Page 7

Zach’s wince had nothing to do with the bumper of the cart’s lower tray hitting his lower shins.

Flint Carey. Carey Confidential himself.

In the flesh.

Well, no. Thank God not in the flesh. In Levi’s, a black-and-white floral Hawaiian shirt, and white PUMA Easy Riders. Because he’d apparently learned how to dress for success by watching reruns of the originalMagnum PI.

Rubbing his shins, Zach muttered, “Second thoughts.”

Flint leaned on the handlebar of the cart, seeming to enjoy the moment. “You’re supposed to signal when you change lanes.”

“I know. Sorry. I was…”

“Fleeing?”

Zach straightened and glared. It was true that over the past week he’d been trying to avoid running into Flint, but he’d figured his efforts were more subtle than that.

“Of course not. I didn’t even know you were in here”—he glanced at the beer bottles in the cart— “buying your lunch.”

Flint’s thin mouth curled into what Alton Beacher had called his “sarcastic smile.”

“I thought you accountant types lived for your three-martini lunches.”

Well, there was anotherOOF. Only that one struck home. Flint knew Zach had worked his ass off to get his PI license. And Flint knew how much Pop had been against that very thing.

Zach summoned an equally sarcastic smile. “See? You’re not as good a detective as you imagine.”

Flint’s eyes narrowed. He drawled, “L-O-L,” actually spelling it out in a dry, derisive tone. “At least I can recognize a lost cause when I see one.”

Was that supposed to be funny? Or were they really going to do this here and now?

Judging by Flint’s unrelenting expression, it seemed they were.

Zach retorted, “Good, because we’re not selling.”

“It’s my last offer.” Flint was no longer making a pretense at joking, and neither was Zach.

Zach repeated, “Good, because we’re not selling.” He hadn’t wanted to have this conversation at all, let alone in the middle of what amounted to the town center, but leave it to Flint, who had all the tact and finesse of a blunt instrument.

But as he answered, Zach realized he was not being held at gunpoint. He could simply escape this awkward situation by walking away. Sure, it was rude, but rude was Flint’s native language. Accordingly, Zach nodded curtly on what he figured was a pretty good exit line, turned, and went out through the sliding glass doors.

Unfortunately, Flint was also not being held at gunpoint. He abandoned his cart and followed Zach onto the sidewalk outside the market.

“I don’t understand you. I’m making you a good offer.”

“It’s a decent offer.” Zach wasn’t going to deny it.

“It’s more than decent. More than I can afford, frankly.”

Zach couldn’t help a snide, “I believe it.”

Flint’s eyes narrowed again, like he was lining up a sniper’s scope. “It’s also more than that business is worth.”

Maybe Zach deserved that one. “It’s not about the money.”

Flint sputtered, “It-it’s not about the money? This is business. What the hell else would it be about?”

“It’s ourfamilybusiness. It’s…” Hard to explain. Hard to explain to someone like Flint, who didn’t look like he had a sentimental bone in his body.