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“No, I’m definitely not your woman. I made that very clear last year when I told you we were breaking up, that we are no longer together. Please stop coming by because you are no longer in my life.”
He raised a hand and pointed all around. “This place? Your little fun? It’s done. Your father made me the executor on your trust fund.”
June shoved the coffee filters away a little more aggressively than necessary and went to the urn of fresh coffee.
My stomach dropped. My grandparents left me money. Lots of it. I wasn’t able to access the trust because of two conditions. The first was a little crazy: marriage. If I married, I could take control of my own trust. I always wondered why they’d set that stipulation and assumed it was because they founded the resort together and had an amazing marriage and wanted the same for me. Maybe if I found the perfect guy, we could use the money together to build something as enduring as my grandparents. There was no marriageable man on the horizon.
Definitely not the one in front of me.
Not even for access to my money. That meant I would only get control of it to use it for Steaming Hotties through the second condition: turning thirty.
I couldn’t touch it until that age unless the executor granted special permission. My father had been the executor and he’d agreed for me to take money out to open Steaming Hotties. I’d thought it was because he liked my business idea, that my business plan I’d shared with him had been solid, but no. He’d done it to amuse me. He’d given me enough to get the business up and running, but not much more. I was expecting a second payment next month, but after the call the other day, I got worried. Pulling together all the paperwork necessary, I applied for a small business loan at the banks. Local ones and a national chain in Missoula.
I was glad I started that process because I wondered if my father ever planned to give me the second infusion of cash. It was becoming really clear he’d had this worked out with Cheney all along to force me to quit.
To let me have my fun and then shut it down.
“Why?” I asked. The question was all-encompassing, but Cheney knew what I meant.
“Because he wants us together,” he replied, as if it was actually that simple.
“By controlling my finances?” That made no sense. Seriously. None. Why would a woman ditch a business she’d worked hard to establish and make flourish, solely because a man she dumped took over control of her trust fund?
It was my money. Mine.
I didn’t want to lounge by the pool at the club and play doubles tennis. I wanted to work. To be like my grandparents and build something of my own. That was why I’d used that money instead of a small business loan from a bank.It was my money.
He shrugged, but not because he didn’t know, but because it was a done deal. As if my questions were irrelevant. “You’ll get an allowance when we marry, so what’s the difference? It’s to ensure you don’t make poor decisions. Consider this practice. Oh, and Evelyn, this place is a poor decision.”
I swallowed hard and tried not to reach across the counter and strangle him. Poor decision, my ass. I waslookingat the biggest poor decision of my life. Him.
“It’s turning a profit,” I said. It was, but barely. I couldn’t live off it… yet.
“Not for long. Not without that next infusion of cash, right?” He looked around. “You’ve got payroll. Coffee beans can’t be cheap. Including that stupid pink t-shirt you’re wearing.” He eyed my chest where the Steaming Hotties logo stretched across my boobs. “I’m sure the landlord won’t hold out until your thirtieth birthday for rent because as executor, I’m not giving you another dime toward this… bad choice.”
He was trying to force me to shut down.
“I don’t need my trust fund to run the business,” I told him, tipping my chin up, hoping I showed the confidence I didn’t feel. I didn’t need it specifically. I needed money.
“Really?” he asked, his brow turning up, which made his mustache twitch. Had it always looked so stupid? “I guess I’ll have to wait and see.”
“You came in to tell me this? You could have done it over the phone. Saved yourself some time.” I tipped my head down and looked at his clothes. “And the cost of a new outfit.”
June came to stand beside me and slid a cup of coffee across the counter toward Cheney. It was in a to-go cup, lid already on. “Here you go,” she said, her friendly customer-facing smile in place.
Cheney looked at the drink as if it was poison. “What’s this?”
“Coffee.To go.You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
It was her turn to cross her arms and give him a look of death.
Cheney took the drink, took a big sip and gave me a sly smile. “See you soon, honey.”
I watched through the picture window as he left the store, strolled down the sidewalk, taking another sip as he went.
“I hate that guy,” June said. She’d never met him before, only heard about him from the times we drank wine and ate pizza together.
I turned my head. She was my first hire. My first friend in town after college. She was a year older and was a ski instructor who worked for me full time while waiting for the ski season to start.
