“Hello?”
“We have a huge problem.”
Larry’s Kermit-the-Frog voice assailed her from the other end of the line. “I’m staring at a contract between Tradewinds and the Maui Indigenous Landowner’s Consortium. Are you familiar with the document I’m referring to?”
She’d reviewed a ton of documents over the last week, but did her best to pull the terms of the one in question into focus. “I think so. I don’t have it in front of me at the moment, but I don’t understand the problem. It grants Tradewinds some sort of an easement, correct?” Between the cumbersome legalese and anachronistic land rights, easement was about all she’d gotten from the contract.
“Here’s the problem. Tradewinds doesn’t own the strip of land providing the beach access for the resort. A critical piece of land, I think you’ll agree, because a resort in Maui with no beach access is like a Vegas hotel with no casino.”
“But we have the easement, from the Maui Indigenous Landowner’s Consortium.”
“Tradewinds has the easement. The right is non-transferable, and, in fact, automatically revoked upon conveyance of at least fifty percent of the hotel, measured in terms of property or ownership shares, to another person or entity.”
Chelsea’s gut knotted as understanding dawned. “So, the minute St. Sebastian buys, Tradewinds’ beach access vanishes?”
“Exactly. Someone from Tradewinds needs to get over to MILC right away with a big fat checkbook, because those fellows have us over a barrel. If Tradewinds can’t negotiate a transfer of the easement to St. Sebastian, this deal is dead in the water.”
“St. Sebastian knows about this issue?”
“Their attorneys discovered it today.”
Great. The problem would be waiting for Rafe as soon as he stepped off his plane in L.A. He’d call her all right, to pull the plug on the purchase before it cost him the chairmanship. In her mind’s eye, her bonus circled the drain. Would he give them time to try and finesse a rights transfer?
The rest of the day whirled by in a series of calls—with the Templetons, the lawyers, a joint call with everyone. She walked out into the late Friday afternoon sunshine shouldering one additional responsibility: contact the MILC representatives first thing next week and negotiate an easement transfer.
On the way to her car, her phone rang. Nerves coiled in her stomach. Hanging up on Cindy earlier hadn’t discouraged the woman one bit. She’d sent two email rants. Chelsea battled an unheroic urge to put her phone on silent until Monday morning, because between Cindy coming unhinged and the deal unraveling before her eyes, she really couldn’t handle any more, but the caller ID read Babycakes. Her conscience forced her to take the call. Laurie had a stake in the deal, and she deserved to know things looked grim. Forcing enthusiasm into her voice, she answered. “Hey.”
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”
So much for her Academy Award. “What isn’t wrong would take less time.”
“I’ve got nothing but time, Chels.”
She sighed, opened her car door and sagged into the driver’s seat. “We’ve hit a snag with the sale. This problem puts my bonus at risk. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. I adore you for trying to ride to my rescue, but you can’t take on responsibility for the success or failure of this deal. That’s on the Templetons and Rafe. You’re there as a facilitator.”
“I’m still trying, and everything might work out, but I have to be realistic. The problem the attorneys uncovered is serious.” Briefly, she summarized the complication for Laurie.
“Oops. Little oversight on the Templetons’ part.”
“They honestly didn’t remember the restrictions on the right of way. They secured the easement a long time ago, when they first built the resort, and in all those years they never gave any serious thought to selling, so the issue never came up.”
“Till now.”
“Right.” Chelsea closed her door, started the car, and switched her phone to hands-free mode. “Until now.”
“What does Rafe say about the situation?”
“Um, actually…” She craned her neck to look behind her as she backed up. “I’m not sure he’s aware yet. He flew back to L.A. today, so he probably just landed.”
“Ah. Well.” Laurie gave a long, envious exhale. “If the deal doesn’t go through, at least you got a week of good, not-so-clean fun with the talented Mr. St. Sebastian.”
“Yeah.” Chelsea braked at a stoplight and winced at the flatness of her own voice.
“Uh-oh, again. Don’t tell me Rafe…how shall I say…fell short of expectations? That’s damn disappointing after all the fireworks in the supply closet.”
“No, no. He was…” What word accurately described the last several days? “Perfect.”
“Perfect? Nobody’s perfect. You sound really low.” Concern sharpened Laurie’s voice. “Oh, no. You’re not missing him, are you?”
Maybe. “Of course not.” She made a left onto the road to Kihei and stared down the lonely single-lane highway. “We had our fun. Great while it lasted, but now we’re done.” She infused the statements with a breeziness she was far from feeling. “I’m just stressed about the deal.”
“I hate to add to your stress, but I called to give you a heads up.”
A heads up from Montenido? That couldn’t be good. “What happened?”
“I ran into Paul at the market today. The jerk snuck up on me in the produce section and started pumping me for information. How are you? Do you want your old job back? Do you miss him? I told him you were doing great and you’d outgrown everything about your old life, including him, but I think he’s going to need to hear it from you.”
“Perfect. Cindy already called and accused me of trying to break them up.”
“That must have been special.”
“Fairly horrifying, actually. I didn’t handle it correctly.”
“Please tell me the words, ‘I’m sorry,’ didn’t pass your lips.”
She winced. “Well, she was upset—”
“Chels, we’ve talked about this.”
“I know. I know. I’m still trying to get a muzzle on my nice girl. But I also hung up on her, if that redeems me at all.”
“Wow. That’s a first. She must have been spitting fire.”
“She was. If Paul does contact me again, and she finds out, his chances of fathering another child are over.”
“His risk,” Laurie said. “I’m more concerned about you. You don’t want your old job back, do you? Or your old life?”
“No.” She blew out a breath. “I miss Montenido. I miss my family and friends. I even miss Las Ventanas. I’d jump at the chance to come home, given the right opportunity. But I’m not interested in being an assistant manager again, and I’m definitely not interested in repeating mistakes with Paul.”
“Good. I’m relieved to hear you say so. Tell the slimy, two-timing scumbag the same thing. Be brutal. No catering. And no apologizing, or he’ll think he has the upper hand, and he won’t listen to a word you say. The next time he contacts you, you need to own the conversation right off the bat.”
“He won’t call.”
“Funny thing about men, Chels. The ones you want to call rarely do, and the ones you never want to speak to again won’t leave you alone.”
Chapter Nineteen
Rafe stood on his deck with his phone tucked to his ear, and threw a pretzel to the sandpipers skittering in and out of the surf below. He’d share the snack, but not his drink. The scotch he needed to get through the call with his father.
“A beachfront hotel with no passage to the beach? This is a joke, no?”
“No.” He tossed another pretzel, and briefly outlined the problem with the easement. No need to go deep into the weeds. His father would have gotten exhaustive details from the attorneys. This conversation was a test of how well Rafe grasped the issue, and what he planned to do about it. When he finished his summary, his father waited a moment before responding. The man appreciated drama.