Читать книгу A Bayberry Cove Makeover - Cynthia Thomason - Страница 8

The Bayberry Cove Kettle already has a new owner, and you’re looking at her.

Zach’s eyes widened to the size of silver-dollar pancakes, and Mason’s whiskery gray jaw dropped.

“How could you own the Kettle, Bobbi Lee?” Mason asked. “Where would you get the money to buy this place?”

Her scalp warmed to the roots of her red hair. “Have I ever asked you where you got your money?”

“Everybody knows where I got mine. It’s the stuff of legend. Your money’s the mystery.”

“And it’s going to stay a mystery. All you need to know is that I made a deal with Max. The Kettle is mine.” Though there was still the matter of a contract to make it all legal….

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to have to renew the rental agreement with me, aren’t you?”

Her slow simmer began building to raging panic. “You wouldn’t withhold the lease.”

Mason slapped the top of the booth. “It’s darned well on the table, Bobbi. I’ve got options.”

Knowing she didn’t stand a chance against the ornery Mason and all his money, Bobbi Lee turned to his nephew. “Can I speak to you in private, Zach?”

“I suppose so.” He slowly slid out of the booth. “Where do you want to go?”

She took hold of his arm and tugged him toward the kitchen, but remembered the cook was in there. So she diverted to the restrooms. After rapping lightly at the men’s room, she flung the door open and hauled Zach in behind her. Both urinals and the single stall were empty. “This will do.”

She saw his grin in the washroom mirror. “Not a great choice for a conference room, but…”

She didn’t let him finish. “What’s with the sudden interest in Bayberry Cove, Zach?” she fired at him. “I mean, aren’t you this successful Chicago mogul who’s spent the past two decades making tons of money?”

He shrugged. “You make it sound like money is a bad thing.”

Actually, she had no idea about money since she rarely had any extra to play with after her bills were paid and she’d topped up her savings account. “And I heard you married some la-de-da lawyer lady…”

“I’ve been divorced for over five years.”

“You’re divorced?” That stopped her. That one little detail was far too interesting. And distracting.

Her gaze hadn’t wavered from Zach’s face for several seconds when the door suddenly opened and Mason hobbled in.

“We’re not done in here, Mason,” she said.

“Yes, you are. I have to use the facilities.”

She gave him her best waitress-to-obnoxious-customer scowl. “You just finished reminding me that you own practically all the buildings on Main Street. Can’t you go find another bathroom?”

“I want to use this one. My plumbing’s not as good as it used to be. I can’t go searching for a place to—”

“Bobbi, let’s table this discussion and let my uncle use the bathroom,” Zach said. He took Bobbi Lee’s arm and ushered her into the hall.

She glared up at him. “We’re not finished.”

“I realize that. When will you be home tonight? I can come by later so we can talk this out.”

She couldn’t answer him. Somehow she couldn’t picture Zach Martingale in her neat little two-bedroom bungalow.

He took out a business card and turned it to the blank side. “Is seven okay? What’s your address?”

The past came flooding back. Zach—popular, sun-tanned, athletic. Her—lonely, impressionable, infatuated. Then there was his recent declaration of marital independence. And the fact that he wanted to take the Kettle—and any chance Bobbi had of sending Charlie to a good school. Oh, yes, this was a very bad idea.

And yet, despite her misgivings, she heard her voice reciting her address.