My finger shook as I held it over the call button.
How much of this was Clara wanting to save the rink, and how much was it her wanting to ruin my life? Was this her final revenge?
The rising sun shone through the sheer curtains and a beam of light landed on the roses. What an idiot I was. I'd been on my way to make things right with Clara, while she'd been crafting her revenge.
If she wanted a face-off, she'd picked the wrong opponent.
I knew what I had to do. Picking up the phone, I steeled myself to face William King. He wouldn't be happy about the opposition, but if we could put the right spin on the project, I could stop Clara Dalton's crusade, once and for all.
After three daysof networking with the townspeople, I still hadn't heard from my boss. Was I about to be fired? At least there had been some good news, the SUV had been fixed.
I spent the day visiting tradesmen. Which meant getting up early and hanging out at the G-Spot where they all stopped to get their morning coffee, energy drinks, and gas station sandwiches. Most of them were excited about the project, especially whenI confirmed that it would be at least five years of full-time construction to build the new subdivision.
Freddie, an electrician, and a guy named Josh, were the only ones who asked about the community programs. I evaded their question, but wouldn’t be able to side-step it much longer. I needed an answer.
My phone chimed with a text from Kelly, Mr. King's assistant.
Mr. King’s lawyer will call you at 8 am PST sharp on Saturday.
I groaned. That was two whole days from now.
I tapped out a message: “I need to talk to him sooner.” But then I deleted and replaced it.
Saturday at 8 a.m. Confirmed.
Two days later, at exactly eight in the morning, I answered the call from William King's lawyer.
"Mr. Shepherd." Sidney Mouser, chief counsel, sounded irritated. "What's going on up in the hills? Mr. King is off the coast of St. Barth's right now.
"Sir. There's been some…" I paused.
"Hello? Are you still there?" Then he spoke to someone in the background. "I think we lost the connection."
While I waited for him to come back to the call, I took the roses from the vase and held them over the trash can.
“Are you there?”
"I'm here, Mr. Mouser." I cleared my throat. "There's been some opposition to the project."
He chuckled. "There always is. What is it this time? Did they find an endangered frog on the proposed building site?"
"No." I winced and sucked in my breath as a thorn pricked my finger. It was time to let the roses go. "There are some charity programs running at the arena. The town is afraid that you won't offer subsidized ice time."
His barking laugh crackled through the phone so loudly I had to pull it away from my ear. "Is that all?"
"Yes, sir. That's the main objection."
"Well, that's easy. Tell them they won't lose their programs."
"Really?" This was easier than I thought it was going to be.
"Sure, kid. Just get the job done." The phone crackled and I wasn't sure whether we'd lost the connection, or my boss's lawyer had hung up the phone. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. Now, I could squash all the objections.
The good news had come just in time for a key meeting: the one with Logan Brush.
I pulled on my gloves and slung my messenger bag strap over my shoulder. The contracts inside were as good as signed.
If I could get Logan Brush on board, that would tip the scales in my favor. And now I had all the ammunition I needed to face Clara Dalton's crusade.
