Page 59 of Blame it on the Bet
“So, Bryan, you’re from L.A.,” Big Win comments. “I imagine outstate Minnesota must be quite a culture shock for you.”
“It certainly is,” I reply with a grin. “I had a little trouble getting used to it at first, but it’s starting to grow on me. Of course, I haven’t had to contend with a snowstorm yet.”
“Yeah, one good wallop and we might see Bryan making a run back to the beaches and the bikinis.” Win Jr. snorts.
I shrug noncommittally and reach for my beer. “Actually, Bryan’s renting an office from King Colby,” Hennessy tells him. “He’s working on some other Midwestern projects out of there.”
“Is that so?” Win asks, his eyes narrowing a little. “Now, why would you want to do that? I imagine back in L.A. you’ve got yourself some fancy corner office in a high-rise and a secretary built like a brick?—”
“Win!” Jameson cuts him off with a tilt of her head toward Jackson, who’s happily sculpting his mashed potatoes with his bare hands.
He nods his understanding. “Anyway, why are you hanging around here in Mayhem, Bryan?”
“I like it here.”
My statement is clear and direct and firm and brooks no room for further comment on the matter. Or at least I thought so.
Win raises his eyebrows as if waiting for more, and I raise mine to mirror his. Finally, he takes another turn at bat.
“How long do you plan to stick around Mayhem?” “I’m not sure. I’ll see how I’m feeling at the end of the month.”
He’s about to say something else when I catch Bailey’s eye and cut him off. “No Walker today?” I ask.
“Sleeping,” the youngest O’Halloran informs me. “She was tending bar last night, and she didn’t get home till after two in the morning.”
“Wow, must’ve been busy,” I comment.
“Hardly,” Win snorts. “Once that new sports bar opened, everyone ditched O’Halloran’s. I mean, my father-in-law was a great guy, but he didn’t have a clue as to how to keep up with the younger generation. Nobody wants an Irish pub these days. They want half-price apps and video poker and?—”
“Win, please,” Jameson says quietly from her end of the table. “Can we just have a pleasant meal together without bringing all of this up?”
Her husband holds his palms up toward the crown molding.
“James, I don’t mean any offense. Whatever his reasons for sticking around, I just think maybe Bryan being here is a sign that you should let it go once and for all.”
He turns to me again, and I’m immediately on guard. No good can come of this conversation, at this time, in this place. Someone is going to leave this table pissed off, and it won’t be me.
“You don’t want to tell us why you feel like hanging around, fine. But let’s just cut to the chase here about the pub. You’ve obviously got big plans for that parcel of land. Plans that are going to net you some serious coin. So let’s forget about this asinine bet that makes absolutely no sense and just tell me what your highest offer is. Your real highest offer.”
A quick glance at the horrified expressions around the table tells me that no one expected this. No one except for me, that is. There’s always a guy like this. A guy who fancies himself a savvy businessman. And, you know, the strange thing is, Win really doesn’t mean any offense. He’s blunt and insensitive, but I can tell that, in his warped mind, he’s just trying to do right by his wife. Considering what this house must be worth and what he probably makes running the law firm, I don’t think this is about him wanting to get his hands on the cash. I try to keep this in mind as I address this question.
“You know, Win, there are certainly instances when I’m holding out for the best deal that I can get. But, as I’ve said, the town of Mayhem is growing on me. As are its residents,” I mention, with a casual glance to Hennessy on my right. “Besides, Hennessy is the executor of her father’s estate, and she’s already informed me that she doesn’t wish to sell the property at this time. But if she changes her mind—and if she wants you to—you should absolutely advise her during negotiations. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m trying to take advantage of a grieving daughter.”
He blinks once. Hard. Not what he was expecting.
“But beyond that, I’m afraid I can’t really say any more on the subject, as you have no interest in this property.”
I couldn’t resist. Just had to get that little dig in there.
Crap. What’s wrong with me? I know better than to antagonize a guy like Win.
“I represent the interests of my wife, not to mention those of my son,” he informs me in a tone that’s much less congenial than it was thirty seconds ago.
“Win…”
Jameson’s tone as she utters his name through gritted teeth should be setting off alarm bells in this guy’s head. But he’s too tone deaf to hear them.
“Uh-uh, James. Something’s not right about either this guy or this situation,” her husband counters a little too loudly.
