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Bradley shrugged. “The gravel could chip the paint.” He made a note on his tablet. “That’s one of the first things that will have to change.”
Dev’s scowl deepened. “What are you talking about?”
“I understand you’re the owner of this place,” he said, without looking up.
“That’s right.”
“Then we have some things to discuss.” He raised his head, but his gaze didn’t land on Dev. Instead, it swept Harrison House before returning to his car. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped in an expression of absolute horror. He hurried over and peered at his hood.
“What is that?”
Dev strolled over to take a look. Muddy paw prints looped across the hood, up the windshield, and over the roof. That much mud couldn’t have been on the cat’s paws at one go. He’d had to have made several trips.
Dev glanced at Randolph Scott, who gave him a slow blink. Good kitty.
Dev buried a smile and put on an exaggerated New England drawl. “Looks like a crittur’s been investigatin’ your fine vehicle.” He deliberately wiped the mud off his fingers on his T-shirt while he rocked from his toes to his heels. “Can’t blame ’em, you know. Somethin’ that shiny’s bound to attract the wildlife.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
Bradley crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Me? Nothing.”
“The least you can do is wash it off.”
Dev narrowed his eyes. “Since A) I’m not your lackey, and B) I can’t control the animal population”—especially Randolph Scott—“and C) I didn’t invite you, I don’t see how the state of your vehicle is my responsibility.”
For some reason, instead of backing down, a hint of a smile relaxed Bradley's pinched mouth.
“I expect you’ll change your tune shortly.” He tapped his tablet. “I’ve done some research, and I’m prepared to offer you a fair price for the place, including the outbuildings.” He glanced down at the screen. “And all contents, of course.”
Dev crossed his arms. “It’s not for sale.”
Bradley smirked, although since he was a good four inches shorter, he had to look up at Dev to do it. “Everything’s for sale, for the right price.”
“Not Harrison House.” Not anything, not to you.
Bradley’s smirk took on a self-satisfied edge, and although Dev wasn’t a believer in violence as a solution to anything, he was strongly tempted to smack this guy upside the head.
“I told you. I’ve done some research, Mr. Town Manager. The population of this place is decreasing by double digit percentage points every year, so the tax rolls are likewise shrinking. Its businesses are suffering from the lack of tourist traffic thanks to your short-sighted decision to refuse to allow the bypass to run through town. You personally may be land-rich, since your name is on multiple properties in and around Home, but I suspect you’re cash-poor. Many—in fact, most—of those properties are vacant, and consequently they’re a financial drain rather than an income stream.” He made another note on his tablet. “I might be persuaded to take some of those off your hands as well, with the proper incentive.”
Heat beat behind Dev’s eyes. “Listen, Mr. Whoever-you-are—”
“Pillsbury. Of the Pillsburys.”
“I don’t care if you’re the fucking Doughboy himself, Harrison House is not for sale. My other places aren’t for sale. And Home is most fucking definitely not for sale.”
Pillsbury’s smirk faded, to be replaced by a hard stare out of pale blue eyes colder than the dead of a Vermont winter. “We’ll see about that.”
He unhooked his sunglasses and settled them on his nose. Then he stood there and waited. And waited. And waited, clearly expecting Dev to move aside. Since Dev chose not to oblige, Pillsbury was forced to walk around him, his loafers skidding on the gravel.
With his tablet tucked under one arm, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and buffed a couple of muddy cat footprints off his hood. He made a disgusted sound at the soiled fabric and then angled his chin toward Dev. He was probably glaring behind his sunglasses, but since Dev couldn’t see through the dark lenses, he didn’t give a fuck.
Not that he had fucks to give even if he could see Pillsbury’s glare, but plausible deniability and all that.
“Just so you know?” Bradley opened the driver’s-side door and tossed the handkerchief inside. “I always get what I want. Things. Places.” He gave Dev a smug, tightlipped smile. “People.”
