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But now it’s “complicated.”
Chase exhales a miserable sounding sigh as he settles into the chair at the head of the table with Amanda beside him, several folders full of paperwork in hand. “So did I. And if I’d been in town last week, I might have caught the issue before we created two duplicate sets of closing documents, but I—”
“It’s my fault,” Amanda jumps in, her expression even more pinched than it was before. “I was trying to take up the slack for Lisa and Beth being out and I just…” She winces. “I dropped the ball, and I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s not you,” Chase says, proving he’s the kind, non-sharky lawyer I’ve always known him to be. “We’re understaffed and it’s impossible to find people to hire right now. I would say it’s a rural Vermont problem, but my friends in Boston are having the same issue. I’m sure it will all get sorted out eventually but, in the meantime, some mistakes are going to be made. I’m just sorry you two had to be caught in the crossfire. You’re two of my favorite clients and to prove that I’m going to waive our fees for this transaction and any further real estate work for the next six months.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Bran says.
“Not at all,” I agree, knowing Chase has a mortgage to pay just like the rest of us. “But what exactly is going on? Does this mean we won’t be closing on the Shinglepuss land today?”
“You put in an offer for the Shinglepuss place?” Bran asks, his brows shooting up.
I nod, even as my stomach sinks. “I did. An all-cash offer.”
“So did I,” he says, glancing between me and Chase. “Are you telling me he sold the land twice?”
Chase winces. “He did. And right now, we’re not exactly sure who he sold it to first. We have to do a little digging, but—”
“It was me,” I hear myself blurt out. I blush, but can’t help repeating, “Sorry, but it was. We started talking terms last winter, over a year ago, then really got into the nitty gritty last summer. I remember it was summer because I had to put on tick spray to get to his cabin. I don’t think he’d mowed the weeds in the front yard in years.”
“But did you sign anything in the summer?” Chase asks.
I hesitate, a part of me insisting that we did sign something that day before he gave me a more formal, written intent to sell later—an old grocery receipt maybe?—but the more I rack my brain, the less sure I am. Finally, I exhale with a shake of my head, “I don’t know. Maybe? Maybe not?”
“He signed an intent to sell with me the day after Christmas,” Bran says soberly. “I remember because I felt bad that he’d spent the holiday alone. He was so grateful for the leftover turkey sandwich I gave him.”
“He spent the holiday alone because he’s the Grinch’s homeboy,” I say, refusing to feel sorry for Shinglepuss, especially after the stunt he’s pulled. “He has a wonderful family, but he’s so mean and spiteful none of them visit him anymore. He also has a granddaughter who needs eye surgery but when I gave him money to help out, Shinglepuss took it and flew to Aruba. Missy didn’t get a dime.”
Bran scowls. “I gave him money for that, too. Are you saying—”
“I’m saying the Jaycees ended up paying for Missy’s surgery because her grandad is a rat bastard with the heart the size of a cashew. A shriveled cashew.”
“But he won’t get paid twice for the same land,” Chase pipes up, clearly sensing that the situation is spiraling. “We have both your offers in place, but we’ll only release funds from one account. The other will receive a full refund.”
“I don’t want a refund,” I say, scared all my bigger, better Aspen Heights Luxury Retreat plans are about to go up in smoke. “I need that land. It’s right next door to my hotel.”
Bran’s head jerks my way. “You’rethatKayley?”
“What do you meanthatKayley?” I say. “I’m the Kayley who has meaningful plans for that property, that’s who. And why on earth do you need another mountain? Don’t the Ratcliffes own half the state by now?”
His brows snap together. “You knew who I was?”
I roll my eyes, ignoring the guilty tickle in my chest. I don’t have time for guilt. I have a mountain to save. “Of course, I knew. You were wearing seven-hundred-dollar shoes and you have the Ratcliffe hair.”
“Ratcliffe hair?” he echoes.
“You know, poofy, but not too poofy, with a little curl that would look terrible on most people, but you all manage to pull it off because you’re gorgeous unicorn billionaires.” I swallow, attempting to contain myself as I add in a softer voice, “And because you can afford really expensive haircuts.”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue the point. Shoving aside the weird voice in my head that wants to know exactly how much he pays for a haircut, I glance toward Chase. “There has to be some way to decide this in a need-based manner.”
“Need-based?” Bran snorts. “Do we reallyneedanother ski hill next to a resort that caters to rich people? We have dozens of those already. What we need is a place for the community to come together to play and enjoy themselves. Winter recreation shouldn’t be something that’s only available to the rich.”
My mouth opens and closes for a beat before I wheeze out, “What?”
“He wants to build a recreation park for the community,” Chase supplies. “With sledding and cross-country skiing spaces in the winter and a pool and picnic areas in the summer.”
“But that would probably bring down the value of your posh-people-only resort next door, wouldn’t it?” Bran says, making my blood boil.
