Page 112 of On One Condition

Motherfucker.

Is that what all of this has been about?

Some kind of long-overdue vendetta put into motion by a pissed-off father? Is it his warped way of trying to get back at me for putting that bump in his son’s nose?

Maybe he should have taught his son some manners. Some respect. Then again, I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Jesus Christ.

Seriously? This is why we’re being put through these ridiculous paces?

Mayor Grossman calls the meeting to order, but I miss half of the bullshit pomp and circumstance he says for posture because I’m too busy trying to figure out what to do and how to play this. Anger has me wanting to call the mayor on this publicly. It has me angling on how I can broadcast that their elected official is a petty, simpleminded asshole.

Logic and professionalism have me taking a step back.

It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

As much as I’d personally like to let the whole town know who they are dealing with, I have a feeling they already know. No doubt he’s shown his true colors before, and yet, they still elected him.

I, on the other hand, have a business I need to run here. A business that we’ve sunk a shit ton of money into and can’t risk losing our occupancy permit because I stoop to his level. So as much as it pains me, I’m going to have to take the high road on this.

But that doesn’t stop me from glaring at Jason until I swear he can feel it. He looks up and meets my eyes. I simply stare at him. I don’t make an expression at all other than to let him know that I see him, and understand what all this bullshit is about—to position his dad well for reelection and to exact petty revenge.

“And now to the matter at hand,” Mayor Grossman says, pulling my attention to him and the council members on either side of him. “We met last month to discuss the necessary changes that Sharpe International and The Retreat needed to make to warrant getting a final inspection and in turn, an occupancy permit. Mr. Sharpe, the floor is yours.”

I walk over to the lectern, clear my throat, and begin. “I’ve enjoyed my last six weeks here in Cedar Falls. While I’m a city boy at heart, there is a reason my brothers and I wanted to buy a resort here and contribute not only to the town’s future, but also to its overall success.” I take the next few minutes to bullshit. About the charm I’ve found here in Cedar Falls and its citizens who love their town. About the potential to make this partnership beneficial for the town as a whole. About S.I.N.’s philosophy and goal with The Retreat beyond a healthy profit margin.

“That’s all well and good,” the mayor says when I finish my spiel, “but what about the specific requests this council made?”

Smile wide, Ledger, and prepare to kiss more ass.

“As per your request, Mayor Grossman, and in accordance with our promise, S.I.N. has been contracting local contractors and employing Cedar Falls’s citizens and will continue to do so upon opening to the public. In addition, we’ve made significant strides in two areas we’d like to share with you. We were excited to have the opportunity to contribute to this town we are now a member of. With that in mind, we chose to focus on two aspects that will shape and have shaped this town. We are currently in the throes of overhauling and renovating the Cedar Falls Elementary School Library. It’ll be a complete makeover—expanded in size, content, and capacity. Our other focus is the Cedar Falls Assisted Living Facility. Their HVAC system is in dire need of being replaced for temperature control and air filtration. We’ve made a sizeable donation to get that overhauled in the coming weeks with as little disruption to the tenants as possible.”

“And that’s been completed?”

“We’re not miracle workers, sir. We can’t complete projects with such complexities as these two that fast due to scheduling with local subcontractors who are already contracted elsewhere. But rest assured, as you can see in the documentation we provided to you and your fellow councilpersons, contracts have been signed, deposits have been made, and the work is scheduled. Feel free to contact the contractors for verification, but I do believe all the necessary backup has been provided and is already in your hands.”

“I see,” he murmurs with a nod, eyes steadfast on me as if he doesn’t believe me. But the audience is silent now. No more whispers or chuckles like before, and so with the hopes that the tide is turning in our favor, I keep going so I don’t lose them.

“In addition to these contributions, we’re in the process of contracting local vendors to provide goods and or services to our guests. The hope is that our guests will experience or like something they see or sample in the resort itself—whether it be in one of our many retail shops, art that is displayed throughout the facility, or a package with local excursion companies—and in turn, venture into Cedar Falls to spend more of their money.”

“And what companies have you enlisted for this?”

Hillary’s assistant, who accompanied me to the meeting, flips through the pages of the handout the council members received and points to the one with said list. “We have provided you with the list in your packet, but would love for the citizens to hear them as well,” I say. “Bessie’s baked goods will be sold in our coffee shop. Jenner’s Juicery will also sell items there as well. Our restaurant and café will be exclusively using ice cream from The Creamery in town. A list of local artists is also provided who we’ll showcase in various locations throughout the resort. We’ll have inclusive packages for guests with Cedar Falls Ski Resort, Cedar Falls Outdoor Adventures, and—” My mind stumbles when I see The Fields as next on the list. Why is that there? I look up and glance around the room and find Asher. She offers me a reassuring smile, but I stare at her confused.

“Mr. Sharpe? Is there a problem?”

“No. I’m sorry. Where was I? Yes. We’ll be offering venue packages with The Fields as well as Mountain High Club.”

“That’s an impressive list,” the mayor says as I look back to Asher, questioning her across the room about what’s going on.

It all makes sense now. The barn restoration. The strung lights. The new signage. Her insomnia and late-night work.

Dare I say I’m kind of hurt? That this was all going on and I didn’t know about it? That Hillary knew about it and didn’t tell me?

Asher did this and didn’t trust me knowing about it. She didn’t want to share it with me.

It takes everything I have to focus back on the meeting at hand and not walk over to her, pull her outside, and ask her what the fuck?