To my credit, I’d never done anything illegal. But I’d done plenty of manipulating to achieve my goals, motivated by a lack of subjectivity and a very, very large bonus on clearing a town of resistance.
But Lindenbach was different. I knew the second I drove into town that this would be hard, maybe the hardest job I’d ever done. They were going to make me work for it.
And I had to be ready for anything.
I took another sip of the brackish coffee and made a face, heading inside to dump it in the sink, daydreaming about that imaginary hotel in San Antonio. I hadn’t unpacked anything, leaving the window open on my commitment. But I sighed, turning for the bedroom, resigned. If I was going to convince this town I had their best interest in mind, refusing to stay here wouldn’t earn me any points. I could already hear Jo Blum ranting in the diner about it.
And I wasn’t going to hand her ammunition.
Of the six farms I was here to acquire rights to, the Blum farm would be the hardest, and thanks to the size of its shale deposit, it was also my top priority. Leaving here without it would mean leaving with nothing, if my father had anything to say about it. Which he would.
The easy paths to their shale had been blocked. Charm was useless—the Blums valued honesty, and they didn’t believe a word I said. Money seemed to be no object—anyone who turned their noses at seven figures was probably beyond the reach of my checkbook.
The way I saw it, there was only one way in. One of the sisters.
And only one of them held the keys to the kingdom.
Jo.
She was the smartest shot—if I took any other angle, she’d bar me with the ferocity of a cornered animal. But if I could figure out how to disarm her … well, that was another story altogether.
I realized I was smirking as I pulled a pair of khakis and a navy Flexion button-down out of my garment bag.
Because taming Jo Blum was going to be a damn good time.
Khaki was as close as I got to casual, and paired with rolled-up sleeves and my lack of tie, I almost pulled it off. I’d work the festival booth today, turn on the smile, and see if I could win over a few townies. Flexion had sent a few people over to smile and hand out pamphlets and merchandise, so we could be seen and be seen as something safe.
Appearances were everything, and this was my second shot at giving an impression. In the first, I’d ended up with actual egg on my face, and though I handled it, I could use an egg-free day.
Hopefully, the Blum girls didn’t have any produce up their sleeves.
Once groomed, I gathered my things and headed out. The day was warm already—September was just an extension of August, after all—but showing up to the fair in my Audi wouldn’t have impressed anybody. My father didn’t understand why I’d driven it here from Georgetown, enjoying the open road, the days of solitude, the radio and the rumble of the engine carrying me across the country. He’d suggested I take a Flexion jet and rent an Escalade when I got here, but in this, I didn’t care if he understood.
In everything else…well, that was another story.
Hand in my pocket, I walked toward downtown, staying in the shade as best I could. When I reached Main Street, eyes followed me to the coffee shop, nearly suffocating me once I was inside. They were curious and suspicious—not only was I an outsider, but culturally, I couldn’t fit in any better than they could at dinner at the yacht club.
I smiled. Nodded. Used my best Yes Ma’am/Sir. Held the door open for a mother with two squiggling children in tow. Let the crowd look unimpeded and hoped they noted what I’d done and that it was to their satisfaction. But I knew they’d never see me as one of them. I was imposing by default, though I didn’t know if it was genetic or learned. My father called it charisma, and though he insisted I was lacking, I could hypnotize a room just as well as he could.
We’d see if I could hypnotize a town. Or at least the gatekeeper.
I saw her as I crossed the street, setting up a booth directly across from mine with her sisters and mother. Their display was quaint but modern—racks of bouquets flanked shelves of honey, and in front of them sat trays of biscuits and samplers. They didn’t wear branded clothing—they did however have on anti-fracking T-shirts—and they didn’t have a sign. They didn’t need one. Everyone here knew them and had been buying their honey right here, in this spot, for nearly two-hundred years.
But in all the time I’d spent assessing their booth, none of them had looked at me. They were too busy scowling across the way. At my booth.
Which, at present, was manned by three blondes who I suspected were too young to drink in Flexion crop tops, jean shorts short enough to catch a hearty view of their asses, and T-shirt cannons in small, tan hands.
I schooled my temper as I approached, listing out the names of what idiot had signed off on sending co-eds to shoot fucking T-shirts into a small town festival. Because somebody was catching hell for this.
If I’d needed help convincing the half of the town that would be happy to see half-naked girls bouncing around to Whitesnake, it’d be one thing. But I needed to win over the half that would look at our booth just like the Blums were. All except for Jo, who had spotted me long enough to have harpooned me with her gaze.
I smiled. Her eyes narrowed. I tipped an imaginary hat, and she rolled her eyes hard enough to see the swingset behind her.
So rather than head to my booth, I strode to theirs.
Nearly in unison, the rest of the Blums looked in my direction, stiff as a matching set of rulers.
“Morning, ladies.”
“Morning—ow!” Daisy scowled at Poppy, who said, “Can we help you?”
I scanned the honey samples, each sitting in front of a different jar. Wildflower, clover, lemon, even a habanero honey.
Curious, I asked, “May I?”
“Of course,” their mother, Dottie, said with a pointed look in her daughters’ direction. She picked up a plate of cut-up biscuits with toothpicks sticking out of the top.
“Asskisser,” Jo said. Daisy pinched the back of her arm, and she yelped.
“I’m sorry,” Dottie started with a tight but apologetic smile on her face. “Forgive my children. They have never been morning people.”
I set down my coffee and chose a moderately sized one even though I wanted a big one, but before I picked up a tiny paper cup of habanero honey, Jo handed me one.
“Careful, it’s hot,” Dottie warned.
“I appreciate the warning,” I said.
Jo wore a wicked smile.
I held her gaze as I dunked the biscuit and put it in my mouth, pleased when her eyes flicked to my lips. And within a second, it took the rest of my attention to stop myself from reacting. The heat hit the back of my throat like a hot coal.
“Oh, shoot,” Jo said sweetly, “was that the extra hot? I swear I thought I gave you mild.”
Sweat pricked my hairline as a trail of fire scorched my esophagus, but I smiled like a goddamn professional and picked up my coffee.
“What are you feeding those bees, hellflowers?”
Daisy brightened. “Actually, we flavor them afterward with—oh. You were kidding.”
“I’ll take a jar of the extra hellfire habanero and a jar of wildflower honey,” I said around my fat tongue, reaching into my back pocket for my wallet. “And can I get a bouquet?”