He folds his hands on the table top and gives me a confident smile. “How about I give it to you in fiveseconds.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I want to buy your brewery.”
I stare at him and his cheesy smile, then start to laugh. Of all the things I’d imagined, I’d never considered this possibility.
He holds up his hands. “Now, before you blow me off, at least hear me out.”
I’m amused, and I figure it can’t hurt to hear whatever lowball offer the bozo’s about to give me. Crossing my arms over my chest, I flash him an amused grin. “Okay, Deacon. You still have about four minutes left. Hit me with your best offer.”
The corner of his mouth lifts into a smug curl, and I instantly dislike him. The cocky asshole thinks he’s won me over.
He pulls a piece of paper from a black leather satchel on the floor and places it on the table in front of me, very deliberately and precisely, as though the alignment of a piece of paper might convince me to sell him my brewery.
“I’ve spoken to several real estate experts, and they estimate your establishment to be worth three hundred thousand dollars, but I really like you, Cole—”
“You don’t even know me,” I growl.
He ignores me. “—so against the advice of all my consultants, I’ve decided to go out on a limb and offer you five hundred.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Five hundredmillion?”
His head jerks back, and he barely restrains a sneer. “Nothousand. How could I go from three hundred thousand to five hundredmillion?”
I lean back in my chair and wink. “Well, youdidsay you liked me.”
His eyes narrow. “Notthatmuch.” But he must realize this attitude isn’t helping his sales pitch, because his eyes fill with merriment, and he shakes his head, giving me an amicable smile. “I’d heard you were faster than a jack rabbit outrunning a weedwhacker. Clever.”
I’m not sure that’s a compliment, and I suspect he’s waiting for me to come back with some kind of counteroffer. I may not be a real estate expert, but I know that because of the brewery’s location on the highway just outside of town, the land it sits on is worth nearly five hundred thousand on its own. Not to mention all the brewing vats and equipment or the building itself. Or even the small catalog of beer we sell to bars and restaurants in the surrounding area. Plus, while not many people like Nana Mayberry, if her upcoming TV show works out, Highland Hills will see an increase in tourists, which is bound to bring in more business. No matter how much we all bitch about tourists, there’s no denying there will be a financial benefit.
Which means my brewery is worth way more than this clown is offering. Hell, the loans I’m paying off for this place are only slightly less than his offer.
But I’m not going to tell him any of that. This guy isn’t worth the wasted breath.
He’s not even worth a goodbye.
I get up and start to head back to the bar.
He jumps to his feet. “Hey! Don’t walk away!”
I ignore him and slide behind the bar, but he’s up at the counter in an instant. His mouth might still be locked in a grin, but his eyes are cold and steely. “Don’t be so hasty, Cole. Many owners overestimate what their property is worth, but I can see that I’ve insulted you, so how about I do this.” His fake grin widens. “My money people are going to shit themselves, but like I told you before, I like you. So how about I offer you seven hundred, and then you can walk away from the place with a few hundred thousand in your pocket.” He shrugs with anaw shuckslook. “You never know when you may need the extra money.”
My blood runs cold, and I lean closer to the counter. “What does that mean?” I ask through gritted teeth.
Victory flashes in his eyes. He likes that he’s gotten to me. “It doesn’t hurt to have a rainy-day nest egg for when unexpected emergencies come up.” He slides away from the counter. “But I can see you need some time to think about it. I’ll be in touch. But don’t think too long. I might not be as generous next time.” Then he turns, grabs the paper from the table along with his satchel, and walks out the door.
As soon as the door closes, I say, “Brittany, did you happen to catch a last name when he introduced himself?”
“No,” she says, her voice tight. She pauses, then adds, “I heard the last part, Cole. He wants to buy the place?”
I grind my molars together. “I’m not selling.”
“I didn’t think you would. Millie…” She stops.
I know what she’s going to say. This was Millie’s dream, and I swore I’d forge on after she died. Even when money was so tight it looked like I was going to have to go on WIC to pay for Jane’s formula. Even when I was running on three hours of sleep a night and wearing my infant daughter in a baby sling behind the bar.
Money’s not as tight as it used to be, but again, I’m not rich. And sometimes I wonder if I should do something else so I can spend more time with Jane in the evenings. It can’t be healthy for an eight-year-old girl to do her homework at the bar of a brewery or have the bartenders stand in as her pseudo family.
Sometimes, late at night, after I’ve shut down the bar and gone to bed, I stare up at the shadow-covered ceiling and wonder if I’m doing the best thing for my daughter. Maybe Jane’s happiness is more important than Millie’s dream.
She says, tentatively, “If you’re considering selling—”
