“Well. Just think of all the money you’ll save on gas if you don’t have to do all those landscaping jobs. From here on out, it’s only the easy streets for you. No effort, no involvement required with the hotel. Simply live your life and rake in a percentage of the profits.” I’m offering him a kingdom here and he doesn’t even appreciate it.
“I enjoy those jobs. Like the golf place one?” He takes a casual sip of coffee. “With that woman, Gemma, who’s the reason you have a picture of me at my brother’s wedding on your phone. Thewhyof which you still haven’t shared.”
I flush, praying to all the Norse gods and a few Greek ones to shield him from reading my mind.
“I haven’t forgotten that,” he finishes impassively.
I do a flawless impersonation of Wesley by opting to ignore what he said. “By the way, I wanted to say thank you for finding me last night.” I bestow upon him my best damsel-in-distress smile. “Saved me from being eaten by Bigfoot.”
“Sasquatch inhabits the Pacific Northwest and eats a vegetarian diet,” he replies mildly. “Like me.”
I.
What.
“What?”
“I’m a vegetarian,” he responds in the voice of a patient kindergarten teacher. And then this man helps himself to another donut. Is he trolling me? I think I’m being trolled, but I can’t tell. My Myers-Briggs personality type is INFP. We give too many people the benefit of the doubt.
“Anyway,” he continues, “you’re welcome. But please don’t make it a habit. I don’t want to attract bears to the house by having food wandering around out there.”
“I’m food?”
“You will be if you keep getting lost in the woods. That’s their home out there, not ours.”
How does he keep rerouting this conversation? “It’s a big house. There’s plenty of living space for us along with the guests.”
“I’ll never agree to it.”
“I’ll never agree to the farm animal sanctuary, then.”
Checkmate.He arches a brow, jaw tensing.
“I know you haven’t factored my opinion into your plans,” I go on, watching in real time as he reckons with my unavoidable influence over his life goals, “but I’m co-inheritor, buddy. Your personal remake ofCharlotte’s Webisn’t happening without my consent.”
“These...” He sounds strangled. “This isn’t comparable.” Wesley and I are both leaning forward now, nearly nose to nose. A crumpled napkin peeks from his fist. “You want a hotel, which meanspeoplein myliving space.” He doesn’t hide the pure revulsion such a scenario inspires. “An animal sanctuary won’t affect you at all. They’ll be living outside.”
“I’ll have to smell it.”
He casts a withering look up at the ceiling, grinding his molars.
Maybe I’m playing dirty, but it isn’t fair that he gets to make all the decisions. “Fine. The hotel won’t affect you, either. There’s enough room on the first floor for plenty of guest rooms, which we’ve agreed ismyfloor. You’ll get to keep the second floor to yourself and be as people-hating as you please.”
He leans back again, mouth turning down at the corners. He’s trying to figure out how to argue this, but he also doesn’t want me interfering with his dream of filling our yard with geriatric goats. This must be what shady blackmail dealings in white-collar offices feel like.
“So you’d be turning the sunroom into a bedroom,” he says shrewdly.
“I don’t know. Probably.”
The frown intensifies, like he’s trying to solve a tricky math equation. I’d laugh if there weren’t so much at stake. “I want the sunroom.”
“Why?”
“Because I want it.”
Leverage! I love leverage. “I’ll give you the sunroom for the cabin.”
Wesley balks. “Why?”
