Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92668 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92668 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“You do know this is my grandfather’s wake, don’t you?” I asked coldly. “We buried him this morning. This is extremely rude of you.”
He held up his hands. “My apologies.”
He didn’t sound that apologetic.
“Are you aware of the state of the place? It’s falling down, you know.”
I glared at him. “That’s quite the exaggeration. To answer your question, no. I’m not planning on selling it.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that.” He sighed and reached inside his jacket. He produced a small brown envelope and held it out to me. “Perhaps that’ll change your mind.”
Is this dickhead trying to pay me off?
“I sincerely doubt it,” I replied.
“Humour me and take a look, Charlotte.”
“Miss O’Neil,” I corrected him, taking the envelope. It was against my better judgement, but this man was awfully smug. He seemed completely sure that whatever number was in this envelope was going to convince me to sell and, okay, sue me.
I was a curious cat.
I wanted to know how cheap he thought I was.
I slid out the flap and pulled out the piece of paper.
It was so much money they couldn’t even write a cheque.
Cheapskates.
Either way, nine hundred thousand wasn’t even close to what the property was worth. I didn’t know much about property values, but I wasn’t dumb—the building itself was a bit of a mess, if that wasn’t the understatement of the century, but the land was worth a small fortune.
“Mr Tierney—”
“Declan.”
“Mr Tierney,” I repeated, closing the envelope back up. “Are you mocking me?”
His eyebrows shot up.
He was surprised.
Good.
“I’m sorry?”
Damn right he was.
I stood up and handed the envelope back to him. “I should charge you that much for wasting my time. I know what that property is worth, and I know that number is not it.”
He sighed and switched the envelopes.
Christ.
Did he have a stationery aisle in his jacket?
“What about this one?”
“Please don’t waste your time—or mine, for that matter,” I said, pushing it back towards him. “I’m not selling The Ivy, and I’m not selling the land. You couldn’t give me a number that would make me do that. Now, if you weren’t invited, this is a private function, so please leave.”
He tucked the envelopes back into his inner pocket and smirked. “You’ll sell, Miss O’Neil, once you realise how much work it is to get that place back to a usable condition.”
“She said she’s not selling,” Ashley said, joining us and putting the drinks on the table. “If I heard her from the bar, you definitely heard her from there.”
Mr Tierney looked at her like she wasn’t worth his time.
She probably wasn’t.
She didn’t have any land he could try to buy.
“Here.” He held his card out to me. “In case you change your mind.”
I took the card and dropped it into a half-drunk glass of Coke that had been sitting on the table for God knows how long. “I’m. Not. Selling,” I said, raising my voice and drawing attention from others around us. “And even if I was, you and your shoddy, half-arsed construction company wouldn’t even be on my list of considerations, Mr Tierney. The Ivy has been in my family for two hundred years—there’s no monetary amount you could offer me that would make it worth selling, especially not to someone who’ll tear it down to build rows of identical, soulless matchbox houses. Now, again, please leave.”
He stared at me for a moment, ice building in his gaze. I half expected him to start shooting it out of his fingertips like Elsa.
“We’ll see,” he said, his tone as cold as his eyes.
Brandon slammed his bottle on the table and stood next to Mr Tierney. “She asked you to leave.”
The contractor eyed him before turning around with one last murderous glance at me on his way out. The whole pub seemed to be quiet for a moment, but the noise level rapidly rose back to where it was before like nothing had happened.
Brandon looked at me, his blue eyes piercing. “You okay?”
I nodded, sitting back down. “Thank you. I’m fine.”
“Was he trying to buy the B&B? I didn’t hear everything.”
“Yes. He might be the first, but I doubt he’ll be the last. It’s a lot of land in a prime location. I just thought he might have better manners than to ask me at Grandpa’s wake.”
“What did he offer you?” Ash asked, pushing my lemonade towards me. “You looked, right?”
“At the first one,” I said, bobbing my head. “Nine hundred grand.”
Brandon gave a low whistle. “There were two envelopes, right?”
“Yeah. I didn’t look at the second, but I’d imagine it was at least a million.”
Ash blew out a breath, shaking her head. “Is it worth that?”
“No idea, but probably.” I laughed, picking up the glass. “I don’t know a thing about property prices, to be honest, but it’s not always about that, is it? I’m the fifth generation of my family to own this place. You can’t put a price on history.”