Mr. Barrington was sitting on the corner of his desk with his arms folded intimidatingly across his chest. “If you’re coming in, close the door behind you.”
“Sorry, of course,” Emily said more apologetically than she meant to. Damn it, I’m not sorry. I’m angry, and I have every right to be. She walked over to the chairs just in front of his desk.
He looked at her for a long moment. “Have a seat.”
Be strong. She swallowed hard and met his eyes again. “I’d rather stand.”
A spark of something lit his eyes briefly before his expression became guarded again. “What are you doing here, Ms. Harris?”
Emily clasped her hands in front of her and said firmly, “I came to give you a warning.”
His eyebrows rose ever so slightly in surprise, and a faint smile pulled at his lips. He lowered his hands to the desk on either side of him and leaned forward. “Really?” He glanced down at his watch. “This should be interesting.”
What a self-centered bastard. Emily’s back straightened with pride. Laugh now, but you won’t be amused when you realize how serious I am. “You may think you won in Welchton, but you haven’t. You don’t have my land yet, and you won’t get it. If you take me to court, I will win, no matter what your army of lawyers tell you.”
Asher leaned back and pressed a button on the phone on his desk. “Ryan, are we buying property in Welchton?”
The assistant’s voice came across on speakerphone. “Yes, sir. You wanted a northern New England research facility. We chose New Hampshire. You signed the paperwork to move forward with it.”
“I did. How far along is the project?”
“We have all the permits. We’re waiting to resolve one minor issue.”
“Is that issue a reluctant seller?” Asher’s eyes held Emily’s as he spoke.
“Yes, but we don’t foresee it being a problem for long.”
“Nor do I,” Asher said firmly. “Ryan, interesting fact about Ms. Harris. She’s from Welchton.” He hit the button on the phone again, ending the call. He rubbed his chin and studied Emily. “Let me guess: You feel your property is worth more than we offered.”
There it was, the opening for her to explain the reason she refused to sell. She had to believe he was a reasonable man. Once he heard the history of the property and her plans for it, he’d surely change his mind about buying it. “There is no amount that would convince me to sell. My family—”
He straightened to his full height and looked her over again. “No amount? How about double what they offered you?”
Emily clenched her hands at her sides. It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it, that was insulting. “Do you know what their proposal was?”
“No.”
Anger burned and grew within Emily. She took a deep breath, though, and told herself to remain calm. There was a chance he didn’t know what he was about to destroy. “If you’d give me a minute to explain, I think you’d feel—”
Asher stepped closer to her, watching her expression closely. “How I feel is irrelevant when it comes to business.” He stopped less than a foot in front of her, forcing Emily to crane her neck to look up at him. “Why don’t we end this little game now? Tell me what you’re holding out for, and I’ll tell you if you have a chance in hell of getting it.”
“This isn’t a game. The Harris Tactile Museum is six months from completion. Maybe if you came up to see it, you’d understand how important it is.”
He didn’t look the least bit interested. “I’m sure our offer took your relocation cost into account. If not, counter with an amount that would, and my people will crunch the numbers.”
“I’m not selling, Mr. Barrington. Period. I won’t let you steal my land, and that’s what you’d be doing, even if you did it in a court of law. Having enough money to buy the outcome you want doesn’t make it right.”
His smile was indulgent and Emily, who considered herself a non-violent woman, was tempted to smack it off his face. “I like your spirit, Ms. Harris, but that doesn’t change that you’re standing between me and something I want. If I were you, I’d put together a counterproposal you can live with. I’ll give you my email. You can send it to me personally, and I’ll make sure it’s at least considered.”
She leaned toward him and threatened, “I may not have money, but I care about this museum, and other people will, too. I won’t be sending you a counteroffer, because I’m not selling.”
A corner of his mouth curled in a way that sent waves of heat through Emily. “I always get what I want, Ms. Harris.”
Emily stepped back. “Not this time.” She walked out and closed the door firmly behind her, taking a brief moment to lean against it for support before pushing off. She defiantly moved her wayward curl off her face and held her head high as she walked past the desk of Asher Barrington’s snooty assistant.
Chapter Two
I can’t believe I thought he’d care. What a pompous jackass. “I always get what I want.” Well, not this time, buddy. My mother didn’t let anything stop her from following her dreams, and I won’t let someone like you stop me from building a tribute to her. As she drove out of Boston and into one of the surrounding suburbs, she rehashed her heated meeting with Mr. I’ll make sure it’s at least considered Barrington again and again. Jerk.
I should have kept my cool. I should have spoken more about my mother and the reason the museum needs to be where I’m building it.
Not that he probably would have cared. Bastard.
I was hoping to do this the easy way, but it looks like I have to go with plan B.
Obstacles are opportunities if you’re brave enough to take them on. That was what her mother had always said. Emily refused to give up. Determination was in her genes just as surely as art was.
Her mother, Wendy Harris, had lived a life that had inspired everyone who knew her. Born blind, she hadn’t let that stop her from becoming an artist, a painter at that. Her works were uniquely tactile. She’d pushed the limits of what was considered a painting and had developed a technique that brought a three-dimensional element to her artwork.
Emily’s own appreciation for art had been acquired at her mother’s knee. They’d spent countless afternoons in museums. Her mother would ask Emily to describe a painting, first with what she saw, but then with greater detail about how the painting made her feel. Eventually Emily began to use clay to make the paintings her mother loved even more accessible to her.
Her mother had dreamed of creating a museum where people could run their hands over every piece of artwork displayed. A place where those who could not see were not banned from experiencing masterpieces. Nothing would stop Emily from making that museum a reality.
Determination made it possible for Emily to consider the unthinkable. Plan B was bold and more than a little underhanded. To some degree she felt like a snitch, but she steeled herself against her doubts. She was desperate.