“I’m looking for Parker Holley. I was hoping to speak with him about an urgent matter.”
I unbutton my coat and hang it on the rack. “Youarespeaking withher.”
His eyes widen. Obviously, this guy assumed I was male. With a name like Parker, I get that a lot, especially in the business world. In my experience, most people assume I’dhaveto have a pair of hairy testicles and a penis to run a business.
Fucking patriarchal society.
“My apologies, ma’am.”
His full lips curve into a sinful smile, his brown eyes sparkling as they rake over me. Then he extends his hand and we shake, my skin heating from the feel of his big, rough hand on me. If I knew a bank employee was this attractive, I would have defaulted on my loan a long time ago.
“My name’s Callum Reed. I’m hoping to discuss the offer my firm made on this property.”
And like that, all his attractiveness disappears.
CHAPTERTWO
CALLUM
I lay on the charm as I stare into Parker Holley’s brilliant blue eyes, still somewhat surprised by how young she is.
And howfemaleshe is.
It hadn’t even crossed my mind that she’d be…well, a she. I simply assumed she was some middle-aged man, as is often the case in these types of situations.
I’ve been in the real estate development business for over a decade now. Normally, we deal with older people clinging onto their property in the hopes of a miracle, allowing them to suddenly be able to afford the land they haven’t been able to pay the mortgage or taxes on for quite some time.
Actually, that’s not entirely true.
Mybusiness partnerdeals with the people we’re trying to buy property from.
I prefer to scope out potential properties and run the numbers on what kind of risk versus reward we’re looking at if we procure it. Crunching numbers and analyzing data is my forte, not socializing or engaging in small talk with someone trying to hold onto some rundown land that’s been in their family for generations. Daniel has always been much better with that side of our business, which is why we make such a great team.
But this property has been on my radar for a while, especially with its location near a popular skiing and recreation area within a short drive of Reno. My firm can make millions off building luxury timeshares on this thirty-acre parcel of land.
I didn’t expect the only person standing between me and adding several zeros to my bank account to be a young blonde who has snowmen dangling from her ears and is wearing a t-shirt that says “Let’s get elf-ed up”.
And I certainly didn’t expect her to be absolutely gorgeous.
Blonde hair as smooth as corn silk. Long legs that seem to go on for miles. And don’t even get me started on those lips, full and painted a bright red that makes being surrounded by all this unnecessary Christmas cheer slightly more bearable.
Until she rips her hand from mine, her mouth turning into a scowl. Her eyes, large and framed with long lashes, narrowed in anger.
“Get. Out. If I’d been even remotely interested in your firm’s offer, I would have had my attorney reach out to you. Apparently, you can’t take a hint.” She crosses her arms, drawing my attention to her full chest. “This property isn’t for sale.”
“It may not be for sale yet, but based on my research, you’re in debt up to your eyeballs. It’s my understanding the bank will be moving to foreclose on the property in the beginning of the year unless you can come up with the amount you owe on back taxes and the mortgage you defaulted on, which totals over a half-million dollars. Trust me, Ms. Holley. If you let this go to foreclosure, you won’t get remotely close to what I’m offering. If I were you, I’d give this serious consideration.”
I reach into my commuter bag and retrieve another copy of the same offer I sent several weeks ago.
“I don’t care what you’re offering.” She pinches her lips into a tight line, refusing to even look at the papers in my hand. “I’m not interested in selling to some real estate development firm that’s going to gut this place and turn it into timeshares with no personality. People come to Sycamore Falls because it hasn’t been commercialized like so many of the other communities in the area. It’s one of the last true mountain basin small towns, and I’ll do whatever is necessary in order to keep it that way.”
“I appreciate your...affection for your hometown, but the small businesses here would see a huge boost if I were to develop luxury vacation homes. It could inject millions in tourism dollars into the community. It’s a win-win for all involved, especially for you. The numbers don’t lie, Ms. Holley. You’re hemorrhaging money. And all this Christmas frivolity isn’t helping.”
“Of course it is!” She throws up her hands in exasperation. “People come here year after year to experience Christmas at Holley Ridge. If you did even a modicum of research on this property, you would have learned it’s been an annual tradition around here for over forty years. People travel hundreds of miles for this.”
“But look at all the money you waste on it. Money you don’t get back, especially since you forego hosting weddings between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. Free hot chocolate. That ice skating rink must cost a bit to maintain.” I gesture out the window at a temporary ice skating rink near a towering Christmas tree. “And how about the sleigh rides I saw being advertised? It’s my understanding this property no longer boards horses. It must cost you a small fortune to use those horses and the sleigh every night, not to mention pay whoever’s manning it.”
“Again, Mr. Reed. It all adds to the magic and wonder of the holiday season. Plus, the owner of the farm where the horses and carriage come from cuts me a deal because he supports the Holley Christmas Festival. Just like everyone else in this town.”
