A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain)

AVA

“Just a simple coffee service,” I say. “The coffee, plus a couple carafes of water. You could throw in a plate of cookies. Anything you’ve got back there—Christmassy or not. As soon as you can. They’ll be here any minute.”

“It will be done,” says the young waiter standing in front of me. “And I’ll be back to bus this table right away.”

“Thank you, James.”

When he runs off, I take one look at the mess in the Evergreen Room and start stacking the teacups together. We’d hosted a local library’s board meeting this morning, and now I’m scrambling to make the place ready for the official sale of Madigan Mountain to Sharpe Industries.

The Sharpes love to show up unannounced. As I gather the lipstick-stained napkins, I wonder if this will become a theme—the Sharpes turning up whenever they feel the urge. Just to catch me off guard.

It’s nothing I can’t handle, but when I picture all my future interactions with them, I feel joyless.

James reappears with a cart and tells me he can take it from here. “There’s a floral bouquet on the piano in the lobby,” he says, sweeping dishes from the table. “Should I grab it for a centerpiece?”

“If you get around to it,” I say. “Thanks for your help with this. I really appreciate it.”

He gives me a shy smile, and I calm down just a fraction. We have great employees on the mountain. I’m not going to let them down.

As I cross the lobby, I’m simultaneously texting Mark and Melody to make sure they got all my urgent messages.

We’re almost there, Melody replies. We were at a meeting in Penny Ridge.

She means an AA meeting. Mark has had a really rough time this month, but he’s getting the help he needs.

As a result, I’ve been shouldering an almost impossibly large portion of the work. Another generous snowfall filled the resort above our usual December traffic. And then a norovirus ripped through the younger staff members, causing many of them to stay home sick from their shifts.

It’s been all hands on deck. I even took a brief stint operating a ski lift yesterday, so Bert could get some lunch. I haven’t had to do that in five years.

And all I could think about while I stood there was twenty-one-year-old Reed giving me calm advice about how to keep my hands and feet warm.

Damn him. I can’t stop thinking about him. Freezing him out hasn’t helped like I expected it to. Instead of preventing me from thinking about him, it just makes me feel petty.

I miss him so much. I ache when I picture his face.

After I swing by the front desk to request that they find rooms for the Sharpes, I stop by Mark’s office for the fountain pen he uses to sign documents and checks.

The pen was his father’s. I wonder how the late Mr. Madigan would feel about his son signing the resort away to guys with golden snakes on their ties.

I can’t even think about it without getting a stomachache. Madigan Mountain is about to be erased, and I’m the only one who cares. I’m not even a Madigan.

Although I came close once a long time ago. But it didn’t stick.

Maybe it’s a blessing that this is all happening so suddenly. I won’t have time to mourn. Even now, I hear voices in the lobby, and they have a distinctive Texan twang.

I paste on a false smile and leave the Evergreen Room to greet them.

“Miss Ava! Always a pleasure,” Grandpa says in the lobby. I bear up under his handshake. To my relief, I see Mark and Melody entering the lobby, too. At least I won’t be alone with all the Sharpes.

I reach out to shake the middle Sharpe’s hand, but instead of reciprocating, he hands me his coat. As if I’m the hostess at a restaurant he’s visiting. “Put this up for me, would you, doll?”

Too stunned to reply, I just freeze in place, the coat in my hands.

Mark has noticed this little maneuver, and his mouth twists into a grimace. He looks from the coat, to me, to Sharpe. Then he strides over and takes the coat out of my arms, as if that could solve the problem. “Let’s go into the Evergreen Room, shall we? There are some coat hooks on the wall.”

Grandpa leads the way, carrying a cognac-colored leather briefcase that probably contains the contracts. Dread pools in my stomach as I follow him through. He puts the case on the table, pops the brass latches, and opens the lid.

If there’s some new type of Sharpe liquor in that case, I will not be responsible for my actions.

But no, it’s just paperwork. Grandpa Sharpe pulls out several sets of contracts, color-coded with those signature flags people use to keep everything straight. He hands off a thick stack to the lawyer he’s brought with him for the closing. Then he hands another document to his grandson. “Trey, can you handle this?”

“Sure, Grandpa.” Trey glances at the documents and then says, “Ava, will you come with me for a moment?”

Oh. “Of course.” I follow him out of the room.

Just outside the door, he hands me the document. “Here’s your employment contract. You can sign it now, but I can’t countersign until after the resort transaction is finished. I can’t employ you here until after I own the place.”

“Makes sense,” I say. “Is everything in here the way Reed had prearranged?”

His shrug seems too casual. “Mostly. We made a few minor tweaks. But I expect you’ll find it satisfactory.”

“Tweaks?” I ask calmly, even though my heart has begun thumping like an over-caffeinated bunny rabbit.

“It’s a one-year contract, because we ultimately felt that two was too long. And a few of the financial details are different.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. “Why don’t you give it a read.”

“Wait,” I say, even though I am dying to move away from his unwanted touch. “Which financial details?”

He smirks. “Doesn’t matter, does it? You make a good wage. And I looked into your résumé. We think you’ll stay on anyway. You’ve got nowhere else to go, right?”

At that, he lets me go and walks back into the Evergreen Room.

Speechless, I follow him. Then I walk as far from the Sharpes as I can and shakily take a seat at the table near the window. I flip open the contract and quickly skim it.

When I find the salary amount, I feel sick. They didn’t raise it by twenty percent. They actually lowered my base salary a little. However, “upon the successful completion of the contract year, the employee will be eligible for a performance-based bonus of up to twenty percent.”

That’s how they handled my raise—by turning it into a bonus I might or might not receive.

And I’m terrified to know what a “successful completion” means to Trey Sharpe.

I feel sick. Because now I have to decide whether or not to make a stink about it. Mark is pouring himself a cup of coffee and chatting with Grandpa Sharpe. This is the day he’s been looking forward too for months. His day of freedom.

Just when I’m halfway to a panic attack, another person steps into the room. He’s wearing an impeccable blue suit, a crisp white shirt, and a dark blue tie. He has a head of thick, dark brown hair and the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.

Reed Madigan meets my gaze and winks so quickly I almost miss it. Then I lose his attention. “Dad, can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Reed.” His father blinks in surprise. “I had no idea you were—”

Reed beckons, and his father follows him out the door.

They don’t close it, and I practically pull a muscle straining to listen. At first, I can’t hear a thing they’re saying. But after a long moment I hear Mark say, “No, Reed. Not him.” And then just “no.”

The low rumble of Reed’s voice is audible now, if not the words. He’s arguing for something.

“I appreciate that,” his father says, his voice rising. “I do. But it is just too late. I’m sorry, but it’s true. This is happening, and I need you to get your head around that. We’ll talk later.”

Mark reenters the room, and my heart stutters.

I watch the door, half tempted to leap out of my chair and chase after Reed.

But I don’t have to. Reed comes in, his face flushed. He takes the only empty seat at the table, which is beside his father.

Then he looks me right in the eye and mouths two words: I tried.

I hold his gaze to tell him I understand, and I give him a sad little smile.

He tilts his head and gives me a warmer one. Then he mouths: I love you.

And I grin in spite of the crappy circumstances. The Madigans’ lawyer is calling the meeting to order, and I reluctantly turn my attention to him. “Let’s review final changes,” he says, looking at his Rolex. “I estimate about ten minutes for this. First point was section two, paragraph C…”

I look around the table, taking in the faces. The Sharpes look smugly satisfied. As always. Mark Madigan looks fidgety, and he keeps sneaking glances at his son.

Don’t sign, I mentally telegraph. You don’t have to do this.

Then my gaze moves to Melody. I expect to see her smiling, but she looks pale.

The lawyers are doing their lawyer thing, and I feel as though I’ve been strapped into a roller coaster that my friends talked me into riding. We’re slowly climbing toward the first big drop, and there’s nothing I can do about it but hang on and try not to scream.

Maybe I won’t even sign the stupid employment contract. They won’t fire me. Not immediately, anyway. And it would send the signal that I can’t be pushed around.

Hell. Maybe I’ll take a quick trip to California with Reed. There are other hotels in the world I could run. He wasn’t wrong about that.

Even if none of them could ever be quite so special as Madigan Mountain.

I take a deep breath and remind myself that it could still be okay. I’m going to be the manager. I’m still getting my promotion. And everyone works for an asshole some time in her career, right?

“The last matter on my list,” the Madigans’ lawyer drones, “is an employment contract for Ava Aichers.” He looks up at me. “Have you been provided with a contract?”

I hesitate a half second. “Yes.”

Reed straightens. “Does it meet the terms set forth in our deal notes?”

Oh boy. All eyes are on me now. “Not exactly,” I say, opting for the truth.

“It’s substantially the same,” Trey argues. “She can take it up with me after this meeting.”

I swallow hard.

“What’s different about it, Ava?” Reed asks. “Can I see?”

I don’t hand it over, but I do answer the question. “One year is not substantially the same as two years,” I say coolly. “And a provisional year-end bonus is not the same as a raise.”

Reed’s eyes narrow as he turns to look at Trey. “Fix it. Now.”

“Are we really going to hold up an eighty-million-dollar property agreement for a few thousand dollars in the manager’s contract?” Grandpa Sharpe asks. “That doesn’t seem like good business to me.”

Reed turns to Mark. “Dad,” he says quietly. “This is not just a few thousand dollars. It’s so much more than that.”

“No, it literally is,” Trey argues.

“Dad,” Reed repeats softly.

Mark closes his eyes and sighs. “Fix the contract or I won’t sign.”

As I slide the contract toward the Madigans’ lawyer, I ought to feel ecstatic, or at least grateful. Instead, I just feel like they’ve upgraded my coffin at the morgue.

Okay, that’s dark. But this feels like a hollow victory, nonetheless.

The two lawyers huddle up, pens in hand, agreeing on changes while Melody passes the plate of cookies around.

I take a bite of one, but it turns to dust in my mouth. Reed stands and picks up his chair, then navigates around people and furniture, before squeezing in beside me. He leans in and gives me a sweet, slow kiss on the cheekbone. “I miss you.”

My heart lifts. “I miss you, too. I thought you were mad at me. I tried to call you back last night, and you didn’t answer.”

“Too busy,” he says, taking my hand in his. “I was trying to get a flight, and I had to apologize to Sheila for losing my shit.”

“Ah,” I say, falling into his warm gaze. “We’ve all been there.”

“Not really,” he says. “You were right that I was angry about a lot of things but trying not to be. Sheila called me emotionally stunted in front of the whole office.”

“Ouch. You two really did have words.”

He smiles brightly. “They’ll be talking about us for weeks. Just happy to do my part for office gossip.”

“Is it as bad as mountain gossip?” I ask.

He takes my hand and strokes his thumb across my palm, making it hard to think. “No, there’s nothing quite like mountain gossip. But it’s close.”

I would have happily gazed at Reed all day, but I hear some kind of commotion outside the door to the Evergreen Room. Voices are raised. That’s just the sort of thing a resort manager listens for. The job is a bit like working as a firefighter—you never know when you’ll be called to slide down the pole and tackle another emergency.

“Excuse me a moment?” I push back my chair to investigate.

Before I make much progress, the front desk manager’s face pops into view. “Ava! We’ve got a situation. I told them you are all in a meeting, but—”

“Step aside, please.” A man with salt-and-pepper hair slides past her into the room. “Mark Madigan, we need a moment of your time.”

“And you are…?” Reed asks.

Mark and I already know. Morgan James is the town manager of Penny Ridge, Colorado. And crowding into the doorway behind him are two members of the town council, including Ms. Maeve Perkins, the head librarian at Penny Ridge Memorial Library. She’s four-foot-nine, ninety-two years young, and full of attitude.

“Mark Madigan!” she exclaims. “Do you have any idea what these Sharpe shooters have planned for our town?”

“Um…” he says with perfectly understandable hesitation. You do not want to be on the wrong side of Maeve Perkins.

“Oh wow,” Reed breathes. “I hope I didn’t leave town with any unreturned books.”

Her chin snaps in our direction. “You have an outstanding fine, young man. But we’ll get to you in a moment. I need to speak to your father, right now.”

“The Sharpes did not, in fact, share their plans with me,” Mark says sheepishly. “Maybe you can ask them yourselves?”

Fire burns in her feisty eyes as she wheels on Grandpa Sharpe. “Are you in charge here, young man? Do you have any idea how quickly and loudly we will object to the transfer of the ski terrain lease if your aim is to add more hotel rooms to this town than we have permanent residents?”

Grandpa Sharpe doesn’t even look scared, which means he’s a bigger fool than I thought. “Ma’am, think of all those jobs we’re creating in the fine town of Penny Ridge.”

She sniffs. “If I can’t find a parking space to go to bingo on Main Street, it doesn’t matter. And if the lift tickets and restaurants are priced strictly for tourists, we have a problem. I’ve met men like you, and I don’t like ’em.”

Reed and I share a glance that’s filled with humor and awe. “She’s better than a room full of lawyers,” he whispers in my ear.

I thread my fingers through his and try to hold back my grin.

“Your proposal will not succeed,” Morgan James snaps. “Even if you manage to get your lease transfer approved, the town will not approve your construction plans.”

“Over my dead body,” Maeve Perkins adds, which is a bold statement for anyone over ninety years old.

“Let’s take this outside,” Grandpa Sharpe says, moving toward the exit. “Those plans are private.”

“You just go ahead and think that,” Reed says, clearly amused.

But the Sharpes file out with the council members, and then loud squabbling can be heard just outside the room.

“Who summoned them?” Mark growls. “Did you do this, Reed?”

“Nope.” Reed leans back in his chair and smiles. “I wanted to. But I didn’t want to get Ava in trouble.”

“Ava?” Mark barks. “Was this you?”

“Oh, stop it,” Melody says, brandishing a cookie. “Mountain gossip is legendary.”

“But who gave it to mountain gossip?” he demands.

Melody tries to hide a smile. “I might have said something during my massage this week. Sarah gets me so relaxed, I’m likely to say anything at all.”

“Melody!” Mark looks horrified. “What did you do? The Sharpes won’t be able to close if they don’t think they can get the lease transfer.”

She spreads her hands out wide. “Mark, screw the valuation. Your grown son is asking you to let him lead the mountain into the future. You’re too stubborn to acknowledge the blessing. I had to do something drastic. You’re welcome.”

My jaw hits the floor.