Chapter Twenty-seven
“I have changed my mind.”
Sin is seated at his desk, pouring over spreadsheets. He leans back, pulls his stylish glasses off his handsome face, and frowns. “Sorry?”
“I don’t feel comfortable keeping our plan from Aidan. I think we should tell him about your idea to turn Tásúildun into a hotel.”
“I see.” He smiles with his mouth but not with his eyes and I know he isn’t pleased. “When did you want to tell him?”
“Now.”
“Now?”
“He’s in the kitchen,” I say. “Why don’t I put the kettle on? We can all sit down, have some apple cake, and talk about the situation openly and honestly. What do you say?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, in that case, I think it would be a grave mistake telling Gallagher about the plan before we have performed a thorough due diligence.”
“Why?”
“Gallagher strikes me as the sort of man who makes his mind up about someone—and something—rather quickly. Once formed, I suspect his opinion isn’t easily altered.”
“I disagree.”
“Is that so?” Sin rests his elbows on the arms of the desk chair and forms a steeple with his fingers. “How long do you think it takes for someone to form a first impression? An hour? Five minutes? Thirty seconds?”
“Thirty seconds sound about right.”
“What would you say if I told you recent experiments by Princeton psychologists suggest that people develop first impressions in a tenth of a second.”
“I would say, I’m glad you were extremely farsighted when we first met or we probably wouldn’t be having this discussion today. Something tells me you wouldn’t have taken me serious if you had been able to see that I was clutching a Furby.”
“I would have taken you seriously, Tara,” he says, his deep voice convincing. “Just as I hope you are taking me seriously now. If we are not prepared, if we do not arm ourselves with as much information as possible, Gallagher will dismiss our idea completely.”
Our idea. Hearing Rhys describe the plan to save Tásúildun as our idea should make me feel as light and effervescent as a champagne bubble, but it doesn’t. What’s wrong with me? A handsome, intelligent, ambitious man wants to be my partner and I feel . . . flat. We left Aidan out of our plan and it feels wrong, just plain shady and wrong.
“I think you are wrong.”
“Perhaps I am, but are you willing to risk jeopardizing the best plan, the only plan, really, for saving our aunt’s castle?”
Sin might be right. Turning Castle Tásúildun into a hotel might be the only way to save our aunt’s beloved home, but I truly believe, deep down in my bones, telling Aidan is the right thing to do.
“I am willing to risk it, but only because I believe you are wrong about Aidan. He’s more open minded than you give him credit.”
“Very well,” Sin says, tossing his glasses onto the desk and standing. “Let’s tell him.”
Aidan is sitting on a stool at the counter when we walk into the kitchen, a half-eaten ham sandwich on a plate in front of him, a bottle of Bánánach Brew in his hand.
“Tara,” he says.
He nods at Sin.
“We have something we would like to share,” Sin says, wasting no time with pleasantries.
So much for apple cake and tea. It appears our cordial little chat is going to happen while we are standing around the counter, watching Aidan sip from a sweaty bottle of hard cider.
Sin tells Aidan his plan for transforming the castle into a luxurious resort in great detail—rattling off projected operating expenses and profits, offering a shrewd assessment of potential competition, and ideas for an aggressive, but thoughtfully tailored marketing strategy. By the time Sin finishes presenting his clear, convincing business plan, I am certain Aidan will be onboard.
“That sounds like a grand idea, Rhys.”
“It does?” Sin says, his brows knit together.
“Sure.” Aidan smiles at me. “What do you think, Tara? Isn’t it a grand plan?”
“Yes,” I say, fixing Sin with a smug, I-told-you-so smile. “Sin has thought of everything, hasn’t he?”
“Everything?” Aidan looks confused. “I wouldn’t say he has thought of everything.”
My stomach tightens.
“Really? What did he forget?”
Sin presses his lips together in a thin, tight smile and a muscle begins to twitch on his jawline, just beneath his right ear.
“I’m just an apple farmer,” he says, holding his hands out as if to show us his callouses. “I didn’t graduate from a prestigious university. What do I know about big business? I am probably being a feckin’ eejit, but don’t ya need to own land before ya build a hotel?”
“We do own land,” Sin says.
“Do we?” Aidan’s question seems benign, but I have a sick, uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that he is about to deliver a swift jab to the heart of our plan. “Do we own that hill?”
“Tara owns it.”
Aidan shakes his head.
Here it comes. Brace yourself.
“What does that mean?” Sin asks. “Why did you shake your head? What does that mean, Aidan? Tara owns the castle and the lands.”
“Tara owns the castle, but I am the legal leaseholder of eighty-nine of those acres.”
Sin curses and runs his hand through his hair.
“What is a leaseholder?” I say, looking from Sin to Aidan. “What does that mean?”
“It means, banphrionsa,” he says, smiling. “You can’t trade the keys to your castle without first consulting your serf.”
“Serf?”
“I pay the owner of Tásúildun an annual rent in exchange for the use of eighty-nine acres.”
“Am I right in assuming you possess a ratified, legally binding lease?”
“Right as Donegal rain, old chap.”
“How long is the lease?”
“Twenty-one years.”
“Twenty-one years?”
Aidan grins.
“Wait,” I say, still confused. “Are you saying I am going to be your landlord for the next twenty-one years?”
“Grand, isn’t it?” he says, winking at me.
Sin frowns.
“Would you consider . . .”
“Nulling my lease?”
Sin nods.
“Even if I wasn’t negotiating a lucrative deal with an international restaurant chain, I wouldn’t forfeit my right to the use of the land to a load of overweight tourists who would stomp around the hills in their ridiculous boots, trample the gorse, and litter the ground with their crisp wrappers.” Aidan looks at me. The grin has disappeared from his face. “Is that what ya want then, Tara? To let a load of tourists destroy the peace and beauty your aunt worked so hard to maintain?”
“Of course I don’t want to see Tásúildun destroyed,” I say, my voice wobbling. “But what choice do I have? I don’t have the money to maintain the castle, do you? No, you don’t! Sin came up with a solid plan to save the castle and he has the expertise to make it happen. Can you say the same thing?”
“That’s your problem, Tara.” He tosses his empty cider bottle in the recycle bin and walks to the back door. “Ya don’t have faith in me. You’ve never had faith in me. What’s worse, you don’t have faith in yourself.”