Page 13 of Sealing the Deal

“What if I told you I didn’t buy the Stormhawks to destroy it?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.” I step forward, not backing down. “You’re wasting your time talking to me. So, you can get out of my bar. I’ve got a meeting with my landlord.”

There’s a long, loaded pause. Grayson studies me, eyes flicking from the paintbrush in my hand to the fury written all over my face. For one annoying moment, I feel myself caught by the heat and challenge in those dark eyes, but I smother it with anger so fast I can almost pretend I saw nothing.

Then an infuriating smile curves his mouth. He speaks slowly, like he’s savoring the moment. “Actually, you’ve got a meeting with me. I’m your new landlord.”

My mouth drops open. I step back. What the hell is he talking about?

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I manage to say.

“I never joke about business.”

He’s lying. He has to be. “My landlord would never sell.”

Another smug smile. The hate I feel for this man blooms like a bruise.

“Everything’s for sale if the price is right.”

He pulls a folded stack of papers from the inside pocket of his suit. I snatch them from his outstretched hand, anger sharpening with every line I read. The papers are deeds to this entire strip.

The laundromat. The pawnbroker’s. The attorney practice. And my bar.

Fury floods in, scorching hot. My bar. My fortress. My legacy. This place is everything to me. Everything. And now, Grayson Ashborne owns the Stormhawks. He owns this strip. And he owns the building to my bar.

“Congratulations,” I say bitterly. “Now you can hike my rent up and destroy another business alongside the Stormhawks.”

“I’m not going to raise the rent right now.” He ignores my tone, keeping his cool, all business, but I don’t miss the threat to his words. Not right now, but soon. “For the time being, while my company assesses the retail potential, I’ve lowered your rent.”

I hesitate. This has to be another trick. I think of the articles I’ve read this week. Ashborne Holdings has a reputation for being ruthless and sneaky. No way he lowers my rent without wanting something in return. I can’t see the play, but there has to be a reason.

I narrow my eyes. “What’s in this for you?”

“My initial assessment suggests your old landlord had your rent priced higher than market value. High rent means you go out of business, and I’ll be left with empty buildings. That’s not good business sense. While my company⁠—”

“Got it,” I snap, not wanting to hear any more of his bullshit business spin. I lift my chin. “But why have you bought my bar?”

He watches me, eyes steady. “I need your help.”

Any sense of vindication I feel at being right is lost to the realization that somehow The Hay Barn has been caught in the cross hairs of Ashborne Holdings and whatever games they’re playing.

“No way.” My reply is instant. No way am I helping this man. I bet he would trade his own grandmother for a tax break and call it good business.

“You haven’t heard what I’m asking for yet.”

“Fine, tell me why you need my help and why you bought this building, and then I’ll tell you where you can shove it.”

“The protests and online hate for me is damaging the Stormhawks.”

“You should’ve thought of that before buying the team,” I mutter. “We’re not an auto parts company or whatever you normally buy. We’re a team. That matters to a lot of people in this city.”

Grayson continues like I haven’t spoken. “It’s making sponsors nervous. If I can’t turn things around, get the fans on side and show the sponsors the Stormhawks are still a team worth putting their money in before the negotiations start after the playoffs, they walk, and that means no financial investment in the team.”

“You’re the billionaire. Just put your own money in. Ashborne Holdings can be our sponsor, right?”

A muscle tightens in Grayson’s jaw. Something I’ve said has rattled him. Good!

Except when he replies, his voice is still level. “I need to win over the fans during the playoffs so the sponsors don’t cut and run in the offseason.”