He glances down. “What’s wrong with my tie?”
“Nothing. You look like a Brooks Brother.”
“That’s a perfectly acceptable store.”
“Sure, if your favorite color is neutral. Tell your client what I’ve already told him—I’m not interested in selling.” I turn around and start back toward the ring of cabins where my office is located. Today is busy enough without needing to entertain another pointless offer from LandStar.
I’m not entirely surprised to hear the pitter-patter of size 11 Guccis scurrying to catch up with me. Like his client, I get the distinct impression that Charles Peter Parker Henry VIII isn’t well acquainted with the word ‘no.’
“Here, take a look at the contract and tell me how we can do better,” he says, falling in step beside me. He thrusts a document at me, and I push it away.
“Why bother? I don’t speak legalese.”
He exhales his frustration. “Aren’t you at least interested to hear the latest offer?”
“I don’t care if it’s a trillion dollars. The answer is an unequivocal no.” I stop outside my office door. I don’t want his presence to contaminate my personal space.
“Look, we both know your camp is bleeding money. Unless you have deeper pockets than your well-loved T-shirt suggests, I highly recommend you consider my client’s generous offer.”
I look down at my blue T-shirt with ‘Nerdy By Nature’ written across the chest in a stylish script. He’s right—it is well loved and there’s nothing wrong with that. Not everybody can identify a luxury brand at thirty yards. Not everybody wants to either.
“Tell your generous client that this area doesn’t need mega mansions or upscale condos for rich weekenders.”
“Don’t be silly. Rich weekenders go to the nice parts of the Jersey shore. This would be for upper middle-class weekenders and summer homeowners.”
I raise my eyebrows. “There are nice parts of the Jersey shore?”
That smart remark results in a smile that owes a heavy debt to a skilled orthodontist. His teeth probably cost more than my truck.
“I take it you’re a big fan of deforestation, Mr. Gucci.”
“I wouldn’t describe myself as a fan, and my name is Charlie Thorpe.”
“When you actively support a cause, you’re a fan.”
“Deforestation can sometimes be a byproduct of real estate development, that’s true.”
I spread my arms wide. “Look around. This land is mainly forest. I doubt your client intends to squeeze his luxury buildings between the pine trees.”
“Be straight with me, Miss Abernathy. Is your resistance due to a legitimate reason or are you just plain stubborn?”
“Can’t it be both?” I tap the door with my knuckles. “This camp belonged to my grandparents. It has sentimental value.”
“When do the kids arrive?”
“Not for another two-and-a-half weeks.”
He flashes a grin. “Perfect. Plenty of time for us to discuss the future of the camp.”
“I said the kids arrive in two-and-a-half weeks. The adults arrive tomorrow.”
He blinks twice. “Adults? Like the counselors?”
“No, the adult campers. The first two weeks of the season are devoted to the adult version of Comic-Camp, before the kids arrive.” I enjoy watching his reaction. It isn’t often I get to see one anymore. The locals know me and the camp.
The information works its way from his brain to his lips. “Nerd camp for grown-ups?”
I cluck my tongue. “And here I thought you were a top-shelf lawyer. Shouldn’t you have done your research before driving all the way up here? What was the drive from Philly—two hours?”
