As if I didn’t already severely dislike the man. “You want us gone, so I don’t need to negotiate with you at all. You have more to lose here.”
“Maybe I changed my mind. Maybe someone convinced me that it’ll be another profitable venture for the town to leak pictures of you doing things like walking through goat shit and falling out of boats to a few tabloids back in New York. From where I stand, Ms. Lightly, you’re the one with a greater incentive to leave.”
I eyeball the crate again.
It’s hooked up on all four corners to a center pulley above the middle of the crate, and unlike the gate on the fence, the gate on this wooden box has a latch that’s not rusted.
He thinks I can’t figure this out and get up there?
He thinks I’m too precious? Too pampered? Too spoiled?
The man has no idea who he’s dealing with.
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