by Serena Bell
She tilted her head. “I suppose whatever you and your buddy are planning to build on this lot will be top of the line, state of the art, and definitely not shabby?”
He wrenched his brain back to this zip code and the reality of their situation, where there was no possibility he’d ever see her nipples. “Hang on. I’ll go get the plans.”
“Don’t bother.”
“I did eat the biscuit,” he reminded her.
“What a hardship,” she mocked.
Okay, true, it hadn’t been much of a self-sacrifice. Tender, flaky, and buttery—and it had been a long time since he’d indulged himself, so it had tasted like heaven. And the expression on her face—
“What the hell,” she said with a sigh. “Show me the plans, Money Bags.”
He gave her a look, and she shrugged again. “I just tell it like I see it.”
He jogged out to the freestanding guest house where his room was—the mother-in-law apartment, as he liked to think of it—then back to the kitchen with the roll of plans the developer had shared with him. He spread them on the center island.
There were architectural drawings and colored-pencil 3D concept drawings, and she looked them over quietly, without comment. “Clean lines,” he said, pointing. “Modern. Everything’s green—LEED Silver—”
She looked up at that. “Nice.”
“We’ve clustered the buildings to preserve as much land as possible. These are all windows here, see? Carl would be looking out over the ocean every day for the rest of his life. Even Beachcrest doesn’t have views from every room, does it?”
“No,” she admitted. “But Carl doesn’t want to live in your retirement community.”
“Sometimes people don’t know what they want,” he said. “Who wouldn’t rather live someplace like this—new construction, every amenity, comfort first—instead of—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
“You know, Beachcrest isn’t just a building,” she said. “It’s an experience. That’s why I’m making you spend this week with me. So you can see some of the magic firsthand. Stuff happens here. Amazing stuff. Old friends, honeymoons, reunions, wedding anniversaries. People falling in love, falling in love all over again, meeting strangers who change their lives, seeing people they haven’t seen in years. People realizing they’re not living their best lives and starting over again, people realizing they’re living their best lives and haven’t been appreciating it and vowing to do better—
“There were these women, high school friends. They’d fallen out after a drunk driving accident; each blamed the other for not stopping what happened that night. They’d been close as sisters before. They ran into each other here, each with their separate families, and at first they pretended not to know each other, but their kids wanted to play together. Kids somehow know how to teach their parents to be better people. And one morning at breakfast, one of the women said, ‘I don’t hate you, you know. I never hated you. I hated myself.’ And they both cried. They’ve rekindled their friendship. They come sometimes at Christmas, together, the two families.”
It was a good story; he had to admit it. Not that it said anything about Beachcrest, the way she thought it did. “They could have run into each other anywhere, couldn’t they have? Their kids could have ended up in school together.”
She rolled her eyes. “And you think that would have been the same? Kids in school together?”
She looked so disgusted that he figured she was probably done trying to win him over with stories, but then she said, “You know the fishermen?”
He nodded.
“They’ve been fishing together for a couple weeks every summer—this is their tenth year. They came here as ‘just friends,’ but when they’re here, they’re not ‘just’ anything. Beachcrest is the one place they can be together. I don’t know why that is, I don’t ask. I just know that they feel safe enough here—and Beachcrest did that, you know? And they keep coming and getting stronger, growing more sure of themselves and each other. Then they leave and go back to their own lives. But this is the year, I can feel it. They won’t go back to their corners again. You’ll see. I’d love to host their wedding here, eventually. If there is an eventually for Beachcrest.”
She’d gotten animated. The curve of her cheeks had flushed pink, her mouth a lush near-red. She pushed her hair out of her face and leveled that cobalt-blue gaze at him, like she was daring him to contradict her.
Damn it. She wasn’t plain Jane at all. She was pretty as fuck.
Wait.
No.
He’d cut this deal with her—this deal with the devil—because it was the clearest, fastest, most expeditious route to what he needed. He couldn’t afford to soften toward her, toward Beachcrest—especially not at the behest of his dick. Doing so would be like handing the devil his soul on a silver platter.
He gathered up the plans, not bothering to fold them.
“Thanks for looking,” he said, and got the hell out of the kitchen before he couldn’t stand the heat anymore.
13
As soon as the kitchen was clean, Auburn took off for the Cape House Hotel to talk to her older brother. She walked away from Beachcrest and the ocean, up the short sand-strewn road that bore Beachcrest’s mailing address, and turned right onto Tierney Bay’s main drag. Her path took her past other inns and bed-and-breakfasts, a few up-and-coming restaurants that were tailoring themselves to the increasing number of well-to-do tourists in town, and her favorite coffee shop—she waved through the half-steamed plate glass window at Em, the barista.
Scrappy.
Scrappy!
Fuck him.
And yet for one brilliant second, after she’d told him the story about the fishermen, there had been something in his face. He was listening. He wasn’t a block of ice to the core.
Maybe her chances of making him fall in love with Beachcrest were near nil, but they weren’t absolute zero.
She couldn’t guarantee she could change Trey’s mind, but she could make sure she was ready to take action if she did.
And to do that, she needed money.
The closer she got, though, the more she dragged her feet. It wasn’t that she was afraid to ask Levi for money; it was that she wasn’t sure she should be asking him at all.
She had to hike up the hill to Cape House. It was one of the biggest hotels in Tierney Bay—twenty times more rooms than Beachcrest. It also drew a different clientele, one seeking luxury and amenities rather than “cozy comfort,” which was nice because it meant that Carl—and by extension she—and Levi weren’t really in competition.
She found him in his usual spot—behind his desk in the administrative office. He didn’t look up when she came in. He had a spreadsheet open—par for the course—and was tweaking the rows and columns. “Give me a sec,” he said.
It wasn’t a request. Levi didn’t make requests.
She settled herself in his guest chair and prepared to wait.
Levi owned Cape House, and had since their parents died in a boating accident when Auburn was a teenager. For a while, Levi had hired managers to run the hotel, but he’d turned out to be incapable of taking a hands-off approach. Now he worked with two assistant managers who tolerated his control freak tendencies, one with amusement, one with barely suppressed irritation. He was always busy, but he also always had time for his siblings, and Auburn knew if she waited patiently, he would give her his undivided attention.
When he finally looked up, his first words were, “We need more weddings.”
Auburn was used to her brother leaping into the heart of a business conversation. “If you want more weddings, you’re going to have to start kissing up to Grace.” Grace Utrecht was the town’s best wedding planner and one of Levi’s least favorite people. The feeling was mutual, which hadn’t helped Levi book weddings, since Grace’s referrals carried a lot of weight.
“So be it,” he said grimly. “I didn’t put all that money into this place to watch i
t spiral down the drain because Grace and I butt heads.”
Auburn thought “butt heads” was putting it lightly—Levi and Grace’s battles were more like the overture to World War III, but she left it alone. “How are things going with the improvements?”
Levi had borrowed against the hotel a couple years ago to upgrade Cape House from “just” a tourist hotel into an event center. The last of the renovations were finishing up now, just in time for the hotel’s first big event, which happened to be Chiara’s ten-year high school reunion.
Levi sighed. “There’ve been a few unexpected setbacks,” he said. “I made the mistake of going with the cheaper bid on the pool, and I’m paying the price. I thought we’d be on a better footing by now than we are. I had to borrow deeper than I’d meant to. We’ll be okay, we are getting bookings finally, but—it’s going to take more time than I thought before I can pay off the loans.”
“Levi, no,” Auburn said, alarmed. “You should have said something.”
“What would you have done about it?”
“Between us, Chiara and Mason and I could have—”
Even as she said it, she knew how ridiculous it was. None of the siblings had the kind of money Levi would have needed.
It was Levi’s turn to grind the word out. “No. Chiara’s just finished paying off her loans. Mason’s saving for a place of his own, and God knows how long that’ll take him at his current rate. And you—” His eyes softened as he took her in. “You’ve had a tough enough year without worrying about me. I’d be shocked if you had two nickels to rub together. No offense.”
It was nearer to the truth than she’d like to admit, and hit too close to home. “I’m fine.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it, but like I said, it was my problem to solve. You’ve got Carl’s illness on top of everything else.”
The mention of Carl was the perfect segue into her own request. Speaking of Carl, speaking of Beachcrest, speaking of money, speaking of my tough year, speaking of what I want, what I need, what I love—
She opened her mouth.
And closed it again.
“Did you—did you come here to ask me something?” Levi asked, his eyes suddenly sharp on hers.
If she asked Levi for money, he would find a way to give it to her. He’d borrow against the last scrap of equity in the hotel for her; she knew it. Just like he’d left behind his own life to come home to take care of his siblings. He’d given up medical school and his dreams of becoming a doctor to run a business he’d never shown the slightest interest in. And he’d done it all so the family could stay together, in the only home they’d ever known.
Meanwhile, he’d postponed saving for his own future so one day he could pick up where he had left off.
If she asked him for money—even assuming there was any left, which didn’t sound likely—he’d give it without hesitation. Even if it destroyed his second chance to chase his own dreams.
There was still Hannah, too. She was sixteen, and—as Trey had sussed out—college loomed for her, another expense on Levi’s horizon.
There was no way in hell she would ask Levi for money.
Onwards, then, to the banks.
She shook her head. “I was just in the vicinity and I figured I’d stop in and say ‘hi.’”
“You’re always welcome,” he said. “And you know, there’s always a job for you here if—”
“I’m good,” she said quickly. “I’ve got Beachcrest.”
She would make sure it stayed true, and she would do it without stealing anything else from Levi’s future. That was the least she could do for the brother who had held their family together.
14
“I don’t know what you heard, Patrick, but if I needed your money, you’d hear about it from me, not from your client.”
Trey froze at the sound of Auburn’s voice, clipped and decisive.
He’d come over to the office because his Wi-Fi wasn’t working, but before he’d turned the corner into view, he’d heard her. And even though he knew he should retreat before he eavesdropped anymore, he couldn’t quite make himself do it.
“Yeah, look. I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got this Beachcrest situation under control. And I will tell you—myself—if that changes and I need anything from you.” She listened for a moment. “No. No, that’s definitely not necessary. And not a good idea. Patrick, no.” She was quiet again, then said, “All right. I appreciate that. Take care.”
Trey rounded the corner just as she swiped a finger across her phone to hang up the call and swore under her breath. Her eyes came up to meet his. He should pretend he hadn’t heard her … but his curiosity was killing him.
“Who’s Patrick?”
Practical considerations, he told himself. He needed to know where things stood on her end, so he could strategize.
“You heard that?” She frowned.
“I just came to tell you the Wi-Fi’s down again.”
She gave him a look.
“I’m providing useful guest feedback,” he clarified. “I need to send some long emails, and the phone’s not cutting it for me. But back to my question: Who’s Patrick?”
He was justified in asking, right? It concerned him if this guy related to his business deal. If she was asking for money from someone, that affected—
Well, he couldn’t exactly say how it affected him, but it felt important.
She sighed, heavily. “My ex. Apparently he heard about the Beachcrest sale from his client, who’s your—chief operating officer?”
Doug. He wondered what Doug had told this Patrick guy. Hopefully not the whole story. The last thing he wanted was for rumor of his dire situation to creep back to Auburn … and Carl … and Brynn. No, he wanted to clean this up long before that had a chance to happen.
Then the substance of what Auburn had said finally penetrated his overtaxed brain. “Your ex offered you money?”
She frowned at him. “You don’t care how I get the money, do you?”
Actually, he didn’t, and if he had his way, she wouldn’t need to get it, because this whole farce would play itself out, he’d earn Carl’s agreement, and he would sell Beachcrest to Royal Life Group, the luxury retirement company.
Which didn’t explain why he wanted desperately to know what the hell her ex was doing sticking his nose into this.
Because the guy could have financial clout or legal power. Because Trey couldn’t deal with any additional swerve in this process right now. That was why. Not because Auburn was no longer wearing the tit cupcake apron and all her curves were on display and it was taking most of his self-control not to ogle her. Not to think about the body underneath that pretty sundress.
“Do you have a good relationship with him?”
He hadn’t meant to ask that.
Her lips tightened. “No, I wouldn’t say that. And—you know what? This is really none of your business. It has nothing to do with you or our agreement.”
“Actually, it does. Why does this guy care if you need money anyway?”
She gave him a hard, dark look, and for a moment he was sure she wasn’t going to answer. And really, he couldn’t blame her. If he wasn’t even sure why he was asking her, he couldn’t expect her to respond. Then she slumped over the desk, resting her head on her arms. “Because he wants me back. And he’s richer than God, and he thinks if he can convince me that I need his money, it’ll give him a way in.” She spoke into her forearm, but the words were distinct enough, even through the cloud of her curls.
“Will it?”
Not his business. Not his question to ask. She’d have every right to tell him to go to hell.
She sat up, and her dress slipped to reveal the edge of pink lace against the satin of her fair skin. His mouth went dry. “Not in a million years.”
He recognized the slippery emotion in his chest as relief. Which—
What. The. Fuck.
And no. Just no.
“Wait a minute,” he said, h
is brain catching up with what she’d said. “Richer than God? Patrick who?”
“Patrick Moriarty.”
“You were with him?” he demanded.
“You know him?”
“Not well. But our paths have crossed. We move in some of the same circles.”
“Yeah. I figured, from the fact that he’s chummy with your COO.”
“He’s also a prick.”
That made her laugh. She had a good laugh. Real. From the belly.
“I mean, way worse than I am.” Patrick was Trey’s least favorite kind of man, the kind who kissed ass to people’s faces and screwed them behind their backs. Who came on like a hero to women, and treated them like shit in private. Totally inexcusable in Trey’s book. And that asshole had had his hands on Auburn. Had touched her all over.
Not that he should have an opinion about that.
She gave him a wry smile. “Yeah. He turned out to be not such a prize, though he treated me like I was one. A prize he owned.”
Some things that hadn’t made sense to him before were starting to make more sense. “That’s why you turned me down at Bob’s. Because you think I’m like him.” And he hadn’t really given her any reason to think otherwise, had he?
“I turned you down because I don’t do casual sex and you came on like an arrogant prick.”
“Oh, is that all?”
She laughed again. It felt good to make her laugh. He could turn making Auburn laugh into his own personal crusade.
Which—shit, no. He couldn’t. He was going to tear down her inn and break her heart, which was the exact fucking opposite of making her laugh.
“Where’s the router?” he asked gruffly. “I’ll see what I can do about getting the Wi-Fi back up for you. Can’t ink this deal if I can’t send email.”
The humor fled her eyes and lips, and he regretted it—but he had to be realistic about this situation. About himself.
“Over here,” she said.
He caught her glancing at him a moment later, though. Searching his face, as if trying to catch a glimpse of something he’d kept hidden from her.
