Page 12 of Blame it on the Bet
“You’re…you’re a lawyer?” he asks, unable to disguise the gulp in his voice.
I smile brightly and nod.
“Yes, actually. I’m a Hennepin County public defender. So, no need to spend money on a bloodsucking ambulance chaser…because I am a bloodsucking ambulance chaser.”
“I—I…I didn’t know…” he stammers.
“Clearly,” I say, my voice turning icy in a heartbeat.“Not having a very good time of it, are you, Mr. Truitt? You’ve come all this way only to find that my father is dead and his daughter is an attorney who actually understands everything in your proposed contract. I mean, what are the odds?”
“Henny…” Father Romance says softly. It’s a warning—a caution that I shouldn’t get carried away with my evisceration of the strong-jawed, weak-minded Bryan Truitt.
I extricate my hand from where it’s still lodged under Truitt’s and struggle to appear somewhat calm and professional in the face of his assumptions.
“Mr. Truitt, we both know that without my father’s signature, this contract is invalid. And it’ll remain that way unless and until the executor of his estate signs it. That would be me.”
There. I’ve called his bluff, and I’ve won. I stare at his dumbfounded face, waiting for him to pack up his toys and go home. But that’s not what he does. Bryan Truitt closes his
gaping mouth, adjusts his tie, and takes a deep breath. “Well then, Hennessy O’Halloran, what can I do to get
you to sign on the dotted line?”
I give him a cross between a scoff and a snort. “Nothing.”
“I find that hard to believe. Everyone has a price. What will it take? Another ten percent on the purchase price? Twenty? How about twenty-five percent over market value?” I stare at him incredulously. Something is very wrong here. This pub is priceless to my sisters and me, but the kind of money he’s talking about is ridiculous considering the market right now.
“Why do you want this property so badly, Mr. Truitt?” I ask suspiciously.
He shrugs and smiles, much more confident than he was just a moment ago.
“Let’s just say it’s the perfect fit for one of my clients… and I’ve already invested a good deal of time and effort into this deal during my negotiations with your father. And, here’s the thing—I’m a matchmaker, you see. I pair investors looking to expand into new territory with the ideal venue for their project. It’s a win-win for the company and the community.”
“And you,” I point out.
“And me,” he agrees. “So, what do you say, Miss O’Halloran? Want to make a match with me?”
I hold his gaze for a long beat before I speak again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Truitt, but O’Halloran’s is not for sale.”
He seems to consider this for a second then rummages around in his briefcase for another paper. He pulls it out and studies it before talking again.
“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Miss O’Halloran—but if it’s not for sale now, it will be very soon, according to the information I have. I believe the bank has called this loan, and you have less than six weeks left to make good. Otherwise, it goes to auction. The property will be sold to the highest bidder—which will be me—then the loan will be satisfied, and any remaining funds returned to you… after the trustee’s cut and after all applicable fees have been deducted, of course. Trust me when I tell you there won’t be enough cash left to use for the down payment on a new car, let alone a new building.”
I feel the intense heat of my face flaming scarlet. Father Romance isn’t chuckling anymore. In fact, he’s looking very concerned as he puts a hand on Bryan’s arm.
“Son, I think this might be a good time for you to have a walk around Mayhem?—”
“No,” I cut him off. “This would be a good time for him to get back in his car, drive to the airport, and go home to the land of sand and sunshine because there’s nothing for him here.”
Truitt hops off his barstool, grabs his briefcase, and flashes me a bright white, perfectly aligned smile. I’d like to slap it right off his face.
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Miss O’Halloran. I’ve already spotted a couple of things I’d like to see right here in the quaint town of Mayhem. I think I’ll hang around for a night or two. Maybe longer.”
With that, he turns on his heel and walks out the front door, careful to go the long way around the snow bank this time.
Chapter Six
BRYAN
Truttism Number 5: If you MUST put all your eggs in one basket then, for God’s sake, don’t count them till they’re hatched!
