by Jen Peters
She pulled into the driveway and stared at the home she’d grown up in. One long level, with faded orange brick and small, high windows. If it weren’t for her mother’s gardening, the whole thing would look as tired as the rest of the street.
When Ree was a teenager, they had dreamed of what they’d do with the place, but never had the money to make it happen. Her dad had left when she was eleven, and her mother’s whole purpose became keeping food on the table, clothes on her growing daughter’s back, and somehow setting aside some money for college.
Ree had spent years being angry with her father, a businessman who couldn’t face his failures, but when she was sixteen she had learned what really happened. Dad’s small electronics company had been growing, and he had just patented a new design. He’d turned down offers to sell, wanting to watch his dream grow. But one company who wanted to buy it turned to nastier methods. They hired a slimy lawyer with shark instincts and a talent for backroom deals, who had found a way to pressure the bank to call in their loan.
Dad had had no choice but to accept the low price the take-over corporation offered.
It had left him at loose ends, with no job, no dream, and no purpose in life. Ree came home from school one day to find him packed and gone, and she and her mother were on their own. “We’re strong and we’ll find a way through” had become their mantra, their consolation for things they wanted and couldn’t do.
That wasn’t going to happen to her. She had dreams, and she wouldn’t let them just die. She especially wasn’t going to let another lawyer ruin them.
She strode into the house and headed straight for her computer. Her resume was good, even if Mr. Blake had scarcely looked at it. She would flesh out her work at the Duniway a little, after she browsed hotel job openings. Surely she could find something like the McCormick Inn, but preferably far away from this town. Some place without supercilious lawyers trying to run things they had no idea about.
Between the application and interview process, plus the inevitable drug testing, it would probably take several weeks before she started a new job. Hopefully her mom’s hand would be healed by then, and Ree could leave with a clear conscience.
She found a large hotel that wanted a night manager and numerous smaller ones that only needed desk clerks. All the management openings required three years experience, which she didn’t have. All the while she was browsing the listings, trying to imagine herself in different places, she kept thinking of what she could do here with the McCormick Inn. The ideas kept pushing at her, and she finally opened a new document and began typing.
A knock on her bedroom door startled her, and her mother poked her head in. “Remember I’ve got physical therapy in the morning. You’ll have to open the shop.”
“Sure, Mom.” She glanced at the clock, surprised to find it was already midnight. It didn’t matter, though. She was on a roll, ideas and details and questions flowing from her mind onto the computer screen.
In the morning, Ree scratched Pumpkin behind his ears before creating a gorgeous 20th anniversary bouquet for a man who had waited until the very last minute. She took it out to him and worked on two more that would be picked up the next morning.
She spiffed up her presentation between customers, and by the time her mother returned, Ree wasn’t in a hurry to find a hotel job outside of McCormick’s Creek anymore. She was on a mission to find Mr. Blake.
She finally discovered him sprawled in a booth at Nora’s Place, the restaurant Robin’s mother owned. Robin was chatting with him, coffee pot in hand. Mr. Blake looked like he was just hanging out. Did lawyers even hang out?
Her thoughts about what lawyers did or didn’t do got sidetracked by the slight stubble on his jaw. Maybe he didn’t shave when he wasn’t going to work? Or at least going to work in his fancy office? Either way, the shadow of stubble just made his jaw a little stronger, his cheekbones a little more masculine. And then the light hit his mouth just right and showed a little scar off to one side. It was just barely curved, maybe a quarter-inch long, and she was fascinated by the way it moved when he spoke.
Robin saw her and gave a wave. Ree took a breath and tried to cool her blush before she slid into the booth across from Mr. Blake.
“Hey, Ree,” Robin said. “Your usual Coke?”
Ree nodded, then focused on Mr. Blake. Neither that tiny scar nor those frowning eyes were going to sidetrack her. “I have something I’d like to show you." She didn’t wait for permission, she just opened her folder.
“You want the McCormick Inn to be known for its ambience and personalized service, right? You want people to love their stay, recommend it to their friends, and come back again themselves. These are the finishing touches I would include." She placed a few sheets in front of him showing fresh flowers in each room, an exotic selection of coffees and teas, an eclectic selection of books, magazines and games in the parlor.
She glanced at his one raised eyebrow briefly—who did he think he was, Spock?—and continued with another set of images. “We don’t have theater events or concerts in town, but concierge service includes more than that. It’s the personal welcome, the restaurant recommendations, and the specialized knowledge of what the area does have to offer. We have waterfalls and mountain paths and even a natural hot spring that guests wouldn’t know about.”
Mr. Blake had leaned back in his seat with a half-smile on his face. Ree’s heart raced, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to focus on that mouth and those gray eyes. Or were they green? She wanted to gaze into them, to find out if they were closer to a stormy sea or a mountain mist. To see if…
Stop it! she told herself. The last thing she needed was to be attracted to someone she hoped would be her boss. With an effort, she tore her eyes away from his face and focused on her papers.
“I also think that more could be done with the dining than a typical B&B,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Most B&Bs offer a continental breakfast with one or two typical pancake-house hot options. If you found a chef who could make exquisite breakfasts, he or she would undoubtedly be able to offer more. The inn could host weekend dinners, open to the public as well as guests—people would come from out of town for a special occasion.”
She had prepared some comment to wrap up the presentation, but it was completely gone from her mind now. She dared a longer look at Mitchell Blake.
He unwrapped a peppermint from his pocket, not taking his eyes off her. His face was once more closed-off and forbidding. Warmth rushed through her, and she fought to keep it from rising to her face.
“The dinners would pay for themselves and get the word out.” Her voice squeaked and she cringed.
Mr. Blake finally nodded. A lock of his wavy dark hair fell forward but she ignored it. “I had thought many of the same things, but I appreciate your diligence and creativity.”
Her diligence. That’s all he had to say? And so matter-of-fact? So coldly?
She leaned forward. “Mr. Blake, I am qualified to do this job. What do I have to do for you to give me a chance?”
And he smiled. His countenance changed completely, the sharp attorney vanishing and a relaxed, comfortable businessman taking his place. “Ms. Swanson—”
“Please, call me Ree.”
“All right, Ree,” he conceded. “Your ideas and your enthusiasm are good, but you’re still lacking in real experience.”
Her heart sank.
“However, I get the feeling you’re willing to do what’s necessary to get that experience. So yes, I’ll hire you as the inn manager—on a probationary basis.”
Her ears latched onto ‘hire’ but she forced herself to pay close attention.
“You’ll have four months to prove yourself, which will cover final preparations for the opening in August and the next two months of regular business. Is that agreeable?" His face was stern again.
She could only nod.
“You’ll be working with me on hiring the people we need, especially the chef.
The PR firm will begin ads in a few weeks and continually from there out. If you have time now, I’ll introduce you to Harriet, the interior designer.”
Ten minutes later, Ree stepped onto the porch of the inn and took a deep breath. Even Mr. Blake’s chiseled face and that cute lock of hair didn’t relax her.
But she could do this. She had studied and trained and she knew her ideas were good. She just had to put them into practice. And if the McCormick Inn didn’t let her live in Europe right now, at least she’d be doing something with her life, not stuck in her mother’s flower shop. She’d done enough rose-and-red-carnation arrangements for funerals to last her a lifetime.
She’d still have to find time for the arrangements, but Mom was certainly able to be in the shop all day.
Mr. Blake pushed open the door, and Ree sighed once more at the sight. The staircase rose in front of her, its rich mahogany gleaming. The glowing chandelier hung in the center, sparkling like diamonds and casting rainbow beams across the room.
“I’m in here,” came a voice she assumed was Harriet’s.
Ree followed her new boss into the dining room, empty except for a large antique table and a couple of folding chairs. Harriet, tall and somewhat stern, had linen swatches spread across the table.
“Hey, Mitch,” Harriet said without looking up.
Mr. Blake smiled. “Harriet, I’d like to introduce Ree Swanson, our new manager. She’ll be overseeing everything as the inn gets up and running. Ree, this is Harriet Phillips, interior designer extraordinaire.”
Harriet frowned. “Overseeing me, too?”
“Consulting with you,” Mr. Blake corrected. “I’ve still got the final say.”
Harriet smiled then, her face softening as she stretched her hand out. “Pleased to meet you, Ree. Let me show you what I’ve got.”
Ree met her handshake and then studied the swatches.
Harriet tapped a glossy blue fingernail against one of them. “I’m leaning toward this one. What do you think?”
Ree didn’t know much about different linens, but she could at least give an opinion. She fingered it, slightly stiff but still foldable. She felt the others for comparison. “Definitely the fabric in this one,” she said. “And I think I like the simple lines here, instead of the dense rose pattern.”
Harriet nodded. “I agree. We’ve got floral prints on the upholstery, and I don’t want too much.”
Mr. Blake had quietly disappeared sometime during the discussions, and they went on to silverware, vases and a whole lot more. It didn’t matter, though. Ree was exhilarated by the decisions and the vision.
She was on her way. Her professionalism had triumphed over her lack of experience. And over any attraction she might have for her boss.
Chapter 7
By Sunday afternoon, Mitch had popped a couple pain pills for his back, complements of the saggy beds in the motel, and explored the town. He strolled a trail down to the south and stopped at the inn before he headed back to Portland. Ree was sitting with half the antique dining table covered in papers, her hair woven into a thick braid that only partly tamed it. “What’s all this?” he asked.
She smiled sheepishly, with a little quirk at the corner of her mouth that tugged at something deep inside him. “Just some ideas I’ve been playing with. You’ve got ads coming in Northwest Travel and the Sunday Oregonian, and I’m sure the PR firm will have more, but we need to get word of mouth out. What do you think about a series of dinners for a few exclusive guests? The first one could be a trial run for locals, and then invite some people from Eugene and Salem, and maybe some of your network from Portland. Hopefully they’ll go home and tell others.”
Mitch nodded slowly. It sounded good, but his network? He tried to imagine any of them here in McCormick’s Creek. Melanie would totally diss the place, as would most of his other co-workers. They were all bright lights, big city sort of people, out of sorts if there wasn’t traffic and noise and sheer busy-ness. But Judd and Carson, now, they’d probably love it … if the inn were up to par. And it looked like it would be.
But dinners … the opening was next month, and he still didn’t have a chef. He’d been turned down by his three top choices, and by four more who weren’t top tier but would have been good. Finding someone of the caliber he was looking for who was actually available—and not only available but willing to work half time— wasn’t easy. Although, if they added more events to the breakfast schedule…
He finally nodded. “I like the exclusive invites for an intro, and we could add small, intimate dinners on weekends on a regular basis. Not limited to guests at the inn, although I’m sure there would be some crossover. Didn’t you say something about that earlier?”
Ree gave a smile that seemed hesitant. What was she hiding behind those blue eyes? Mitch had lived with the reality of hidden agendas for years—everybody had one—but he had no idea what hers was. Was there someone in particular she wanted at those first dinners? Connections she wanted to make?
He finally tuned back in to her voice. “…checking out the cost of renting chairs and extra tables if we want to do something larger. Holiday parties, weddings, you know. I think they’ll come as we build our reputation, but we could advertise for those as well and start it sooner.”
Mitch put up his hand. “Hold on, Ree. I know my way around corporate acquisitions like a fox in a henhouse, but neither you nor I have started a B&B from scratch. And old Mr. McCormick,” he cringed at what his grandfather would say to that description, “is willing to pour plenty of money into this. We don’t have to turn a profit in the first month, or even the first year, so let’s get our feet under us before we expand. Wedding parties maybe, but there’s more to hosting a gala than you can imagine.”
He had never seen Ree’s face change so quickly. Her bright eyes dimmed with dismay, perhaps even hurt, before she forced them back to cheerful and positive. He was good at reading faces, at seeing what people didn’t want seen, and she didn’t want him to see her disappointment. It made him want to reach out and stroke her cheek, to reassure her that it would be okay.
Good grief, what was he thinking? The two of them were like night and day—she was young and naive and inexperienced, a country girl whom his friends would eat alive. And while he felt tired and jaded, his life would always be immersed in the legal world. It was the only life he knew, the only life he wanted, as long as he could figure out his dissatisfaction with his job.
What would his grandfather say if he knew how Mitch felt? “Suck it up,” probably. His thoughts took on Granddad’s sharp voice: Mergers and Acquisitions was a dog-eat-dog world, a winner-take-all scenario, and Mitch had known it when he got into it.
He let out a sigh. He’d suck it up, all right. There weren’t really any alternatives.
Ree’s braid came into focus again. Really, all they had in common was the inn. She was doing a surprisingly good job, considering her lack of experience, but she would be cut down in two seconds if she came face to face with Melanie or Andrea or any of the other women he associated with.
Still…somehow, for some reason, he wanted to see that smile on her face again, to be the one who put it there. He wanted to pull her hair out of that braid and …
Mitch mentally shook himself. He still didn’t know what she wanted underneath it all. And a casual relationship would put his privacy severely at risk. Would he be able to keep from her who he really was? That “old Mr. McCormick” was his own grandfather? And he certainly didn’t want to wonder if she was chasing him for his money.
He straightened in his chair. “We’ll get there, don’t worry. But for now, let’s start with a couple small dinners. After I find a chef!”
* * *
Back in Portland, the heavy clouds outside Mitch’s office withheld their rain, but still echoed the gloom he felt working on the case again. With the opponent’s settlement proposal in front of him, he inserted clauses in the counter-proposal to protect his client from unexpected liabiliti
es. He reached for a peppermint, then set it aside and tossed a handful of Tums in his mouth instead. The thick chalkiness seemed only a minor rebuke for adding another paragraph that looked straightforward on the surface but would provide a way for the final buyout to be recalculated—at a lower price, of course.
There was a light knock on the door before it opened. He looked up, glad for the distraction.
“Did you have a good trip?” Melanie Xanthe asked.
Mitch smiled. Melanie looked gorgeous—her blonde hair swept up into some fancy clip, her sleek, midnight-blue suit matching her large eyes. “It was great. The inn is coming along, and I got a break from all of this.” He waved his hand over his desk.
“It helps to come back fresh,” she said, perching lightly on the edge. “You’ll have to take me there sometime.”
He tried to picture Melanie in McCormick’s Creek, but could only shake his head. “Not really your type of place, I don’t think.”
“We’ll never know until we try it,” she said. “However, that’s not why I came in. I need a consult on the Givens case. The plaintiff has requested…”
They talked over possible tactics she could use. Mitch wondered briefly why she was consulting him and not one of the other divorce attorneys, although it was nice to have something else for his mind to work on.
The discussion ranged to other topics as Melanie’s subtle perfume filled Mitch’s senses. Whether it was that or the exercise for his mind, he was enjoying himself.
Melanie finally stood. “Thanks for the help, Mitch." She opened the door and paused. “Are you busy tonight? I’ve got reservations at Primavera and my date cancelled.”
He had nothing on his schedule, and he loved their porcini risotto. But he had promised himself he’d keep their dates to public events. She was being straightforward today, though, and he was restless. “Sure, what time?”
