Screwdrivered
Page 22

“Like I said, brawling before breakfast.” He winked (he winked!) and moseyed toward the barn door. And he was supremely qualified to bust out a mosey.
“How’d you know I won?” I asked, testing out my own mosey as I followed him.
He turned, leaning against the door, one arm over his head. Beef. To the motherfucking. Cake.
“You look like you can take care of yourself. That’s why.”
He moseyed away. I sneezed a dozen times.
Had I peeled away a layer? Perhaps not, but I’d certainly scratched through that papery brown skin on the outside.
I sneezed one more time, then headed for the shower.
After my shower I put on my robe and wrapped a towel around my hair, then curled up on the bed for a few minutes to collect my thoughts.
The idea of selling my company to my father had always felt like selling out. I’d created it, I managed it, I made a great living with it. On my own. But over the last year or so, I’d been longing to do something new. I couldn’t identify what that new thing was, just that it wasn’t in computers.
Now, my company was a means to an end. Not only that, it was the right means to an end. I knew it would be in good hands, and that it would give me the freedom to start my something new out there, whatever that meant. I had some ideas though, one in particular that was just starting to bubble away back there, hiding behind practical thoughts. I’d put a pin in it for now.
Curling my feet underneath me, I looked at my phone, simultaneously dreading and looking forward to this call. I scrolled through until I found Dad Office, and called my father. His secretary put me through.
“Peanut! How are you?”
“Hey, Dad,” I replied, rolling my eyes at the nickname as I always did. Secretly? I loved it. The nickname, no, but that I had a nickname.
“How’s it out there in granola land?”
“It’s pretty cool, actually. There’s a restaurant in town that has a cheesesteak on the menu—but on whole wheat bread!”
“Blasphemous,” he intoned gravely.
“That’s exactly what I said!” We both laughed. I filled him in on the details of my trip so far, knowing that my mother had already likely given him a full report, but also knowing that my dad liked to hear it directly from me. After a few minutes, he asked how long I was planning on staying.
“Well, actually, that’s what I was calling to talk to you about. I think I’m staying.”
He sighed. “You think so, huh?”
“I do.”
He sighed again. “And what are you planning on doing with your business?”
 I took a deep breath. “Actually, that’s the reason I’m calling. Still interested in buying it?”
“Wow. You really are staying out there.”
We were both quiet. I swallowed hard around the surprising lump in my throat.
“Okay, let’s talk terms here, what were you thinking?” he said briskly, all business.
After twenty minutes or so we had the beginning of an agreement. Several stipulations of course, and pending an independent review of my books and balance sheets, but the initial number put forth was well in line not only to cover the changes I’d need to make to the property, but to help me really make a new life out here.
It was more of a relief than I thought it’d be. No one had signed on a dotted line yet of course, but all signs were leading that way. I’d be on my own, more money in the bank, and an entirely new life ahead of me.
Almost three thousand miles away from my family.
That dratted lump rose once more in my throat, making me cough a bit. My eyes were stinging a little as well. Fanning myself, I made to get off the call.
“So, let’s talk about this again in a few days, huh? Let this sit a bit,” he said, his own voice a little gruff.
“Good idea.”
“Your mother and I are talking about coming out there soon to see you. When might be a good time?”
“You guys can come out whenever you want, you know that.” I sniffed a bit. Argh.
“Well, I’ll let you and your mother plan those details. Be glad to see you, Peanut,” he said.
“You too, Dad.”
We hung up and I stayed on the bed for a few minutes. Almost thirty years old, a woman who’d owned her own business for years, and my father could still make me feel three feet tall in the very best of ways. I tugged the towel off my head, my now-dry hair sticking out in all directions like I’d been electrocuted. Wiping off my face, I looked at the time and realized I needed to kick it into high gear. I scrambled off the bed and went to get myself in some kind of order.
I had company coming.
I stood in the doorway, watching for Simon’s car. They were due any minute. Caroline had texted me when they hit the edge of town, and as I bounced from foot to foot I realized I was anxious. Anxious for them to get there, anxious for them to see my new house. It was a good feeling, welcoming someone into your home. And even though it had only been my home for a few days, with lots of work to be done, I was eager to show it off a bit.
Walking the length of the front porch and back again, I saw a twinkle of headlights down at the bottom of the driveway. And soon, an old Range Rover was parked in front of the house, with four of the best-looking people I’d ever seen spilling out onto the crushed gravel. Seriously, it was like watching the opening credits on a TV series.
A couple I guessed to be Mimi and Ryan came from the backseat. She was shorter than I was, and I was used to being the shortest in most rooms. Tiny and petite, she had flawless golden skin and shiny black hair. She held hands with Ryan, who was tall and lean with curly blond hair. It was longish, pushed behind his ears, and green eyes danced behind horn-rim glasses. It did not escape my attention that when Mimi dashed in front of him, he clearly checked out her ass.
That right there said a lot about this couple. Even if you missed the enormous sparkly ring on her left hand.
And climbing out of the front of the Range Rover was one of my favorite people on the planet, Simon Parker. Dark hair, chiseled jaw, he was the kind of handsome everyone agreed on. No matter your type, no matter your preference, Simon had that generally agreed upon kind of good looks. And charm. A charm I was immune to romantically speaking, and always had been. But even though we had only ever been good friends, I could still appreciate a gorgeous guy. And speaking of gorgeous, his girlfriend was tall and slim and blond and stunning. The kind of girl you wanted to dislike on sight, but then she opened her mouth and she won you over. Funny, a girl’s girl, she could hold her own with Handsome over there, and that was something most women couldn’t do. Points for that in my book.