by Gaelen Foley
Since it was now lunchtime, Bea had gotten busy making herself a salad when her phone rang. Anticipation leaped inside her. Quickly wiping her hands on her shorts, she picked up. “Hello?”
“Ms. Palmer?” a woman said in a crisp, no-nonsense voice.
It was her, all right. “Yes?”
“This is Vanessa Montclair returning your call. I’m curious to hear what you have to say.”
Okay, no small talk it is, Bea thought, raising an eyebrow, though, having met the woman, she wasn’t surprised. “Yes. Thank you for calling me back.”
“I didn’t realize you were related to that farmer. Goodness, I hope I didn’t say anything too rude.” Vanessa laughed.
“Not at all.” Bea brushed off the token semi-apology, ignoring the memory of how her pride had smarted at the woman’s condescending attitude about “some poor family’s farm.” She knew it wasn’t personal. Arrogance simply seemed to be par for the course with the billionaire’s daughter. “Yes, it’s called the Palmer Family Farm,” she continued, smoothly moving on. “The owner is my grandfather. That’s actually the reason I called. I thought you and Mr. Montclair would be interested to know that we will not be selling our property to Diamond Enterprises—under any circumstances.”
“Oh?” Vanessa said, her cut-glass voice edged with curiosity.
Bea offered the information gladly. “That’s right. I met Mr. Culpeper myself yesterday. Harry set up a meeting in Pittsburgh so we could discuss the purchase. But Culpeper wanted to see me one on one in his office briefly beforehand, and thank God you warned me what he was like. Because the moment I was alone with him, he proved just as bad as you mentioned.”
“Really!” Vanessa exclaimed with a gossipy gasp, relishing the news, by the sound of it. “What did he do to you?”
Bea told her about the whole debacle of Curt’s inappropriate behavior, and, judging by Vanessa’s eager responses, she was fairly sure they were kind of bonding over this.
While they reveled in mocking the handsy old goat behind his back, Bea debated whether to mention what had happened next.
Harry’s firing was nobody else’s business, but the connection between Curt and Monty convinced her that it was inevitable the news would quickly find its way to Silver Oaks. Besides, powerful people like the Montclairs might be able to help him somehow. And considering that Harry was already mad at her, Bea took the risk and told Vanessa the rest of the story.
The woman gasped with astonishment as she described how Harry had walked in, witnessed the unpleasantness, and slugged his boss in the face.
Vanessa swore when Bea told her he had then gotten fired and been escorted out by security—but only after Culpeper had pulled out his pistol.
“Good God! I am rarely rendered speechless,” Vanessa finally declared, “but this is mad.”
“I know,” Bea agreed. “Anyway, all of that is why we will definitely not be selling our property to Diamond Enterprises. I thought you’d be glad to hear the news, since Curt’s whole aim was to annoy your father—and what a lovely man, by the way.”
“Oh, thank you,” Vanessa said, sounding almost sweet.
Aha, apparently there was at least one person in the world who could get a warm reaction out of the frost queen. A daddy’s girl. Bea arched a brow in amusement at the doting daughter, then continued. “So now the two of you needn’t worry anymore about more competition in the area for your beautiful resort.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried. More annoyed than anything. Still, it’s good to know,” Vanessa admitted. “I can’t say I’m sorry about Riley, though. Best thing that ever happened to him, if you ask me.”
Bea nearly fell over. “Really?”
“Oh, absolutely. He’s needed to get out of there for a long time. Curt’s antics were just holding him back. He could do so much more without having to continuously serve as the cowboy’s cleanup crew. Frankly, I think you may have done him the greatest favor of his life.”
Bea didn’t know what to say to that. I thought I ruined it.
She was staring straight ahead, wide-eyed, when Vanessa lost interest in the conversation. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I should be—”
“Oh! Actually…if it’s not too much trouble, I wondered if I could pick your brain for just a moment, give you a quick hypothetical, and ask what you would do if you were in my shoes.”
Vanessa paused. “Ms. Palmer, I obviously owe you for nixing Curt’s idea, so sure. Go ahead. What’s the situation?”
“Thank you. Um, it’s a little embarrassing, but for financial reasons, thanks to my grandfather’s battle with cancer, we do still need to sell a good portion of the farm.” Bea quickly explained the size of the property and its location next to the state forest, which was apparently the big selling point for Curt. “The terrain is rolling hills mostly made up of pastures and tillage, but there are about fifty wooded acres and a stream.”
“Hmm.” Vanessa was silent, considering for all of seven seconds, then she took charge in firm, decisive tones. “Here’s what I would do. First, I’d look at how much of the land I’m comfortable parting with, then what sort of usages I could comfortably accept.”
She paused, and Bea realized belatedly that she was meant to answer. “Oh—um, well, in a perfect world, I’d only want to part with about a hundred acres, and certainly I’d prefer something that’s environmentally sensitive going in. And not too noisy.”
“Well then, the answer’s obvious. If I were in your shoes, I’d divide up the hundred acres into ten parcels of ten acres each, and sell them as custom home sites, catering to horse owners.”
Bea’s eyebrows shot up as Vanessa explained.
“Ten acres is enough to keep a few horses in one’s own little stable, and your buyers would have the whole state park to ride in without having to trailer their mounts or even cross any dangerous roads. It’d be perfect. Of course, there will be some up-front costs for you to keep in mind, but I think for this area you could probably get fifty to seventy thousand dollars for each lot.”
Bea’s eyes bulged as she did the math in her head.
“Just make sure to write up a contract that proscribes what your buyers are and aren’t allowed to do so their presence annoys you as little as possible. Oh, Ms. Palmer, and one more thing.”
“Yes?” Bea blurted out in a state of astonishment.
“I’d keep the lot with the best view for myself. But that’s just me.”
“Do you really think there’s a market for this?” she asked, heart pounding with excitement. Half a mil, while still getting to keep two hundred acres?
“Oh God yes. Father has even mentioned exploring it as a possibility, but we’ve already got so many balls in the air. I know many of our regulars who come out for the weekends mention how much they would love to have their own cabin in the area as a part-time or seasonal home. And when I say cabin…”
“Right,” Bea murmured, instantly envisioning the rustic-chic luxury log cabins of the sort Tammy Reese sold.
“Custom-built, they’re a little hard to come by, and you’ve got a prime location there, as long as you guarantee them all park access. Anyway, I’ve got a lunch.”
“Of course. Thank you so much. I really, really appreciate it.”
“It was nothing,” Vanessa said, sounding pleased with her chance to do a good deed for one of the local peasants. “Do give Riley my best next time you speak to him. Tell him I said congratulations,” she added with a blithe laugh. “You should pat yourself on the back, Ms. Palmer. I think you’ve done him the best favor of his life.”
I doubt he’ll see it that way…
“Ta!” Vanessa finished, and hung up.
For a long moment, Bea sat there in lingering amazement. Wow. She was kind of blown away. I’m so glad I asked! Vanessa’s idea for just a few quiet horse-lovers’ homes going in sounded absolutely perfect, lucrative beyond what she’d imagined, and easy to achieve. She'd have to discuss the idea with Pap.
&n
bsp; But it was the words about Harry that had left her the most stunned of all. Did him a favor? I thought I wrecked his life.
I left him because I thought that.
Oh my God. She stared in dawning horror at her phone, her stomach beginning to roil as the unthinkable irony began sinking in. What if this was true?
What if she had abandoned Harry in his hour of need—just like his father had—in a way that merely seemed to confirm the worst lesson the man had ever taught him? “Nobody loves a loser, kid.”
Lose the high-paying job, the girl splits.
She drew in her breath as she sat there reeling. What have I done? Vanessa’s words were just one person’s opinion, and she could be wrong.
But what if she was right? What if, instead of helping Harry by removing herself from his life, Bea had only succeeded in stabbing him in the heart, confirming his worst fears about women’s motives, and making sure he’d hate her forever?
What if her own hang-ups turned out to be nonsense, that getting away from Curt really was a good thing for Harry? Because that would mean that maybe she really wasn’t a curse…
And that she had lost the man of her dreams for no reason.
CHAPTER 17
Within twenty-four hours, the story of the haymaker Harry had dealt Culpeper had somehow circulated through the upper echelons of the city’s business community. It was apparently the talk of the Duquesne Club, the Fox Chapel Yacht Club, and any number of golf courses, how Curt’s hotshot young fix-it guy had been sacked for popping the bigmouth billionaire in the face, and it had something to do with a woman.
Harry knew the tale was making the rounds because three of his buddies from other firms had called him last night howling with laughter and shouting, “Dude, you didn’t! That’s off the chain! What happened?”
Harry refused to tell the story anymore, and he certainly hadn’t given anyone Bea’s name or any real details. He could only figure that Dana must’ve told someone, who’d told someone, and so on.
Nevertheless, he’d been rather surprised at the small amount of sympathy that anyone had for Curt. The man’s wild bluster must’ve alienated more people than Harry had realized.
Which meant that, for better or worse, his own misdeed had made him something of an outlaw hero to all those who’d only dreamed about it.
Today, though, he was angrily determined to put the whole debacle out of his mind, kick back, and try to enjoy the ballgame.
That was one good thing about his new life as a jobless bum, he thought, slumped down brooding in his seat. He could go to a day game on a fine summer afternoon without a care. Finn would be so proud.
“Good job, Taillon!” Harry joined the crowd in applauding to encourage the rookie pitcher who now jogged off the mound.
It was the third game in the series against the Giants on a hot and sunny TGIF, and for once in his life, workaholic Riley was at liberty to kick back in the shade of his box seat behind home plate. Might as well use it before his season tickets expired, he thought, because he doubted he’d be able to afford ’em next year. He thrust his money worries out of his mind for now and simply reveled in the glory of fried food, good beer, and Pittsburgh’s handsome skyline as it glistened over the Allegheny River.
To him, it was the most beautiful backdrop for the most gorgeous ballpark for the best baseball team in the world, and today was the perfect day to get lost in his favorite sport.
Boxing took a close second, of course, but Harry had already indulged in a friendly, albeit humbling, match last night, expending his rage late into the evening after Bea had left. Today’s resulting pain in his swollen right eye helped remind him he was human, after all. Not just some moneymaking machine or—how had she put it?—ah, yes.
Soulless corporate henchman.
Curt’s puppet, who could magically sell ice to Eskimos.
It was a strange thing, however. Once the shock of being fired started wearing off, Harry had begun to see he didn’t have to be that guy anymore if he didn’t want to.
Nope, he decided, taking a swig of his ice-cold beer. Today he was a regular Joe, and damn proud of it, just like everybody else. He didn’t need to be king of the hill today, and he sure as hell didn’t needn’t some megalomaniac boss ruling his life anymore.
Though he wasn’t proud of the way he’d behaved in that office, as the hours passed, Harry was actually beginning to feel relieved, much to his surprise. Curt’s paternalistic hold over him had been broken, and he felt like the warden had finally freed him from his shackles.
Last night, after his exhausting visit to the gym, he’d downed several shots of Grey Goose and fielded those stunned phone calls from his pals, but refused their sympathetic company. He’d then spent a sleepless night tossing and turning.
This morning, however, he had woken up and suddenly remembered—or perhaps it was only just now sinking in—that he actually had all kinds of connections out there.
That ninety percent of the problems he’d ever had to handle were caused by Curt and Curt alone. And that all those powerful people he’d done business with across the globe had genuinely liked, trusted, and respected Harrison Riley.
His boss, not so much.
Screw Curt and the horse he rode in on. Now that he no longer had to act as babysitter to the buffoon, the entire world was open to him, Harry had finally concluded as he had stood in the shower, letting the water course over him.
The continuous knots in his stomach had finally started unwinding as he realized with newfound clarity that it shouldn’t take him long at all to find another job.
If that was what he really wanted.
In fact, by midmorning, a couple of discreet unsolicited invitations had already arrived from well-placed HR heads of different companies reaching out once they’d heard about what happened, letting him know they’d be interested in talking to him if he wanted to send a résumé.
Oddly, though, in this unanticipated hiccup in his career, Harry found himself wondering if immediately signing on to another fulltime gig was what he truly wanted, deep down. He had put aside six months’ living expenses in case of emergencies, so he’d be fine for a while, and Bea had got him thinking that maybe it was time to start his own venture…
But for now, feeling rather overwhelmed, he pushed the whole job situation out of his mind. Just for this one day, he allowed himself to forget about it all. The Pirates were up by three, Burnett trotted back out onto the mound to the fans’ applause, and as far as Harry was concerned, all was right with the world.
Just as they were heading into the seventh inning stretch, his friend and boxing coach, the big Typhoon, owner of Rough Cutz, returned from taking the three kids tagging along today to get nachos, hotdogs, and pop.
As they filed back into their prime seats, a few people in the stands nearby turned, recognizing the old pro boxer, even though he was old and gray by now. The man did tend to stand out. His build was still imposing, and he prided himself on having “the eye of the tiger,” so much so that his wiry eight-year-old grandson, Michael, and his two pals from Little League didn’t dare goof around too much when the old fighter gave the mischievous trio a stern look.
The kids were having a blast, though, much to Harry’s amusement. He couldn’t imagine a better set of VIPs to bring along for this special treat to the exclusive Lexus Club seating behind home plate.
The three eight-year-olds knew every player by name, and experienced the game exhibiting a roller coaster of emotions at every play. They were bursting with enough energy to light up half the city, if only there were some way to plug the three of them into the power grid.
The one little guy, Jamal, could not contain himself from dancing around along with the Pirate Parrot every time the mascot did the same up on the JumboTron.
“You know after this they’re gonna be the coolest boys in the third grade once school starts up again.” Ty heaved into his seat and handed Harry a chili dog, unasked.
“Thanks,” H
arry said in surprise. “I didn’t think you let me eat this kind of thing.”
“You been through a lot,” Ty said drily. “I’ll make an exception this time.”
Harry chuckled, but before he dug into his messy lunch, he felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out to see who was calling. Oh, God.
It was his mother again. With a fierce twinge of guilt, he tapped ignore.
He couldn’t bear to answer her inevitable questions about Bea, asking for details about her after their visit yesterday. But more to the point, he didn’t know how to tell her he’d been fired.
He didn’t want her to panic, considering he paid the lion’s share of her rent each month. He could already hear her wailing about ending up on the streets as a bag lady. And he didn’t even want to imagine her reaction when he confessed about the punch.
Besides, it was too loud at the stadium to have a decent phone conversation. When he leaned to put his phone back into his pocket, he noticed Ty eyeing him with a dubious expression.
“What?” Harry asked.
“Nuthin’.” Ty finished chewing a mouthful of his towering Primanti Brothers’ cheesesteak classic, with the fries and slaw right on the sandwich. Then he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Just noticed you keep ignoring everybody trying to call you. That’s a switch.”
“Yeah, I’m kind of enjoying being a recluse,” Harry replied.
“Who was it this time?”
“That,” he said, “was my mother.” Harry looked at Ty, expecting commiseration, but instead received a disapproving frown.
“Man, you’re ditching your own momma? That ain’t right.”