Page 5 of Silver Brewer

“You need to go back to him with blazing saddles and double barrels and those big breasts of yours.”

I laugh. “Marcus, there isn’t one drop of hope that man is interested in my breasts.”

“Oh, and do you want him to be?” The tweak to his tone and the higher octave bring visions of an eyebrow raised in question. Did I want Mr. Lumbersexy-and-steamy to be interested in my breasts? No, of course not. Absolutely not. That would be unprofessional, inappropriate, and not plausible.

“No.” I chuckle. “But I do want his land.”

“And how hung is his land?”

I laugh outright at the poor euphemism. I couldn’t even guess at the expanse of his land as it’s been almost a year since I’ve experienced the private property of another person. Damn Hudson. The thought sobers me.

“I need to obtain his land.”

“Now, you’re talking, honey.”

“No, I mean the actual property. The Harrington cabin and surrounding woods need to become mine.”

Marcus remains quiet for a moment. “And what are you willing to risk to possess his wood?” He’s still speaking in innuendos, but I’m not playing.

“Anything,” I say breathlessly. Anything.

The declaration is reinforced when the next call I receive is from my uncle Frank.

“Olivet,” he snaps sharp on the third syllable of my name. “How did it go today?” From his tone, it’s clear he’s concerned I can’t get the job done, and he isn’t off in his assessment. I begged for this deal.

Give me a chance. I wanted to prove I could do this, but most of all, I wanted the contract. I need the commission a property this size would offer.

“I’m still working on Mr. Harrington, Mr. Mullen.” Uncle Frank doesn’t care for me to call him uncle in the office. He doesn’t want to appear to play favorites with family members even though he clearly doesn’t when it comes to me and clearly does when it comes to my older sister. But Uncle Frank has a soft spot for his sister, my mother. She was married to his best friend, who died too young from cancer, and Frank promised my father he’d look after us. He does value family even if he doesn’t say it. It’s a strange duality to his personality. But money is his first love.

“Work harder, Olivet,” he demands. There is no confidence boosting. No words of encouragement. He doesn’t believe I can pull off this deal, so I’m surprised he even gave me the opportunity. Perhaps he believes when I fail, my lack of sales ability and partner potential will be proven once and for all.

You pull this off, and we’ll finally talk partner. Like a child, I swallowed up his promise. For some reason, I want to make him proud although I don’t like him much—as a boss or an uncle. Still, I can’t dismiss all he’s done for our family.

I sigh with the thought.

“Yes, sir. I’m meeting with Mr. Harrington again tomorrow.”

“Well, shut that deal down. We need you back in the office.”

Why? I wonder. Does he need more coffee? Maybe another copy made? A contract signature that he’s too lazy to get on his own?

“I’ll be on it first thing.”

“Anything you need to do,” he warns.

Anything, I repeat as the line goes dead.

+ + +

The following day, I return to the Harrington cabin with renewed determination. I’m only supposed to be in Blue Ridge for a few days. I could stretch it a week, but the longer I’m away from home, the more I worry my backstabbing nemesis Dayna will steal prospects out from under me. Real estate can be a ruthless business, especially if you’re good at wheeling and dealing like Dayna is. Plus, my sister is getting married in two weeks. Thinking of these things fuel my spirit, and after getting lost only once, I arrive at the secluded cabin with fortitude and fierceness, to be deflated when I find no sign of George—Giant—Harrington.

“Now what?” I mutter, looking around the small span of flat land surrounding the cabin before deep woods take over the landscape to the front and a sharp slope rises up the back. The mountain climb looks easy enough, inviting actually, but it’s been a while since I’ve hiked anywhere other than the nearest Starbucks. Blue Ridge doesn’t have a Starbucks, but thank goodness the local bakery has good coffee. I set the second cup beside me and hold mine in both my hands. It isn’t cold here, but there’s a chill to the air. Though I’m dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, my booties still don’t cut it on the uneven ground. My toes tap on the wooden step as I allow myself a seat on the porch and take a moment to let the quiet surround me.

As a city girl, born and bred, the silence is eerie. I need a plane overhead, a train in the distance, and a car horn honking down the street, but there’s something to be said for the peacefulness. Closing my eyes for a second, I feel as if I can hear the few clouds in the sky move in the slight breeze.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The gruff, masculine voice startles me, and I’m thankful for the lid on my coffee even though drops slosh out of the sipping piece. Hot splatters of coffee stain my jeans, and I’d feel the burn if it wasn’t for the glacial stare and giant boulder of a man blocking out the sun.