the money that gets things done around here. It doesn’t matter that they donate to every charity event.”
“So what you’re saying is that the Slade family isn’t really bad? They just have a bad rap?”
She nods. “Yes, for the most part. Drake and his brothers grew up being hated. It’s turned them into outsiders. They’re not accepted no matter what they do. After a while, they just stopped trying. They rarely come into town, which means you’ll have to go to him for any appointment. Drake is arrogant and believes that since he’s the client paying us the most money, he’s automatically the most important. He will call and want something at the drop of a hat, and he can’t be told no or hang on. He wants what he wants, when he wants it.”
“Deep down, how do you feel about Drake Slade?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I don’t think he’s a bad guy; I think he’s just misunderstood.” Her face reddens. “But I’ve always had a thing for the bad boys.” She lets out a nervous giggle and I can’t help but join in her laughter.
After our giggles die down, I sit back in my chair. “So what I need to do is befriend Drake and get him to join the town, while getting the town to accept him. Once everyone is happy, I’ll get those sig
natures and we’ll be able to move forward with this expansion.”
“Easier said than done,” she says, tapping her pencil on her desk. “Three families believe their land was stolen by the Slades.” She opens her desk and pulls out a map. “Mr. Burns had the land photographed by drone.”
When she unrolls the map, it’s a big photograph of the brewery. There’s the massive building with a rather large parking lot. Surrounding it is nothing but farmland.
“This corner lot here belongs to the Reynolds family. The plot on this end belongs to the Jones family. And here in the center is the Smith family. They claim the Slades stole their back 20 acres. And this land across the street is owned by the Mason family.”
“Wait, why do we need approval from the Mason family?”
“Because this area is technically a farm zone. Any business that moves next to their property line has to be agreed upon, because the noise of running a factory can be disruptive to the farm animals. When animals are disturbed, they get stressed and lose weight, meaning they won’t bring in as much at auction.”
“But the brewery is already there. They’ve already agreed, right?”
“They agreed for the plot of land the brewery’s on now. However, Mr. Slade’s plans call for the expansion to be built across the street. That plot of land already belongs to the Slade family, but it wasn’t in the original contract with the Mason family. You have to get the Mason family to agree to the land being used as a business zone instead of a farming zone.”
“Well, that shouldn’t be too hard, right? I doubt one more building is going to affect their livestock when they’re already used to the brewery being across the street.”
“To a normal person, yes. But these families aren’t normal people. The Slades are hated. Word has it that the Mason family is going to deny their request just because they can. They were well-paid when they signed the contract decades ago, but the new generation running the farm now has had a beef with the Slades in the past. They’re just looking to put a kink in their plan.”
I throw myself back and a long breath escapes me. “This sounds like it’s going to be a royal pain in my ass.”
The Slade Brothers: A Complete Small Town Contemporary Romance Collection Page 5