Page 32 of The Proposal Planner (Ever After #2)

“Maybe you've forgotten who you are.” His voice takes on the hypnotic quality I remember from boardroom presentations, the tone that made investors believe whatever he wanted them to believe.

“You think this place will fulfill you? That these people will challenge you?

You'll be bored within a year, resentful within two.

And by then, the opportunities I'm offering will have passed to someone else.”

For a moment—just a moment—I feel the old pull.

The seductive appeal of returning to a world where I understood the rules, where my legal skills were not only valued but essential.

Where I didn't have to worry about fog machines and festival permits and whether my girlfriend's mother approved of my breakfast choices.

Then I think of Maddy's hand in mine this morning, of the way Mrs. Russell called me son, of the look in Gloria's eyes when she brought me food without being asked. I think of the life I've built here, messy and complicated and nothing like what I planned.

And I know my answer.

“Thank you,” I say. “But no.”

Richard's expression doesn't change, but a cold gleam flashes behind his eyes. “You're making a mistake.”

“I've made worse ones.”

“Have you?” He leans back, studying me with renewed interest. “Because from where I sit, it looks like you're about to make the biggest mistake of your career. Of your life.”

“The lawsuit,” I say, understanding flooding through me. “This isn't about getting me back, is it? You're still fighting us. You want the Morrison Center destroyed, Henry punished for his rebellion, and me back as a bonus prize.”

Richard's smile is sharp as a blade. “Very good. Though I'd hardly call it a bonus. Your legal expertise was always what made my acquisitions bulletproof, Mason. Your father understood that. He knew the value of airtight legal strategy.”

“And if I don't come back?”

“Then you remain a capable opponent. One I'll have to handle accordingly.” He takes another sip of scotch, unnervingly calm.

“The lawsuit proceeds as planned. Your little festival becomes a desperate last stand instead of a celebration.

The community you're so fond of watches their dreams crumble while you stand helpless to stop it.”

The casual cruelty in his voice makes my stomach turn. This is what I used to enable—the cold calculation that treats human dreams as acceptable losses, providing the legal framework for Richard's systematic destruction of communities like this one.

“You think you can win?” I ask.

“I know I can win. The question is how much collateral damage you’re willing to accept.

” He leans forward, lowering his voice to a near-whisper.

“Come back, Mason. Help me wrap this up cleanly. The Morrison Center gets a generous donation, everyone walks away with dignity, and you return to work that matters.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I demonstrate why idealism is a luxury you can't afford.” His expression hardens. “I'll bury you, the Morrison Center, and anyone else who gets in my way. Including your charming girlfriend and her festival dreams.”

The threat lingers between us. This is Richard at his most dangerous. He’s not shouting, not posturing, but calmly laying out how he’ll dismantle everything I care about if I don’t fall in line.

“You're threatening Maddy?”

“I'm explaining consequences. Your father taught me that every acquisition needs perfect legal groundwork.” He finishes his scotch and stands. “You have until the festival to decide. After that, the offer expires, and the gloves come off.”

He drops several bills on the table—enough, by the looks of it, to cover both our drinks and a generous tip, maintaining his image even as he delivers ultimatums.

“Give my regards to the lovely ladies,” he says pleasantly. “Your girl and her mother.”

He walks out without looking back, leaving me alone—expensive scotch on my tongue and the cold certainty settling in that the real war is beginning.

I sit there for a long moment, processing what happened. Richard didn’t offer me a job—he showed me what we’re up against. A man who sees our community as collateral damage, our love as weakness, our hope as naivety.

But he also showed me more—how desperate he is. The fact that he came here himself, that he’s offering me everything I used to want, tells me we’ve gotten under his skin. We’re not another obstacle to be removed—we’re a genuine threat.

I walk back to the bar, where Gloria is waiting with a concerned expression.

“Everything alright, honey?”

“Better than I expected,” I say, and realize it's true. “Thank you. For the food, for watching out for me, for treating me like family.”

“That's what we do here, Mason. That's what it means to belong somewhere.” She studies my face carefully. “He's not done, is he?”

“No. But neither are we.”

My phone buzzes with a text from Maddy:

Maddy

Working late on vendor contracts. How's your evening going?

I stare at the screen for a moment, then type:

Me

Richard showed up. We need to talk. He made me an offer to come back, but that’s not why he’s here. The lawsuit is still active and he’s escalating. Festival became our deadline.

Her response comes right away:

Maddy

Are you okay? What did he want? Should I be worried?

Me

I’m fine. He wants to win—the lawsuit, the Morrison Center, everything. He’s giving us until the festival to surrender. I’m going to head home to shower and prepare. I’ll see you at the barn in the morning.

Maddy

Of course. We’ll figure this out together. Drive safely. Love you.

Me

Love you too.

I finish my scotch, leave a few bills on the bar—Gloria protests, of course—and head for the door. Behind me, The Cork & Crown hums with warmth and easy laughter. It’s a sharp contrast to the cold offer still echoing in my head.

The drive back to my Manhattan apartment gives me time to think, to process what happened. Richard didn’t threaten us—he gave us a gift. Now we know what we’re fighting and how much time we have.

Tomorrow, we'll plan our strategy, marshal our resources, prepare for a battle that will determine not only the fate of a community center, but the future we want to build.

Richard Kingston is about to discover that the most dangerous opponents are the ones with something worth protecting.