That document is a deed of ownership, apparently. It's twenty pages long and looks like my worst nightmare in terms of combinations of words.
But I can't fucking sign something and not read it. Especially when it comes from Nate, the devil himself. So I pour myself a glass of water, sit down at the kitchen island in nothing but a robe, and get to work.
I've not finished the first sentence when the headache comes back.
Fuck. I hate words.
It says something about a hotel.
"Cascade Hotels?" I murmur to myself.
Isn't that some fancy chain of hotels? There's one in Silver Falls, on the South Bank.
I look at the name of the current owner. Campbell?
I read the next line, murmuring to myself. "…Cascade Hotels…ugh, fuck." That's the same line. I go back to the name, reading the line three times before I realize I haven't moved forward.
"Fuck," I snap.
Putting my index finger on the page, I bend closer and follow as I read.
I startle when the door to the kitchen opens.
