Stay With Me (21 page)

I chuckled. “That you have no clue how to run?”

“I need a Coke,” Dad said, turning, straightening a display of tin and copper cooking forms. “Just be here at noon. We’re taking her to the diner for lunch.”

“Joy.”

He saluted and kept walking. Abby looked at me and then watched her poppy meander through the store, adjusting things like he always did, before heading back upstairs to his world. His TV. His mini-fridge. I watched him, too, as he took the steps slowly, looking very dapper and corporate-old-management in his dress clothes and perfectly combed hair. I still couldn’t picture him in a Godfather movie though, meeting creepy guys behind the Dumpster.

“What do you think?” she said.

I took in a slow breath and let it out. “I think he’s got his mind set on something and I’m going to have to fight to change it.”

• • •

At eleven forty-five, I looked up from closing out a very successful online bid to see it was almost hell time. Dad’s footsteps clomped overhead at the same time, telling me he was antsy.

Just as I got up to hit the bathroom, I heard a female’s voice, low and refined.

“Hello?”

“Crap,” I muttered.

Dad’s footsteps increased double time as he hit those stairs in seconds. I met him at the horse stall and stood next to him smiling at a very pretty, very coiffed, very out-of-place woman.

She had light brown hair with some blonde highlights perfectly woven in, pulled sleekly to one side to make her appear both professional and feminine. She wore a tailored suit that fit her like a dream and showed off legs that ended in shoes my low-budget feet would never see.

Dad stepped forward like a king welcoming her to his castle. As he should. It
was
his castle. And I might not be queen, but I was the managing princess on record. Currently dressed in jeans and Sperry’s and a tank top with a button-down shirt.

I had been in a bit of a rush getting dressed with Abby breathing down my neck to leave. Not that it would have mattered. In fact, if I’d given it more thought, I’d have probably opted for shorts and flip-flops.

“Miss Slade?” Dad asked. At her polite smile and nod, he continued, extending his hand. “I’m Theo Barnes. This is my daughter Savanna.”

She took his hand but zeroed in on me. Her eyes said she knew who the hard sell was.

“Please call me Emery,” she said. “Both of you.”

“Emery,” I said, shaking her hand. No limp fish, that was good. “Call me Savi.”

“Savi,” she said with a head tilt. “I love that.”

“Yeah, it’s a peach,” I said, earning a glare from my dad. “So are you hungry?”

I was starving. Like for a big greasy hamburger and sweet potato fries. Comfort food—I needed it. And I wanted to get this lunacy over with and out of our lives.

“Certainly,” Emery said. “But do you mind if I look around a bit first?”

“Absolutely,” Dad said, leading her to the front corner, where his prize clock table resided. “Let me tell you about the history of this place.”

That was okay. Maybe Missy would show up in the meantime. She would be a great asset for my side. I could hear Emery Slade laughing with Dad and asking questions about the various merchandise. He was playing up the old days. It was like watching him on a blind date.

They headed slowly up the stairs, just disappearing when Missy came in.

“Did I miss her?” she said, looking around. She was in old jeans and a flowing gauzy blouse.

“No, she’s upstairs with Dad,” I said.

“Did you tell her this is bullshit?”

I chuckled. “Didn’t really get past hello at this point. I figure that’s what lunch is for.”

Careful footsteps on the stairs told me they were on their way down.

“Bet she wishes she wore different shoes,” Missy muttered as they made it down.

“Emery, this is Missy Mulgrave, our best picker,” I said.

Emery smiled brilliantly, showing perfect teeth as she shook Missy’s hand. I couldn’t help thinking she and Duncan would make a beautiful couple. I could see
them
in the Facebook photos. Right before I’d punch her in the mouth.

“So nice to meet you, Missy,” she said.

“Likewise,” Missy said. “What’s your astrological sign?”

“Oh, good grief,” Dad mumbled.

“I’m sorry?” Emery said, her demeanor slipping a bit, thrown off by the question.

“Your sign?” Missy repeated as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “When’s your birthday?”

“Um—it’s August fourteenth,” she answered slowly. Probably thought she’d walked into a Hicks Gone Wild set.

“A Leo,” Missy said, nodding. “Hmm.”

“Let’s go have lunch, shall we?” Dad said, steering Ms. Slade toward the door and away from Missy. “I thought we’d walk down a couple of blocks to the diner if you don’t mind?”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said. “I love hometown diners. So much Americana.”

“Oh, Lord,” Missy muttered, nudging me with an elbow as we fell in line behind them.

“I already checked out the meat market across the street,” she said, gesturing to the butcher shop.

My steps faltered as my ankles went weak. “Getting some meat to take home?” I asked.

“No, I’ll be here a few days,” Emery said. “But I’ll get some before I go.”

“A few days?” I asked.

“Sure,” Emery answered. “I want to get a feel for things here.”

Missy and I exchanged a look. That sounded awfully committed. I wondered if Blaine had already signed up.

“Where are you staying?”

“At the Copper Inn right off the interstate?” she answered. “Ian across the street suggested one of the rooms above the meat market, but I think the inn is fine for just a few days.”

I grabbed Missy’s arm for support and she clamped a hand over mine without skipping a beat.

“Probably a good idea,” Dad said, not turning around.

“Well, and those rooms don’t have a private bathroom, so—” I managed.
Unless she just bunked with her new buddy, Ian.

“Yeah, I’m gonna stay where I am,” she said. We passed the courthouse, where you could see a glimmer of the river through the park. “This is a beautiful town.”

“Not so great,” Missy said. “Being so close to the water brings cockroaches. The ones we got here will stand up and shake your hand.”

“Oh,” Emery said, pulling a face.

I elbowed Missy, who I knew was trying to unsell the idea of Copper Falls.

“It’s not that bad,” Dad said. “We’re here,” he added, pulling open the heavy door and holding it open for us. “Thank God.”

I smiled up at him as I passed and tried not to drool as the mouthwatering aromas hit me in the face. It was busy as usual at lunchtime, and the owner, an old man named Johnny Mack Ryan, barked orders at some poor underling. His daughter, Linny, fussed at him as she waited tables and turned in orders, still turning to give me a smile and head wave.

I didn’t know Linny outside of the diner, other than knowing she’d been in Lily’s class back in the day. I went to school with her brother, but we ran in very different circles. As in I didn’t have one. I had Ian.

“Sit anywhere,” Linny mouthed as she delivered food-laden plates to a booth nearby.

Dad was already doing that, guiding Little Miss Americana toward a booth by the window.

“God, it smells amazing in here,” Emery said. “I don’t remember the last time I had a burger, but I’m having one now,” she said, laughing.

“I had one two days ago,” Missy said. “But I’m game again.”

“So where are
you
from, Emery?” I asked, figuring small talk was required. And because my dad was giving me the death glare.

“I’m originally from Florida, but I’ve been in Dallas for the last five years,” she said.

Oh, good, another Floridian. She and Ian could compare notes.
What the hell was wrong with me?

“Married?” Missy asked. Or demanded, actually. I saw my father wince. “Any kids?”

Emery laughed, and palmed her water glass when it came. Her nails were natural, I noticed, which surprised me for some reason. I expected something more refined for some reason. Must have been the teeth.

“Divorced, actually,” she said. “And a son. He’s twelve.” She took a sip of her water.
“His
birthday is February second, in case that matters.”

I bit back a laugh, but I was impressed. Emery Slade thought on her feet. I had to respect that. Even Missy chuckled.

“Well, I’m sure you already know you have your hands full,” Missy said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Emery said. “And you?”

“I have two sons, two daughter-in-laws, and four grandkids,” Missy said.

And two dead husbands, she neglected to say.

“I have a daughter, she’s twenty-one,” I said.

“Oh, in college?” Emery said.

“No, in two jobs,” I replied.

Emery chuckled. “My sister did the same thing, chose the workingman’s route like that made it more honorable. She’s still working her butt off for not much honor.”

I blinked and smiled. Emery didn’t strike me in the few minutes I’d known her as one to speak randomly. So what the hell?

“Well, everyone sitting at this table with you is on that same plan,” I said.

The fact that she registered no backpedaling or remorse on her face and simply sipped her water told me I was right.

“Exactly,” she said. “Which eighty-eight percent of America finds romantic.”

“Romantic?” Missy scoffed. “They need to blow some kisses to my bank account then.”

Emery pointed at Missy. “And that’s why I’m here.”

I sat back in the booth seat, regarding her. She was smart and slick. But I was no ordinary dumb romanticized hick.

“So, do tell,” I said, locking eyes with her.

Emery paused, and I saw the challenge spark in her eyes, the slight curve to one side of her mouth.

“The public eats this stuff up, Savi,” she said. “You represent everything the more industrious part of the world fantasizes about.”

“More industrious,” I repeated. Another insult.

“A simpler life,” she continued. “Hometown BS. Deals made with a handshake—all that.”

“You might be surprised we actually use real paper money down here in the sticks,” I said softly. “My bartering skills ran dry after they paved the roads and started cleaning up the road kill.”

Emery’s face broke out in an amused smile. “You’re insulted.”

“No, I’m thinking I’m not bright enough to be insulted,” I said, matching her smile. “Maybe I’m just hot under the collar.”

“Savi,” Dad said, speaking for the first time. “I don’t think she meant anything.”

“Oh, I think she totally did,” I said. “And I’m not sure what I find more amusing, Ms. Slade.” I leaned forward. “The fact that you think using insults as some backward mind-fuck sales strategy actually works, or that you don’t realize you’re rude.”

Chapter Fourteen

To Emery Slade’s credit, one eyebrow inched upward, but the coolness otherwise remained.

“I’m sorry if I offended, Miss Barnes,” she said. “My intent is not to sell myself but to sell you on the idea of Antique Nation making your little business hit the big screen.”

“Well, let me clue you in on something I’ve learned in a lifetime of being in the
selling
business,” I said. “It is about selling yourself. You are the mouthpiece for what you represent, and when you smell off, no one will buy from you.”

“What does Antique Nation stand to gain by this?” Missy asked. “Why the full-court press?”

“Glad you asked,” she said. I’ll bet. “Honestly, it’s exactly what I was trying to tell you. The hometown factor is appealing. Especially with two of you in the same town.”

I sat back again. “Blaine.”

“The Brass Ass deals in high-end merchandise,” Emery said. “You have the rustic side. There’s market for both, and from a business standpoint that covers it all.”

“And from a television standpoint, you can make it the Hatfields and McCoys duking it out in the hokey little town,” I said.

Emery tilted her head. “Colorful way to put it.”

“I’m fancy like that,” I said.

“Well, that is the crux of it,” Emery said.

“Not really,” I said. “We get along just fine. And Blaine?” I asked. “Is he already on board or are you wooing him, too?”

“Phone talks have been progressive,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “But I haven’t met him in person yet. You were first.”

I looked at Dad, who was focused on stirring his ice water with a straw.

“And us? The people currently running the businesses?” I asked.

“Are given the option to stay on—”