“Sounds like a good time,” she said evenly.
He grinned at that, a slow-spreading, wholly delighted grin, and for a moment time slipped again. At one time her definition of happiness was simple: Mac Coltrane smiling at her.
She’d managed to finally shoot a glance at his hand. No ring.
But that didn’t mean there’d never been a wife. Somehow, given his previously outlined views on romance and kids, she didn’t think so.
“It’s ahouse, Avalon,” he said patiently, very reasonably. “I’m going to use it exactly as if it’s a house. I’m going to live in it, put my feet up, read Malcolm Gladwell books and listen to NPR.”
“Sure you are. Next you’ll be trying to sell me the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“Given how much you paid for this place, I like my chances of selling you the Golden Gate Bridge.”
She heaved a world-weary sigh. “Mac,” she said slowly, with as much lofty condescension as she could muster. “Mac, Mac, Mac. What you are failing to understand is that Ididget a bargain. It’s all about being able to see the potential.”
She in truth didn’t actually think this was quite a bargain anymore, given that it didn’t include the swimming hole or the actual rock named Devil’s Leap, or the rumored hot springs she’d never seen. Unless they were going by San Francisco standards, in which case the price was practically on clearance.
“Okay. I’ll bite, Harwood. You could buy property pretty much anywhere in Hellcat Canyon and build a bigger house from the ground up for half the cost. Why did you have to buy this particular house? Whatisyour”—he made air quotes—“‘vision’ for it?”
She contemplated hedging. It wasn’t any of his business, really. But the instinct to impress Mac Coltrane with her maturity and sophistication and cleverness overrode strategy.
It was either that, or challenge him to a footrace to Devil’s Leap.
“It’s simple, Mac. The house is big and utterly distinctive, there are gorgeous views from nearly every window, and the grounds and the land around it are spectacularly beautiful. All of which makes it an ideal location for a conference retreat and seminar center for Silicon Valley tech executives. The downstairs layout is perfect for workshops and breakout sessions, and the upstairs main rooms are large enough to partition into several additional rooms. Nature hikes and the Devil’s Leap swimming hole will be a huge lure. And there’s that private airfield nearby at the edge of town, which makes it all that much easier to reach, and adds just a touch more exclusivity to the whole thing. I’m going to do some updating and repairs, and then I’m going to sell it. I actually have a prospective buyer coming in tomorrow.”
Mac took this in thoughtfully, nodding along, his eyes going abstracted as if he were watching all of these conferences take place in his mind’s eye.
“Corporate retreats? Like... tech and gaming douches doing trust falls, and... and... shit like that? Former frat bros running around this property?”
She opened her mouth. Then closed it again.
Because frankly, despite herself, she thought that was a little funny.
Mainly because it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. And Mac never was much of a word mincer.
“Yes. Though”—and she made some air quotes of her own—“‘shit like that’ is quite a broad umbrella for a lot of other useful activities. And women will be involved, too, of course. CEOs of companies, like myself. It’ll be perfect for annual business planning, contract negotiations, takeover talks, seminars...”
A faint little dent appeared between his eyes. Almost but not quite a frown. He held this expression in silence until:
“Over my dead body.” But those words were strung like little beads on a filament of steel.
Her jaw dropped.
“Whatthe... It’s not like you have any kind of say in it. IT’S MY HOUSE.”
“Right.” He said that mildly enough, too. He smiled slightly.
But he wasn’t blinking.
He suddenly reminded her unnervingly of his dad. And to this day, Dixon Coltrane remained one of the scarier men she’d ever seen, including the guy who’d pointed a gun at her on Oak Street in San Francisco and demanded her money. Her one and only encounter with him on that fateful day lasted for only the time it took for her to ask where the bathroom was and for him to tell her. He’d told her, so politely it was only later she realized he’d dismissed her as of zero worth to him, the way it was said you barely notice it when a stiletto is first inserted.
She forcibly reminded herself that Mac had gone on to confirm exactly those sentiments in that phone call she wasn’t supposed to overhear.
This steely-eyed, coolly smiling man in front of her now made her uneasy. Despite the seductive glimpses of the boy she’d once known—the glinting, decisive wit, the suggestion of gentleness—she was reminded that she knew nothing about the adult Mac.
And it was probably best to keep it that way.
“Well, thanks for the ice, Mac. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to wrap up your farewell tour of my property right now. I’ve got a lot of emails to answer and I need to track down the owner of the Devil’s Leap tract and make him the proverbial offer he can’t refuse.”