“You do realize that this expansion will require some effort on your part, correct?” she asks.
“On my part? I’m not the lawyer here, Ms. Teller.” I shake my head as I toy with the glass in front of me.
“I understand that, Mr. Slade.” She says my name with annoyance. “But you’re basically asking this town and its people for a favor. ‘Let me build a distillery,’ right? But I’ve been told you’re not on good terms with the town. How can you expect people to do this favor for you if you won’t put in any work when it comes to maintaining—or even fixing—these relationships?”
I sit back and massage my temples. “God, you sound like my advisor.”
“I’d say your advisor is a smart man, Mr. Slade.” There’s that tone again—the one she uses whenever she says my name.
“Why are you saying my name like that?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Why do you insist on calling me ‘Ms. Teller’? I’ve told you to call me Celeste.”
“It’s a sign of respect. You wanted a business meeting. I’m keeping things professional.”
“You’re doing it to spite me. And saying it’s out of respect is just insulting. Might as well say I’m too stupid to understand.” She arches one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows. The look she’s giving me is nothing short of bratty. She’s a spoiled little girl who’s far too used to getting her way. I could use this to my advantage if I could only make her see that it won’t work on me.
I laugh as I pick up my drink and finish it off. I swallow down all my issues and nod. “Forgive me, Celeste.” I breathe out the words like an admission of guilt.
“I feel like I need to tell you who I am, Mr. Slade,” she says clasping her hands together on the table as her eyes focus on mine.
I don’t reply, only motion for her to carry on.
“I know what you must think of me: that I’m just some city girl who doesn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground, but that isn’t true. I’m a top lawyer at my firm in L.A. I was valedictorian of my high school and college graduating classes. I’ve worked for this my entire life. I’ve never lost a case, and I don’t plan on starting now. When this job is complete in a year’s time, I’m going back to L.A., where I will be rewarded for all my hard work with more perks than any other lawyer at my firm has ever seen—besides the partners, of course—and I will not let you get in the way of that. I will do this job. You can either work beside me, or you can fight me, but it will get it done, because I refuse to lose. Especially due to your chauvinistic ideas about what a woman can and cannot do. You can make this next year a total headache for the both of us, or you can accept that I’m what you’ve got, so we can get some work done. The choice is up to you.” Her brows are arched high and her eyes are wide, but not with fear. With determination. She really believes that she can get this job done.
“I won’t get in your way, Celeste, but I feel like I should warn you about myself. It’s only fair.”
She nods once, telling me to continue.
“I do not have ‘chauvinistic ideas’ about where women belong or what they can do. But I will tell you that I won’t treat you any better because you’re a woman. If you piss me off, I’ll let you know even if it hurts your feelings. I expect everything I ask of you to get done in a timely manner and to get done correctly. I will not take it easier on you just because of what you’ve got between your legs. You want this job, you’ve got it. But it will not be any easier for you than it would be for any man—which is why I assume you’re here. I’m guessing your boss got wind that this whole thing would go much more smoothly if they sent some pretty woman—that I wouldn’t give you as much trouble as I gave Burns. But that, Celeste, is incorrect. If I’m paying for something, I want it to be exactly what I asked for. I will not change my mind. I will not compromise. It’s my way or the highway. Got it?”
She presses her lips together tightly as she thinks it over. Finally she holds out her hand to shake. “Deal,” she says.
“Deal,” I agree, finally touching her for the first time. The moment my hand comes in contact with hers, a spark shoots through me, my heart skips a beat, my lungs momentarily freeze, and my blood boils beneath my skin.
I notice her chest rise as she takes in a large gulp of air and her thick lips part like she’s not taking in enough oxygen through her nose. I force myself to release her hand and I clear my throat. “What do you say we get down to business now?”
She nods and wets her lips, but doesn’t speak as I start talking about the expansion and the building plans.
The hours pass quickly, and before I know it, I’ve got a rather good buzz going. Celeste has kicked off her shoes as she sits in the chair with her feet beneath her. She’s writing down almost every word I say as I point to areas on the plans and pace the kitchen floor. She seems to ask appropriate questions at perfect times, and she never interrupts when I’m talking. She always waits for me to pause. She leaves no stone unturned as I explain what it is I want, and she even asks questions no one else has thought to ask—not even Harrison or Burns.
She’s finally finished her one glass of whiskey, and her cheeks are starting to turn pink as her green eyes grow more and more glassy. She’s smiling more and she’s even laughed a time or two when I’ve told a stupid joke. The point of this meeting was to put everything out on the table, which I’ve done, but now it also feels like it was planned on her part—like she’s treating this as a way to get to know me—to know what I expect and what she can and cannot get away with when it comes to me. And even though there’s a slight possibility she’s using this in her favor, I don’t care. I find myself craving that giggle that slips past her lips. Every time she smiles, my heart feels like it’s soaring across the room. This should piss me off, but I find myself letting it continue even though I already know how this would end: very badly.
“So, let me get this straight,” she says, holding up a finger as a smile plays on her perfect lips. “Everyone is convinced that your family stole their land, yet not one single person has the original property lines? Nobody? There’s not an original map in the city library? Not one in the post office or town hall? These are things that federal buildings like to display.”
“Not a single map has been found,” I tell her. “That’s another reason why the town believes the lie. They’re sure that once my grandfather had the lines moved, he also destroyed every last trace of evidence. It’s complete nonsense.” I collapse in the chair at her side and take another swig of my whiskey.
She shakes her head. “This is crazy. I mean, it’s like a family feud that’s been going on for literally generations.” Her eyes double in size.
I nod once. “Yep.”
“I don’t understand. I mean, why would these families carry this around for so long?”
I shrug as I slouch back. “I don’t know. I guess they’re just jealous? I mean, they’ve owned this land for hundreds of years and then here comes my grandpa, suddenly making millions—and later, billions—of dollars when they’ve been working their asses off and farming their land for all these years.”