Page 13 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
“Exactly fucking right. I have no idea what the people with the second offer want to do with it, but it must be more of the same.”
Well, I had thought maybe condos, but since I’m in a hurry to snatch up this land so Skinner can’t have it, it’s the first time I’ve ever tried to buy property without making sure of the planning permission and zoning first. This time revenge is more important than what I could build. There are only two crucial issues at stake here—that Skinner does not get the land, and that I do.
Frankie moves away from the window, and me. “Anyway, I’ve always thought this barn would make an amazing gift shop and tearoom. That’s if we could increase visitor numbers, I mean. But we’ve never been able to raise the funds to do it.”
As much as I’d like to hammer through this conversation and nail down all her whys and wherefores about being so reluctant to let go of the sanctuary, I’ve learned that sometimes it’s the slowest steps that get you to thefinish line first. Sometimes you have to be the tortoise, not the hare.
And here, literally right under my nose, is an opportunity for some tortoise-ing.
“What’s all this for?” I point at a camping cot and hodgepodge of old tables and cabinets littering the loft.
“Oh, Dean stayed here for a while.”
Who the fuck is Dean? Her boyfriend?
Why would I assume it would be her boyfriend? Thanks, brain, for immediately going there.
“Dean?” I ask, carefully omitting the word “boyfriend.”
“The last full-time member of staff. He worked here for a couple of years while saving up to go to veterinary school. Grandpa let him live up here rent-free, and he bartended at The Moody Rooster in the evenings for extra cash.”
Oh, here’s my in. This is a bigger gift than I could ever have hoped for. “Could I stay here?” After I’ve fumigated it to within an inch of its life, of course.
Frankie recoils slightly and her eyebrows spike. Maybe I was a little abrupt or eager.
“What I mean is, if I were to volunteer for you full-time. Could I do that in exchange for accommodation here?”
“Don’t you already have somewhere to stay?” she asks, her brows narrowing to something closer to suspicion. “If you’re digital-nomading, I assumed you already had a place and all your stuff is there.”
Since I’d intended this to be a day trip, I don’t exactly have much stuff with me. The shoes, sweater and wool jacket I wore here are in the trunk of my car, along with my laptop. And I left the car in town andtook a taxi here because I was afraid my spotlessly clean silver Mercedes might not give the impression that I am a downhome rural spirit who’s good with animals.
But at least I’d foreseen this question and thought through my story.
“I’m staying at the Park ’N’ Sleep. I was traveling in a camper van. But it was stolen a couple of days ago, along with everything I had in it. I need a new one. And that’s one of the reasons I came to Warm Springs. There’s a local guy who builds out custom vans. Saw him on Instagram. Thought maybe I could get a new one from him.”
“Your investments must do well, then,” she says. “Those things aren’t cheap.”
I hold her skeptical eyes. “They do, yes. Very well.” Also one hundred percent true. “Staying here would be much more interesting than that boring hotel, though. There’s Wi-Fi in here, right? Because I’d still need to do my own work as well as help you with all the…donkey stuff.”
“Yeah, I had someone come out and set up a whole new high-speed system a year or so ago when the old one died. I was trying to get Grandpa to do some social media with funny donkey videos to raise awareness, but he couldn’t get into it. So I had a high school girl do it as a part-time job. And she did great, was getting us real traction. But then she left for college, and I couldn’t get anyone else to take over and stick to it. It’s hard for me to manage anything from a distance. So all that stuff’s been virtually dead for a while.”
“Where is your grandpa, by the way?” I suddenly remember I’m not supposed to know. So bad at the pretending thing.
“Staying in a rehab unit at Senior Central.” She giggles, her mouth turning into that one-sided smile again. “That’swhat the locals call the retirement home. He’s recovering from a double knee replacement. That’s why I’m here. To make sure he actually does recover and doesn’t keep sneaking out to scrub the water troughs or check the donkeys’ hooves or anything that might set him back.”
“Both knees? At once?” I ask. “That’s seems like a lot.”
“Yeah, he opted for that because then it’s just one recovery time. He can’t bear to be away from this place. Also, I wouldn’t have been able to get two chunks of time off work to cover for him. And he wouldn’t trust anyone else to do everything right.”
“How will he cope alone once he’s home?” If I can sow the seed that his time being able to manage this place is limited, maybe she’ll realize that selling isn’t such a bad idea after all.
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out.” Her brow tightens, like that thought weighs heavily on it.
“Well, while he’s gone, I’m here to help with all the things you don’t want him doing.” How the fuck do you check a hoof? And what are you checking itfor?
“And maybe you’ll be here even after he gets out.” Her expression changes to one of hope. “I mean, if you decide Warm Springs is the place for you. And you like the animals.”
Frankie gazes around us. “But, for now, if you’re going to stay here you’d have to use the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom at the house. Because, obviously, there are no facilities at all in here.” She gestures at the huge empty space that’s home to nothing but dust and a precipitous drop to the tractor below.
