I glare at him, my pulse hammering in my temples.
“No,” I respond. “As in N. O.”
“I never ask for anything, but this is important, Ledger,” he says. “You can’t let Maple Haven go to Stinson. This town depends on two things, the maple business and Old Birchwood Timber.”
“I’ll take care of our company. Isn’t that enough?” I say, frustration clear in my voice.
“Nope. Trust me when I say this is the only way to save . . . the town,” he replies, and I still don’t understand what exactly we’re trying to save here.
“We should sell Old Birchwood Timber and get the hell out of here, Mal. Let the town burn down,” I say, wanting to go for a run, the tension building inside me.
“You can’t be that heartless,” he says evenly. “Mom would want us to help her—to help the town.” Mal watches me for a long moment, his expression impossible to read. Finally, he says, “You know I’m right.”
“No,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “What I know is that I came here to help you guys deal with Mom’s estate. Not to marry the woman who rear-ended my SUV and insulted me every chance she got.”
“Us? The company is ours. And you have nothing to do.” Then, Mal shrugs again. “You know what, I don’t give a fuck about you. Suit yourself. Just remember that if you don’t marry her, someone else will. I can ask Hop or Keir to do it.” Then he smirks. “Atlas could do it. You know, take your place—again.”
Those words hit me harder than they should. I don’t want to think about someone else stepping in—someone like Stinson or my fucking brothers. And not fucking Atlas.
I rake a hand through my hair, glaring at nothing in particular. “This is your fault,” I mutter.
Mal’s eyebrows lift. “My fault?”
“You put the idea in my head.”
He smirks, spinning his chair back toward the computer. “You’re welcome.”
I growl something unintelligible, grabbing my keys off the coffee table. “I’m leaving.”
“Where are you going?” Mal calls after me.
“To clear my head,” I snap, already halfway to the door.
As I step outside and slam the door behind me, my thoughts are a mess of Galeana Monroe, maple syrup empires, and Malerick’s ridiculous suggestion.
Marry her? Not a fucking chance.
But as I climb into my SUV and grip the steering wheel, the memory of Galeana’s fiery glare at the coffee shop comes back to me.
“Fuck,” I mutter, starting the engine.
Because Mal’s right about one thing. If someone’s going to marry her, it won’t be anyone else but me.
ChapterFourteen
Ledger
Growing up,we believed the Doherty mansion was haunted. Too big, too intimidating, and perched on its hill like something out of a Scooby-Doo episode. No visitors. No lights at Christmas. Just the looming house and Dante Doherty, who seemed to exist only for his company and his apparent hatred of everyone in town.
And now here I am, standing in front of its grand doors—again—feeling like an idiot for hesitating. The place doesn’t look scary anymore. More like it should open into a Downton Abbey episode, complete with a butler announcing my arrival.
What the hell am I doing here? Pondering about Galeana’s future and if I am seriously going to proposition her?
The plan sounded solid in my head when I left Mal’s place. Now . . . What should I do? Knock, talk to Galeana, and . . . what? Proposition her? That’s the part I’m still working on. Because “Hi, I’m here to offer you a marriage of convenience” doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.
Before I can overthink it any further, the door swings open. And of course, it’s her.
Galeana Monroe stands there, wearing leggings and a loose sweater, her dark hair in a messy bun that looks like she yanked it up three hours ago and forgot about it. She’s mildly surprised but mostly suspicious, like I’m the Grim Reaper holding a clipboard.
