Page 5 of A Little Too Late
“Dad, we need to talk,” he says.
“This is about the sale, yeah? I thought you might show up to ‘advise me.’” Mark makes air quotes with his fingers. “But I got a hell of a price for the place, Reed. And there’s a lot of cash upfront. Even you won’t be able to say this is a bad idea.”
“Cash upfront,” Reed says slowly. “How much cash are we talking about, here?”
His father raises one bushy eyebrow. “You worried about your cut?”
“No,” Reed spits. “Not at all. But I know how these deals work. I know the math. I know the pitfalls. I know where the bodies are buried, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Yeah?” Mark regards him quietly for a long beat. “If you care so much, maybe you should come home more often than every ten years. How’s that for math? You want a voice in what happens here? Then where thefuckhave you been?”
Uh-oh. I brace myself, because Mark Madigan doesn’t raise his voice very often.
But Reed doesn’t yell back. His calmness is one of the things that drew me to him in the first place. He takes a slow breath, and I watch him visibly master himself. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Fair point.”
They stare at each other for another beat, until Mark lets out a sigh. “Look, come to the house with me. Meet Melody. Say hello…”
“Melody,” Reed says quietly. Like he’s trying out the word on his tongue.
“You’ll love her,” the boss says even as Reed’s face grows more skeptical. “We’ll have a few of her lavender shortbreadcookies, and then I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about the offer from Sharpe.”
“Yeah, okay,” Reed says with a nod. “Good plan.”
“Let me grab my coat.” Mark heads back into his office, and Reed follows him.
I sit back in my desk chair, carefully moving the pieces of my cracked mug to the side. I can probably repair it once my heart rate drops back into the normal range. To keep my hands busy, I open a desk drawer and start looking for the super glue.
But I’m also eavesdropping.
“How long are you staying?” Mark asks his son.
“Few days,” is Reed’s reply.
I give a mental fist pump. I can survive a few days with Reed on the property. Then he’ll go away for ten more years, and I won’t have to think about him again.
“I’ll need a room,” Reed adds.
“Talk to Ava,” his father replies. “Ava! Can you make my keys sing one more time? And find a room for Reed?”
“Sure!” I call, reaching for the keyboard. The tracking beacon I put on Mark’s keychain gets a lot of use. I tap the screen a few times, and the telltale strains ofLet It Snowbegin to trill again from somewhere in the inner office.
“Found ’em!”
Before I’m ready, Reed appears in front of my desk, that grumpy frown still on his face.
Bracing myself, I paste on as cool an expression as a girl can muster when she’s looking up at the one man who destroyed her heart.
“Dad says I should ask you for a room. But I can go to the front desk if that’s easier.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I handle all the comp rooms.” And the room blocks. And the wedding bookings. And the long-termrentals, the entertainment bookings, all major purchases, and about a thousand other things.
I am the backbone of Madigan Mountain, and Reed has no idea at all.
With this calming thought, I reach for my keyboard and click over to the reservations system. It’s only November, so we have some availability, especially in the best, most expensive hotel suites.
A sobering thought makes my fingers stall over the keyboard. If I put Reed in the renovated Vista Suite, he might never want to leave. That room has a jacuzzi tub in the glass-walled bathroom where you can watch the sun set over the mountain while you soak. There’s also a big-screen TV and a fireplace. It’s like a slice of heaven.
But I need Reed Madigangone. The sale of the resort will be good for everyone involved. It will make the Madigan family even richer than they already are. It’ll allow Mark Madigan to retire, and that man is ready to start this new chapter of his life. He deserves it.
