Life just kept on happening, damn it.
In keeping with the rule of letting someone know where she was, she pulled a piece of paper toward her, wrote out all the pertinent information, and pushed the sheet toward Harlan. “I’ll check in with you when I get back. If I don’t call by this date, send out the search party.”
Harlan nodded as he folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket. He’d done watchdog duty before, for her dad. He sipped his coffee, looking around at nothing in particular, and Angie noticed that guilty expression on his face again. An idea struck her and she said, “Wait, I’ll get my camera. It isn’t as good as yours, probably, but it takes decent pictures. You can take the SD card with you; I have another one.” That was something else she always took with her: a camera for photographing the victorious hunters, just in case they forgot to bring their own cameras.
“That’s okay,” Harlan said quickly, then turned red. “I need to tell you something.”
Angie stared at him in puzzlement. He seemed both embarrassed and disturbed, which was weird. “You can’t handle the listing?” She couldn’t think of anything else that would account for his expression.
“Of course, that isn’t it. No problem there. It’s just, well, I don’t need to take pictures because there’s already been an offer.”
“Already?” Angie sat back, her eyes wide. She didn’t know if she should be elated or terrified, because she hadn’t in her wildest dreams imagined the property would move so fast. This would save her a ton of money; on the other hand, she hadn’t had time to get herself emotionally or physically ready to move out, so this was kind of panic-inducing. Harlan must have immediately started spreading the word in the community, or e-mailed someone who—
Then a horrible thought occurred to her. She herself had told one person, someone who would have a vested interest in getting rid of her as soon as possible.
“Who?” She tried to keep her tone neutral, tried not to betray anything, but the look Harlan shot her told her that she’d failed … maybe because she could feel her eyes squinting into slits and her jaw clenching. No way was a neutral tone going to offset the Look of Death.
“Dare Callahan.”
Fury welled up inside her. She tried to tamp it down, tried to be reasonable. After all, she needed to sell, and the sooner the better. Callahan was actually doing her a favor, whether he knew it or not. Yeah, she wished anyone else except him would buy the place, but she had to get past that.
Harlan coughed. “I, uh, I happened to look out the window yesterday and saw you in the parking lot with him. I gather you aren’t on the best of terms.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” she muttered. “If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have to sell.” She sighed and rubbed her face, looked out the kitchen window to keep from looking at Harlan while she gathered herself, pulled it all back in. Okay. This made her so angry she could spit nails; she’d have to deal with it. She’d signed a contract with Harlan. If Callahan met her price, she was legally bound to honor that contract. That was what had Harlan so bothered; he knew she was caught, and he hated being the trap Callahan had used to catch her.
“He came straight up to my office after you left, then got back with me this morning after meeting with his banker, and made an offer.”
She was so focused on containing her feelings that it took her a few seconds to actually make sense of what Harlan was saying. Her head whipped around. “An offer?” That was different from taking the deal, which was what he would have said if Callahan had met her price.
“Yeah.” He turned his cup back and forth. “Would you be willing to take thirty thousand less?”
Angie erupted from her chair, unable to sit still with so much red-hot anger pouring through her. Going to the window, she clamped her hands on the edge of the sink and held on hard as she stared out, not seeing anything but using the time to get control of herself. The bastard! The low-down, miserable bastard! He knew how tough things were for her, had to have figured out she was close to bankruptcy and had to sell; he also knew how miserable the real estate market was right now, and how difficult it was to get financing. He pretty much had her over a barrel, and he was using that to get the property at a dirt cheap price. She and Harlan had priced it to give her a little maneuvering room for negotiation, but not thirty thousand dollars worth!
She didn’t have to accept the offer. Because Callahan hadn’t met her price, she was free to turn it down. But if she did, there was no guarantee she’d get another offer from someone else, and later on she might be so desperate she’d take even less money. Even worse: Did Harlan need the commission, even one based on the reduced price? Of course he did. How long had it been since he’d had a sale?
So she was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. Either way would cost her money. The more she delayed, the more of her money she’d lose in operating expenses—and if she took the deal right now, she’d lose it by taking the lower price.
She gritted her teeth, took a deep breath, and did the adult thing. “Make a counteroffer. Come down ten thousand.” That would buy her some time while she did this guide trip, but wouldn’t eat up so much time that she’d lose a lot to operations. And, who knew? He might come up ten thousand. Maybe he’d be willing to truly negotiate. Maybe he couldn’t swing her asking price, or the bank hadn’t been willing, and had low-balled her on his offer to give himself some wiggle room. Anything was possible. Not likely, because she couldn’t make herself give him the benefit of the doubt, but possible.