A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain)

AVA

My heels click against the stone tiles as I lead everyone through the lobby and into the Evergreen Room for dinner.

This is it. This is the night when my career clicks into place as snugly as a ski boot clipping into its binding.

The hard work is done. I’ve labored over the details for the upcoming three days, and the Sharpes are bound to be impressed. Next month, Mark and the Sharpes will sign that purchase agreement. Then I’ll become the executive manager of the entire Madigan Mountain resort.

I take a deep breath as I enter the Evergreen Room. It looks stunning, even though the florist was annoyed when I called this morning to ask if she could deliver my table arrangement two days early.

But she’s done a great job. The long dining table is bedecked in chrysanthemums, flickering candlelight, and twining sprigs of ivy.

It’s so beautiful that I’d asked Callie to sneak in here before the guests arrived to photograph it for the website’s online album. Beautiful photography helps bring in high-paying events.

Mark Madigan seats himself at one end of the table, as I’d instructed him to do. And Grandpa Sharpe takes the other.

As for me, I scoot around the table, putting some distance between Reed and myself. Lord knows I don’t want to end up seated beside him for two hours.

I end up directly across from him instead, which isn’t much better. Like I really need to stare across at his handsome face all evening. Tonight is stressful enough already.

Halley enters the room and makes the rounds taking drink orders. I hold my breath when she gets to Reed. “Lukewarm water for you?” she asks.

“Aren’t you charming,” he says under his breath as he scans the menu card I’ve placed on everyone’s plate. “Dad, what are you drinking these days? How’s the Russian River Cab?”

“Son, I don’t drink anymore, so I’m not much help. But Melody enjoys that one.”

Reed’s eyes widen for a moment before he asks Halley for a glass of the red.

“We’ll see,” she grunts, and I try to give her a pointed stare without being obvious about it. I regret spilling the whole sad tale to my friends. Besides, Reed will soon disappear. And after his father sells the resort, there will be even less incentive for him to ever come back.

I wish he’d never come at all. I don’t want to know the details of his life. I don’t want to be able to picture him sitting here in the Evergreen Room. I don’t want to know how hot he looks in a suit. Or that he has a perky assistant who clearly adores him even though she claims otherwise.

And I really don’t want to know that he has a girlfriend named Harper.

The moment I’d heard that, my first reaction had been: at least he’s not married. Then I’d wanted to kick myself.

I’m not interested in Reed Madigan. He’s a stranger to me now. I just need to lock down my heart and survive this week. And then I can go back to living my life the way it was before.

Except he’s right there across the table, looking familiar and also devastating.

The evening wears on whether I’m willing or not. The Sharpes are gregarious men, and small talk flourishes around me. That’s lucky, because Reed’s presence has thrown me off my game. I’m too busy feeling self-conscious to be witty and entertaining.

The waiter I’d chosen to handle the evening’s events comes in to take orders. There are three main-course options, but everyone in the Sharpe party chooses the steak and potatoes.

I mentally high-five myself for putting that steak on the menu. Chef Anita had wanted to go a little edgier, but I’d talked her down. Although she’ll be gratified to note that Reed, his father, and I chose her seared Ahi with crispy rice and a wasabi drizzle. Only Melody opts for the vegetarian gnocchi.

Everything is going great, I remind myself. I got this. I turn to the youngest Sharpe—the one they call Trey—and ask him whether he prefers skis or a snowboard.

“Oh, board for sure,” he says. “Skis are for the oldsters.”

Across the table, I see Reed’s lip curl.

So that topic is off the table.

When the first course is served, at least I’ve got something to do with my hands.

“Why don’t you tell us about your vision for Madigan Mountain,” Reed says as our guests dig in. “How does it fit in with the Sharpe brand?”

It’s an important question, even if I wish Reed hadn’t rolled into town to ask it.

The middle Sharpe puts down his fork. “We believe Madigan Mountain can be the premier luxury destination for skiers who want a big mountain experience with exquisite accommodations. The Sharpe brand is pure luxury. The best food and the best service.” He barely pauses for a breath before continuing his sales pitch. “We have a loyal, wealthy clientele who visit our resorts year after year. There’s the ranch in Texas, where Granddaddy started. We also have a desert spa in Arizona, three golf courses, and a beach resort on the Gulf Coast.”

“But no skiing,” I add.

“That’s right, little girl,” the grandfather says.

Little girl. Jesus.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Reed says. “Where do you see the growth potential here? There are environmental constraints. The owners of the abutting property won’t let you widen Madigan Mountain Road. We tried for years.”

What the hell? I want to kick Reed under the table. Is he trying to scuttle the deal?

“And,” he continues, “you can’t build any more condos without better access to the mountain.”

All three Sharpes just smile. “We’re fixin’ to raise prices,” the middle Sharpe says. “Our customers are in it for quality not quantity.”

Reed sips his wine, watching the three Sharpes over the rim of his glass. “How much can you raise them, though, before you price yourself out of the market?”

Kill me already. This night is going to last a hundred years.

I was wrong. It lasts even longer. The Sharpes like their wine, and they like to talk about themselves. I now know more about ranching than I ever cared to learn.

When the party moves to the bar, I begin to plot my escape. Ten more minutes of schmoozing ought to do it. Then I’ll sneak away.

Mark Madigan proposes a toast. “To familiar faces as well as new friends. I couldn’t be happier to welcome you all to Madigan Mountain.”

I raise my glass right on cue. Reed looks reluctant.

Come on, I privately snarl. Everything is resting on these next few days. The Sharpes are here for due diligence meetings with our accountants and lawyers. Everything has to go exactly right, so that they feel confident enough to prepare the final contract.

I’ve taken it upon myself to plan, host, and cater to their every whim while they’re here. We are going to show the Sharpes a good time if it kills me.

Reed finally raises his glass, and I try to relax.

“I have a good feeling about this deal,” the elder Sharpe says. “Due diligence is going to sail right through. You seem like people who like a job done right.”

“Oh, we do, sir,” I can’t resist saying.

“Yeah, I think Granddad is right,” Trey chimes in. “And you know what that means, right, boys? It’s time for the ritual.”

All three Sharpes cheer.

Reed lifts his perfect jaw. “Someone fill me in? What’s the ritual?”

Grandpa hitches up his trousers by the belt buckle. “We never do a deal without sharing our family moonshine. Get out the bottles, Trey.”

Oh, jeez. I don’t know what moonshine is, and I don’t really want to.

Trey lifts an expensive leather briefcase onto the bar. It has the Sharpe snake logo on it. (Seriously, a snake?) He pops open the gold buckles. He lifts the lid, and I notice that the interior is covered in ostentatious red velvet and molded to perfectly accommodate two cut-crystal decanters.

“Whoa, how’d you get that through airport security?” Melody asks with a grin.

“We chartered, hon,” Trey says with a flirty wink. “Which is how you’ll travel soon, too, am I right? Nobody flies commercial with the masses if they don’t have to.”

Melody gives an uncomfortable chuckle, and Reed looks nauseated.

“Can we get some glasses?” Trey actually snaps his fingers at Halley.

Uh-oh. I wonder if Halley will go off like a bomb at this display of macho rudeness. But she bites her lip and pulls down a set of cut-crystal glasses.

“We’ll need shot glasses, too,” Trey says, without so much as a thank-you.

I make a mental note to buy Halley a gift certificate from the nail salon in town as she plunks down the shot glasses on the bar with a little more force than necessary.

“All right,” the second Sharpe says, lifting one of the decanters. It’s filled with a clear liquid. “This is Sharpe family moonshine, distilled in a bathtub dating to 1862. Trey, pour the shots.”

His son grabs the bottle and pours. “We don’t sell this,” Trey says. “You have to be a friend of the family to ever experience it.”

“I’m honored,” I lie as Trey passes me a shot glass.

Wow, the scent of the liquor is strong. I’m pretty sure it would be useful at the nail salon in town—for removing nail polish.

“And this is our fifteen-year whiskey, aged in French oak barrels on our estate,” Grandpa says, uncapping the other decanter. Its contents are a rich cognac color. And he begins to pour healthy amounts into the larger glasses. “Goes for two hundred and fifty bucks a pop in our Texas store, and the newest vintage sold out in thirty-three minutes last year.”

“I’m so impressed,” Reed drawls, and I give him what I hope is a warning glare.

Not that I don’t take his point. The Sharpes are a challenge. With their snakes and their moonshine and ostentatious display of wealth, they are clearly compensating for something.

But that is not my problem. All I have to do is smile and have a little whiskey. What’s the harm?

“None for me,” Mr. Madigan has to remind Trey, who’s passing out shot glasses.

“Why’s that?” the young buck asks, and I try to hide my flinch. Does he not know how rude a question that is?

“Doctor’s orders,” my boss says cheerfully.

“Bummer,” Trey says. “You’re missing out.”

Reed rolls his eyes again. But he takes the glass he’s offered.

Now I’m holding two glasses of alcohol that I don’t really want. I never expected to find bathtub liquor on my bingo card.

But I smile anyway, while the eldest Sharpe makes a toast. “To strong men, pretty women, and above-average seasonal snow falls in these mountains.”

I laugh politely instead of pointing out how sexist that toast is. And then I throw back my shot like everyone else does.

And, wow, it burns going down. If that’s not a metaphor for the Sharpes’ company, then I don’t know what is.

“Another?” Grandpa asks me as I set the glass down on the bar.

After a beat I manage to reply. “I’ll just enjoy this one,” I say, holding up the whiskey. “I’m not a big drinker.”

“Tonight you are.” Grandpa pours me another shot of moonshine and hands the glass back to me.

“Thank you,” I say brightly. But I want to kick him in the nuts. I’m supposed to spend two more days showing the Sharpes around. It didn’t sound hard until right about now.

But I’m a very determined person when I need to be. It’s only a little booze. I’ve got some Tylenol at home. Thinking of my promotion, I tip the shot glass up and swallow the second shot.

My lungs seize up, and my eyes water. But I get it down. If this is how the Sharpe men bond, I won’t let some whiskey stand in the way.

Halley gives me a pitying glance. Then she sets an icy glass of soda water on the bar and winks at me. After the first sip of cold water, I pull up my big girl panties and buttonhole the youngest of our hotel magnates. “I had a question for you, Mr. Sharpe.”

“Call me Trey.”

“Sure, Trey.” I take a deep breath. “Since we already know we’re going to be working together, I would like to ask you to draw up an employment contract. I thought two years seemed like the right span of time.”

That came out smoothly enough. I smile and wait for his response.

“Hmm,” he says, which is not promising. “Mark also mentioned you have some vacation time coming that you planned to take?”

“Yes, sir.” I wave a hand, like it couldn’t possibly matter. “But there’s no way I could use all that I saved up. I rarely take vacations. But I do plan to take a week or two, so long as it doesn’t inconvenience the transition.”

He rubs his chin. It burns me just a little that this conversation was Reed’s idea. But I’m realizing how badly I needed to ask for a contract so the man can’t replace me while I’m out of town.

“An employment contract,” he says vaguely. “That’s an interesting idea. I’ll look into it. Are you sure you’d want to tie yourself up like that, though? You’re a young woman. Who knows what you’ll want to do? Do you have children?”

My heart squeezes, and it takes me a beat to remember to breathe.

Sometimes this question glances off me without drawing blood. But sometimes it hits me like a karate chop to the heart. Tonight—standing here, holding a whiskey I don’t want, with Reed a mere two paces away—it makes me want to curl up in a ball and howl.

And now Reed is staring at me. I think he’s heard the whole damn conversation.

I draw a sharp breath. “I…I don’t have any children who need my attention. No.”

If Sharpe finds my answer to be oddly constructed, he doesn’t say so. His father lifts that infernal bottle of whiskey toward my glass. “Who needs a top-up?”

But I cover the glass with my hand. “I’m still nursing this.” I hold up my glass, which still has most of my pour still in it.

“Drink up, little girl!” the old codger says. “Or I’m going to think you don’t like Sharpe whiskey!”

Little girl.

I chuckle, although it almost kills me. So I offer my glass, and he fills it.

Several more of my tastebuds wither and die as I force it down. When I put my shot glass down on the bar, someone snatches it.

That someone is Reed.

“What are you doing?” I hiss. Then I grab the glass back again.

“Don’t get alcohol poisoning over this,” he murmurs. “They are not worth it.”

I squint at him. He looks blurry, but still handsome. “Know what? I’ve faced worse demons.”

He flinches.

“Don’t fuss. I’ll be fine. I live half a mile from here. I don’t even have to drive home. What could go wrong?”