Page 24 of A Good Egg

"The situation is more nuanced than we initially assessed," I replied, attempting to maintain keep my tone even despite the growing knot in my stomach. "The granddaughter's café venture is gaining traction—"

"I don't care if she's opening the next Michelin-starred restaurant," Victor snapped. "Easter is four days away. The bank moves on Monday. This should be the simplest acquisition of your career."

"I understand the timeline," I said, measuring my words carefully. "I'm simply suggesting we might want to explore alternative approaches that could benefit all parties."

The silence that followed was more menacing than any shouting. When Victor spoke again, his voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper.

"Let me be perfectly clear, Logan. I've invested significant political capital in you. The partnership committee is expecting results, not philosophical debates about 'alternative approaches.' If you can't close this deal, I'll send Raymond Hawkins to finish it."

Raymond Hawkins—an attack dog, known for his complete lack of ethical boundaries. He'd destroy Maisie and her grandmother without a moment's hesitation.

"That won't be necessary," I assured him, though uncertainty churned within me. "I'll handle it."

"Good. Because this is it, Westbrook. Make-or-break time. You deliver the O'Malley property by Tuesday morning, or you can clear out your office."

The call ended, leaving me in silence broken only by the first heavy raindrops striking the window. I sank onto the edge of the bed, tie loosened, jacket discarded and caught my own reflection in the mirror over the nearby dresser.

What was happening to me?

The rain intensified, drumming against the window with urgency. Thunder rolled across the bay, closer now. According to the weather alert, this storm would be the worst of the spring season—high winds, potential flash flooding, possible power outages.

My thoughts turned to the barn—to The Little Red Hen. Maisie had mentioned Carter waterproofing the roof, but in a structure that old, with a storm this intense...

Before I could analyze my actions, I grabbed my keys and raincoat, hurrying down to my car. The wind nearly tore the hotel door from my grasp as I stepped outside. Rain lashed sideways, driven by powerful gusts that bent the newly blooming trees along Main Street.

The rational part of my brain screamed that this was madness—driving in inclement weather to check on a property I was tasked to acquire, concerned for a woman who represented the opposite of everything I'd built my career upon. Yet I found myself navigating the rain-slicked roads toward Orchard Lane, wipers working frantically against the deluge.

As I approached the farm, I could see the farmhouse was dark—power already out, perhaps. But light glowed from the barn windows—flashlights or battery-powered lanterns. Someone was there, and I had little doubt who.

I parked as close as possible and made a dash through the downpour, soaked within seconds despite my raincoat. The barn door was partially open, light spilling out into the stormy darkness. I pushed it wider, stepping inside to the surreal scene before me.

Maisie stood on a ladder, her copper hair darkened to auburn by moisture, attempting to position a tarp over a section of ceiling where water streamed through. Several buckets were already positioned around the floor, catching other leaks. The sound of rain hammering against the roof nearly drowned out her frustrated muttering.

"Maisie!" I called over the storm's cacophony.

She startled, nearly losing her balance on the ladder. "Logan? What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about the barn. The storm—"

"Carter's waterproofing missed some spots,” she said, her voice trembling, “and the wind tore loose a section of roofing."

As if to emphasize her point, a fresh torrent broke through near the kitchen area, splashing onto an antique farmhouse table.

"Where's your grandmother? Carter?" I asked, shrugging off my useless raincoat.

"Gram's at Piper's place in town. Safer there with the power out." She descended the ladder, wiping damp hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Carter's checking on his sister's place—her basement always floods during storms."

I surveyed the chaos—water threatening the newly painted walls, handcrafted shelving, vintage furnishings. All of Maisie's hard work, all her hope for saving the farm, literally washing away before our eyes.

"What can I do?"

She blinked. "You really want to help?"

"I wouldn't be standing here dripping on your floor if I didn't."

A flash of lightning illuminated her exhausted face, followed immediately by a thunderous boom that shook the barn's very foundation. She flinched slightly, then squared her shoulders.

"More buckets in the storage closet. And there's another tarp we can try to position over the worst leak near the kitchen."

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