by Serena Bell
8
Trey’s nephews, Tyler and Jacob, stood on either side of him as he tapped another nail into the siding of Brynn’s house. “You don’t want to drive the nailheads flush with the siding. Because the head will break the face and let water in.”
He showed them how to leave just the nailhead exposed, then handed the hammer to Tyler and watched him as he imitated what his uncle had just demonstrated.
“Good,” Trey said.
Tyler had gotten a lot more comfortable with the hammer over the last few days.
Helping his nephews reminded Trey of when Carl had shown him how to build the covered lemonade stand. That had been his favorite part of the whole venture. Aside from counting the money at the end, of course.
Working with Tyler was pretty satisfying. The boy was a good listener and a hard worker. So far, they’d cut away the rotted siding, primed and painted the new boards, and begun replacing the ruined pieces. Next they’d caulk any gaps.
You could see that Tyler was eager to be helpful to his mom. Trey remembered the feeling well. Wanting to be helpful was how Trey’s first real business had gotten started. He’d done so much yardwork for his mom that it had made sense to start charging other people to do it. Xavier Landscaping had eventually grown more successful and better trusted than most of the companies run by the town’s men.
Brynn came up beside him. “Thank you,” she said quietly, tilting her head to indicate her son.
“I’m here anyway, until I get this deal done.”
“You can’t just say you’re welcome, can you.”
It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t try to answer it.
“What’s going on with the inn? I thought you were selling it to your developer friend?”
“Things got a little complicated. Auburn Campbell wants to buy it.”
The mention of her name set his blood in motion. Just anger, he told himself, though he knew it was a lie.
“Huh,” Brynn said. “And you’re thinking about selling it to her?”
He didn’t like the mischief in Brynn’s eyes. This wasn’t some kind of joke or game. It was a time-sucking pain-in-the-ass. He was letting the bluff sink in for his grandfather and Auburn. A long legal fight they’d almost certainly lose. He’d be willing to bet they’d talked to their own lawyers by now and were just about ready to back down.
“No. Absolutely not. But I can’t sell it to my developer contact without Carl’s buy-in, and he can’t sell it to Auburn without my buy-in.”
“Interesting,” Brynn said, dragging the word out to a thousand syllables.
He ignored her, pointing at the house. “When you water the lawns, you need to make sure no water hits the house. Or you’ll get more rot.”
His phone rang.
“Can you watch Tyler with the hammer for a sec?” he asked Brynn. “And then make sure he helps Jakey hammer one in, too?” He stepped away to answer the call. “Xavier.”
“Hey, Trey, it’s Doug. Rumor has it things aren’t going as smoothly as you’d like on the Beachcrest front.”
Trey let his head fall back, his eyes closed. “Who’ve you been talking to?”
“Hey, man, I grew up in that town. You know I have ears there. Someone mentioned to someone who mentioned to someone that the woman who’s been running the place for your granddad wants to buy it and your granddad is on board with selling it to her. And also that she has no fucking money.”
“I’ve got it under control.”
“Jesus, Xav, I hope you do. There are a hundred and fifty employees here who hope you do. We don’t have time to dick around. It’s shit or get off the pot time.”
“I know that,” he said tightly.
“If you’re not going to do the deal, I’ve got to get these severance packages paid out—”
“I know.”
The tightness in his voice must have finally gotten through to his chief operating officer, because Doug sighed. “I hope you do. You know a partition suit could take weeks. Months.”
“They don’t know I’m in a hurry. They’re going to lose if it goes to court. Their lawyers will tell them that, and they’ll back down. I give it less than twenty-four hours.”
“What about the woman? Can’t you offer her something that’ll make her go away? Everyone has a price.”
He hadn’t tried to buy her off outright. But he’d seen the conviction in her eyes. Still, Doug was right. If there was a sum he could offer her, he had to try. They could pay it out to her once the Beachcrest deal was done. She had to have a weakness. Maybe her family …
“Don’t worry,” he told Doug. “I’ve got it covered. You sit tight, I’ll take care of business here, and you’ll get your bonus when Home Base sells.”
“Your mouth, God’s ear,” Doug said, but he sounded a lot less certain than Trey would have liked.
He ended the call and stepped back to where Brynn stood.
“Hey,” she said. “Since you have to be here anyway, what if I made you dinner tonight?”
“I, um, have to deal with something at Beachcrest.”
It was always better to have a tricky conversation in person if you could.
What was it Brynn had said to him the other day?
You just keep telling yourself that.
9
“Oh, God, we’re losing South America,” Auburn said. “Deja, can you get down there and do something?”
Chiara, Auburn, and the four romance writer guests were playing the board game Pandemic in the dining room of Beachcrest—cooperatively trying to save the world from four deadly diseases. Between them, the romance writers had brought nearly an extra suitcase’s worth of card and board games with them on their retreat, and they’d roped the sisters into an evening of pizza and play. It was the first time since Carl’s heart attack that Auburn could remember laughing and having fun.
“By the time I can get there, we’re going to have at least one more outbreak,” Deja said. She was the oldest of the women, her bright pink afro poking up above a vivid orange and yellow scarf. She was also the organizer of the retreat that had brought them to Beachcrest for two weeks of writing, eating, shopping, and beach walks. “I think Aria has to go.”
“But you have the fast-treating ability, so you can save more people once you’re there,” Aria protested, tossing her candy-floss blond hair.
“Which won’t help us if we’re dead,” Deja countered.
The front door chime sounded.
“Do you have to get that?”
“I should,” Auburn said. No one new was expected that night, so it was probably just one of the guests coming back. She pushed her chair back, but before she could stand, she heard footsteps coming toward them and saw Trey’s tall, broad form appear in the doorway, blocking light from the lobby.
“Well, hello,” Aria said, delightedly, to the newcomer. “Come in. Make yourself at home. Turn in circles a few times so we can all admire you.”
“Do you verbalize every thought in your head?” demanded Priya, whose black hair was bound up in a big-mouthed hair clip.
“When sex manifests in the flesh, yes,” Aria said unapologetically.
The look on Trey’s face nearly made the last few days worth it. Auburn had never seen him caught off guard, and right then he looked like a hamster tossed into a rattlesnake cage. Then the mask descended again. “Hello, ladies.” No smile, of course, but his voice was as smooth as good gravy. “A word,” he said to Auburn.
“Are you asking to speak with me? You could try, ‘Hey, sorry I’m interrupting, but when you get a minute, could we talk?’”
Trey’s eyes blazed, setting up an answering heat in her low belly. A volley of glances went around the table.
“I said what I meant,” he said, his voice a thousand degrees cooler than his eyes. “But I can translate it if it’ll make you feel better. When you get a minute, I’d like a word.”
He’d twisted her words to take the request out of them, of course.
> “Fine.” She didn’t get up, mainly because she knew it would drive him nuts. If she was going to lose Beachcrest, she was going down swinging.
“Alone?”
“Anything you need to say you can say with these ladies present.”
Hesitation flitted across his features, so briefly that she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. And she must have, because Trey Xavier surely didn’t hesitate over, well, anything. “I’m filing a lawsuit to force the sale of Beachcrest.”
A chorus of gasps rose around Auburn. She’d known it was coming, but it made her heart pound. Still, she wasn’t going to let him know she was shaken. “Ladies, allow me to introduce Trey Xavier, the man who wants to replace your writing space with condos. Maybe he’ll be nice enough to let you rent one for your next gathering. I’m sure you’ll find it as inspiring as Beachcrest,” she told her audience. She knew how guys like Trey worked. She’d been with one for years, had listened to more than her share of one-sided phone negotiations. Those with the largest—er, sexual organs—won the day. She turned to face him. “I lawyered up, too, Trey, and a lawsuit is going to be a pain in the ass for you. You know if Carl calls for an accounting, it won’t turn out in your favor.”
He smirked. “Oh, it’ll turn out in my favor. If the sale goes to auction, my buyer will just outbid you, but I think we’d both rather it didn’t come to that. I came here to ask what it’ll take for you to walk away. Tell Carl you don’t want Beachcrest.”
Chiara reached out and grasped Auburn’s hand, warm and strong and a reminder that she wasn’t in this thing alone. She didn’t dare give her sister a grateful look—even that would be weakness—but she squeezed back.
“I’m not walking.”
Several of the writers cheered.
A muscle ticked in Trey’s jaw. “Give it some thought.” He cast Auburn a dark look. “You’re going to lose if this gets hashed out in court. Your best bet is to walk away with something that makes you happy. Tuition for your little sister, maybe. A new wing for Cape House. A downpayment for a house for your brother.”
She couldn’t keep the shock off her face.
He smirked. “I always do my research. You might want to do the same, and then you’d actually know who you’re dealing with.”
He turned and walked out. They heard the front door chime again, and the sound of his car engine starting up.
There was silence in his wake.
“He’s a piece of work,” Priya said.
“I’m putting him in my next book,” Aria said, fanning herself.
“Hero or villain?” Deja asked.
“Hero. Only in my book he’ll have a heart of gold.”
“Maybe he does,” said the fourth romance writer, Lindsey, a fair-skinned redhead and jewelry fiend. “He offered to help Auburn’s family.”
They all glared at her.
“Okay, okay,” she said, hands up. “It doesn’t seem likely, I’ll admit it.”
“He’s preying on the soft spot I have for my family,” Auburn said. “There’s no heart of gold in that; he just sees the gold.”
She quickly outlined the situation for them—Carl’s heart attack, the meeting in the hospital room, the confrontation in the hallway. The legal realities.
“Is he right?” Deja asked suddenly. “Are you going to lose if it gets hashed out in court?”
Auburn sighed. “Probably.”
Deja touched her fingers to her lips and eyed Auburn speculatively. “You should do it.”
“Do what?” Chiara squealed. “You don’t mean she should let him buy her off?”
“No.” Deja shook her head. “She should ask for something.” She shot a look in Lindsey’s direction. “Apart from your impossibly optimistic view of human nature, do you actually think there’s a chance that guy has a heart of gold?”
“No?” Lindsey hazarded. “But … anything’s possible?”
“Right.” Deja’s voice was beautiful, musical, like rough handmade paper. “So, what I’m thinking is, your only chance, literally your only chance of success here, is if you can get him to be sympathetic with your point of view. Make him see how much Beachcrest matters to you. Make him fall in love with Beachcrest itself.”
Auburn barked a laugh. “Him?”
The women exchanged another round of glances. “It’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Aria said slowly.
“He wants to get this thing done quickly, or he wouldn’t have offered to buy you off tonight.” Deja cocked her head. “He’s got a deadline, and a lawsuit screws with that. You got that, right?”
“You think?”
“I know,” Deja said. “He’s freaked out. So give him what he wants. Tell him you’ll back off, but only if he agrees to spend one week with you at Beachcrest. He has to stay here, eat breakfast here, shadow you, do all the Beachcrest activities you ask him to, and stick around for Beachcrest’s 4th of July festivities. He should appreciate the full value of the asset he’s proposing to sell. And then, if that doesn’t convince him and he still thinks the sale is the right thing to do, you step away.”
“Wouldn’t it be better for her to just ask for money?” Priya said. “That’s at least a sure thing. This is pure gamble.”
Deja shook her head. “Money guarantees she loses Beachcrest. This way—well, she at least has a chance.
“I—I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Auburn’s stomach knotted tight at the thought of Trey Xavier following her around for a week. She cast a quick glance in Chiara’s direction, and found her sister eyeing her with sympathy—and open curiosity. A look that said, plainly: Do you not think it’s a good idea because you don’t think it’ll work? Or because you’re afraid of yourself?
Auburn bit her lip.
“I think Deja’s onto something,” Chiara said gently. “And Auburn—you won’t be alone. We’ll all help you figure out how to make this place irresistible to him.”
“That’s right,” Deja said, nodding. “We’ve all fallen in love with Beachcrest, right, ladies?” She collected a round of nods from her friends. “And we’re all experts at getting hard men to fall in love.”
Auburn couldn’t imagine Trey Xavier, hard man extraordinaire, falling in love with anything. Least of all an inn at the beach. But on the other hand, she’d seen how much fire his eyes could bank. He wasn’t entirely cold, not by a long shot.
Something moved in her chest at the thought.
Chiara was watching her again.
I’m not afraid of him, she silently broadcast back at her sister. Or myself.
Chiara’s eyebrow rose, just a flicker—a challenge. Prove it.
“Okay,” she said. “Deja’s right. It’s not much, but it’s a chance.”
It was a tiny chance. The slimmest of chances. A chance that would require her to spend the next week with Trey Xavier.
She should hate that idea. She did hate that idea.
Which didn’t explain the swirl of excitement in the pit of her stomach.
10
“She’s late,” Trey said, consulting his watch.
“It’s two minutes after,” his grandfather said mildly, from his hospital bed.
“She called the meeting. She should be here.”
His grandfather chuckled. “I don’t think she plays by your rules.”
As if he’d conjured her, the door swung open and Auburn walked in. She’d shed her usual athletic wear and wore a pencil skirt, a silky looking blouse, and heels. All restraint except for that insane hair. She looked like a librarian who’d stuck her finger in a socket, and—why the fuck was that hot?
Goddamn, it was impossible not to be thrown off course by her. Yesterday evening, at Beachcrest, he’d felt completely off kilter. The words that had come out of his mouth, his body language—they’d all conveyed the ice calm he expected from himself. But inside, he was churning—with frustration and the need to do something to tame her.
“Mr. Xavier,” she said.
It was the first
time she’d called him that, and crap. He liked it.
“Ms. Campbell.”
Her eyes swept to his, and he saw the flare of pupil. There was that, at least. He wasn’t the only animal in the room. The combativeness of the situation—or something—was affecting them both. The thrill of a fight. Things had come too easily to him for too long. She was just a challenge. And it must be the same for her, too. No way running an inn provided the kind of thrill she clearly craved.
Damn it, he needed to hold tight to his resolve. Whatever had prompted her to call this meeting, it was Auburn’s Last Stand. So … he needed to keep his focus. Not think about what thrill she might crave.
“I have a deal for you.”
Startled, he nearly let his surprise show in his eyes, but recovered himself. “You have a deal for me.”
Her lips curved at that. Which wasn’t the response he wanted. “I do. I know you don’t want a legal battle, because if you didn’t care how long this took, you wouldn’t have shown up last night and tried to buy me off.”
He’d underestimated her. He’d shown his hand, and either she or her friends had seen through his play. “I just like to keep things simple. And money keeps things simple. I pay you, you go away, this all stops.”
Carl made an irritated noise from the bed. Jesus, why had he agreed to meet here? This was hard enough without an audience.
“I can make this all go away,” Auburn said. “But I have a price.”
Ah. So he’d been right about that. Thank God.
“July 8—that’s when you need this deal signed, right?”
“Around then,” he lied.
He saw her lips curve in a smile, and realized she knew. She knew what the time pressure meant, to him and to her. God damn it. He’d really fucking underestimated her.
“Give me till then to convince you that you should sell Beachcrest to me.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because if I can’t convince you, I’ll walk away without a legal battle and let you make the sale.”
