Page 114 of On One Condition

So, I drive.

Down every back mountain road.

Through every stretch of field.

I ignore the calls coming and the texts alerting me from where I threw my cell on the back seat.

My loan was declined. I was declined.

The email came in halfway through the city council meeting. Thank you for your application but we regret to inform you that you have been declined for the applicable loan. I was stunned. Shocked. Hurt. And there wasn’t a thing I could say or do about it in the middle of Grossman’s grandiose show.

But he knew I didn’t get it. That’s the kicker. He knew before I did, or else he never would have said what he said. Goddamn small-town life. I should have thought it through. I should have figured Grossman would know since his daughter-in-law is the bank’s branch manager.

So I lashed out. I fired back. I tried to put him in his place and embarrass him just as much as he’d tried to humiliate me.

It’s all I could do.

I bang the heel of my hand on the steering wheel and give in to the need to scream at the top of my lungs. The sound is smothered by the wind but does nothing to abate the anger owning me.

It’s like I was handed the highest of highs with Hillary’s call about being awarded the contract, followed by the lowest of lows, knowing I can no longer afford all the things I still need to meet those contract requirements.

I pull over to the side of the road and stare at some horses grazing in a field until my eyes blur. Then I put the car in gear and drive some more, making a point to be as far away from town as possible.

The last thing I want to see is people.

I wanted this for me.

I needed this for me.

And yeah, sure, it’s all set up and I can still hold events, but I practically maxed out my credit card to get it to this point. And my contract is contingent upon these improvements. And, and, and . . .

And so, I keep driving.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Ledger

“You want to tell me what this is?” I ask Hillary when I storm into the office, holding up the list of vendors and pointing to The Fields.

I’m worried and furious and feel like I’m going out of my mind because I can’t find Asher anywhere. Fucking anywhere, when I looked for what feels like forever. This is a small town. I should be able to find her.

But I couldn’t.

And I’m insane with fucking worry over it.

Hillary meets my glare with a measured stare. She never glances down at the list in my hand because she already knows what it is. “It’s the vendor list. The title states that too.”

“No shit. I’m talking about The Fields being on this list.” I walk from one side of the office to the other, unable to sit still.

“I do believe you tasked me with finding local vendors to create inviting packages for our guests, and I did just that,” she says cautiously. But there is a smugness in her tone, a defiance in the way she won’t back down that has me gritting my teeth.

“And you didn’t think to tell me about this one?”

“Miss Wells explicitly asked me not to.”

“Excuse me?” I shout. “Did you forget who your boss is?”

“No.” She pauses and waits for my feet to stop moving and for me to look at her. “As I said, Miss Wells specifically asked that you not know about her proposal. She wanted this on her own merit and not because she’s sleeping with the owner.”