Justin’s mouth went dry. He forced himself not to leer, but took another look. Not a good, long look, more like a glimpse.
“Have you spoken to Floyd, Justin?” Concern tinged each of Bailey’s words.
His gaze flew up to meet hers. He wasn’t sure whether she’d busted him or not, but his cheeks warmed, something that hadn’t happened in...years. “I spoke with Floyd on Tuesday afternoon. I haven’t heard from him since. His phone goes straight to voice mail.”
Tyler jotted a note. “Both properties closed on the same day. Different title companies were used. No financing was involved in the private contracts, Floyd waited three days, then took the money and ran.”
Bailey’s nose crinkled. “This is so out of character for Floyd. I don’t know why he’d do this.”
“We believe an individual who recently came into Mr. Jeffries’s life may provide his motivation.” Kent removed a file from his briefcase. A photo of a beautiful young blonde was clipped to the front. “Our investigator turned up information on Mr. Jeffries’ girlfriend, Sasha Perry. Not only does she date older, wealthier gentlemen, she has been investigated for fraud four times over the past three years. The various DAs lacked evidence for any indictments.”
Tyler squinted, reached for the picture. His face paled. “That’s the woman who handled AJ’s closing.”
“Ours, too,” Kent admitted.
Tyler swore. “So we both have a title and what appear to be legal copies of the signed documents.”
Kent shuffled his papers. “Yes.”
Lines creased Bailey’s forehead. “What does that mean?”
Justin wanted to reach across the table and squeeze her hand, an inappropriate response under the circumstances.
Focus, McMillian.
“Good question,” he said. “We both can’t own the inn.”
Kent removed another legal-size file full of paperwork. “You both hold titles and own the inn. For now.”
“So, will the court decide ownership?” Bailey asked.
“Yes, but a ruling will take time,” Tyler said. “That leaves the inn closed and staff unemployed.”
Bailey’s face pinched. “The employees and vendors rely on the inn.”
“We have other options such as mediation, relinquishing rights or a buyout,” Kent offered.
“Wouldn’t a buyout mean one party ends up paying more money?” Bailey asked.
Kent shrugged, but that sharklike look returned. Justin didn’t like that Bailey was the intended prey.
“Paying more isn’t an issue if someone wants the inn badly enough,” Kent said.
“Only forty-eight hours have passed since we discovered what Floyd did,” Tyler said. “We need to understand the extent of the fraud and legal implications before any settlement options are decided upon.”
Kent didn’t flinch. Of course not. The guy dressed as if he stepped off the glossy pages of a magazine, with his hair supergelled into place. He was the one who’d taught Paige to be cool and calm before she went in for the kill during negotiations. Justin wondered how being scammed made Kent feel. The guy never showed weakness or emotion.
“Just putting one possibility out there,” Kent said.
“I don’t want to sell,” Bailey said, to Justin’s surprise. “I want the inn.”
He leaned back in his chair. Bailey didn’t need the inn. Not when space for her art events and classes could be found elsewhere. But the determined set of her jaw reminded him of when she told him she wouldn’t move away from the wrecking ball. This could be a tough battle.
“So, what happens next?” Justin asked.
“You first, Kent,” Tyler deferred. “You’re more experienced in these matters.”
Kent’s expression didn’t change, but he tapped the end of his pen against the table. The less their adversaries knew, the better. “We’ve filed a civil claim with the court, but getting restitution from Jeffries is unlikely with his whereabouts unknown. The police are investigating criminal charges. You and Miss Cole need to decide how you want to proceed.”
Bailey dragged her upper teeth over her lower lip. “Can’t we temporarily open the inn so people can have their jobs back?
Kent shook his head. “There would be liability issues to deal with and money needed to fund temporary operations.”
“From a legal standpoint, it’s not something I recommend,” Tyler added.
“So we just wait? And the inn remains closed?” Bailey’s frown matched the frustration in her voice. “What about the employees?”
Kent smiled. “They are eligible for unemployment benefits.”
Her lips thinned. “That’s not the same as a job with pay.”
Kent’s smile vanished. “Miss Cole. If you are close to the inn’s staff, I suggest you not raise their hopes of the inn reopening any time soon. Looking for new employment will be in their best interest.”
She looked at Tyler. “Is that true?”
Her cousin gave a slight nod. “We need more information before we can proceed.”
Her lips drew into a thin line. Anger flashed across her face as clear as the lights on a fire truck. The opposite of her poker face when she’d hid her pain at the inn the other day. Which was the real Bailey?
“How long are we talking?” she asked.
“It’s hard to say,” Tyler said.
She blew out a breath. “So this meeting was only a formality.”
Another nod from Tyler.
“Is there anything I need to know or do right now?” she asked.
“No. Not today.” Kent looked at Tyler. “But I’d like a few minutes of your time, counselor.”
Tyler straightened his papers. “I’m free until ten.”
Bailey rose. “I’ll be going home, then.”
All three men stood. Tyler pulled out her chair. “Do you need help out?”
She looked up at her cousin, adoration in her eyes. The Coles seemed to be a close family. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
She walked out of the office with only a slight limp. A gray walking brace covered her left foot. She wore a flat sandal on her right. Her floral-print skirt flowed back and forth with the sway of her hips.
Let her go.
But Justin didn’t want to. Not yet.
“I’ll wait for you outside.” Justin ignored the startled look on Kent’s face and quickened his steps to catch Bailey. “Wait up.”
She stopped in the hallway, glanced over her shoulder. “I didn’t mean for everyone to leave.”
“I got tired sitting at the grown-ups’ table.”
The concern in her eyes remained, but she smiled. Her curved lips looked soft and tasty. Yeah, he wouldn’t mind a nibble. Anticipation thrummed to his core.
He motioned to her brace. “You’re walking better.”
“Staying off my feet. My family has been hovering, not letting me do anything.”
“Annoying you?”
“You have no idea.”
Being around Bailey made him want to forget everything but her. “I might. I have two sisters and we work for my parents.”
“Then you do know.” She blew out a puff of air. “I love my family, but I’m not used to being around people all the time. Talk about exhausting.”
Justin bit back a smile.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re different.”
She struck a pose. “Crazy-clown-lady different.”
“Not today.” In the time he’d spent with Bailey Cole, two things were clear. Honesty and integrity defined the woman. He glanced around the parking lot. The sun was shining, but no sign of her yellow bumblebee car. “Did you drive?”
“My grandmother dropped me off. My family has taken to chauffeuring me around.”
“You can’t drive?”
“I can. They think I shouldn’t.”
He remembered when his younger sister, Rainey, needed surgery on her knee. Her parents had been busy with a resort’s grand opening. He and Paige had rotated caring for their youngest sibling. Bailey was lucky to have a family who cared about her.
Bailey removed her cell phone from her purse, a colorful, summery bag with circular designs in pink, lime green and yellow. “Better text for a pickup.”
“Have a cup of coffee with me first.” The offer tumbled from his mouth, driven by intrigue and attraction. Fraternizing with an adversary was not on Paige’s to-do list. Probably shouldn’t be on his, but he’d asked. No reason to take back the invitation. “There’s a place across the street. If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you.”
She eyed him warily. “Thanks, but I can walk.”
“Let’s go, then.”
She gave him a look. “I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t say no.”
“True, but...” She glanced back at the law office. “Given the circumstances, do you think us hanging out is a good idea?”
Her question surprised him. She didn’t seem like the cautious type. “One coffee. No big deal.”
She looked at the coffee shop across the street. “I guess.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to woo the inn away from you,” he teased, though the thought had crossed both his mind and Paige’s.
“Good to know, but I’d never fall for that tactic.”
Bailey sounded jaded. He didn’t like the idea someone had hurt or taken advantage of her. Maybe he was reading too much into her tone.
“Come on,” he said, wishing they could call a truce. “Let’s get some coffee.”
* * *
Bailey grabbed a table for two by the front window at the Java Cup while Justin waited for their drinks. The scent of roasting beans, brewing coffee and baking treats filled the air. Normally the small shop felt like an extension of home, thanks to the friendly greetings from familiar faces, but not today.
Justin leaned against the counter. His black shoes screamed Italian leather. He wore gray slacks and a blue button-down tucked in. His hair had been combed into place and the stubble shaved from his face. The result...dazzling—if she liked that kind of dressed-up guy, but she’d had enough of sharp-dressing men who flaunted their wealth and acted as if they knew everything.
She hadn’t seen that side of Justin yet, but she preferred his work clothes to business attire. Not that what she liked mattered where he was concerned, except she seemed to be the only woman here who felt that way.
A twenty-something blonde barista batted her eyelashes as if she were a butterfly, trying to show off beautiful wings. She said something to Justin.
He laughed. The deep, rich sound filled the air and drew attention to him. More female gazes turned his way.
The barista’s cheeks turned pink, but she kept looking at Justin.
Bailey didn’t blame the woman for wanting his attention. Men like him didn’t walk into the corner coffee shop every day. Especially in a town the size of Haley’s Bay. Her type or not, she couldn’t deny Justin was good-looking. Gorgeous, really.
She needed to be careful around him for the sake of the inn and its employees. They were in a fight for ownership of the Broughton Inn. One of them would win; the other would lose. He might not be trying to charm the inn away from her, or so he claimed, but she couldn’t let him distract her.
Justin looked over at Bailey, smiled. “Be right there.”
Her tummy did a double twist as if she were a high diver.
Nerves knocked against her insides like trick-or-treaters at her door on Halloween. This morning’s overcast, windy skies and sense of foreboding in the air were better suited to late October than early July.
She should have said no to coffee. N-O. How hard could saying two letters be? Not that she’d said Y-E-S. Yet here she was.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She massaged her temples, trying to quell the headache threatening to erupt.
Justin might not be planning to “woo” her out of the inn, but he must have an agenda. To mine her for information or plant doubts that she could run the inn. This wasn’t a date, because Justin wouldn’t be interested in Bailey if he lost his bid for the inn. Or if he won, for that matter. He was only interested while the inn was in limbo; she had to keep that in mind.
Well, two could play that game. Maybe she could plant some doubts of her own.
“Hey, Bailey.” Mrs. Caldecott, the wife of the town’s butcher, stopped at the table. A pink baseball cap covered her white hair. She carried two coffees in a drink holder and a small brown bag. “Sorry to hear about your foot, but good to know you’re looking out for the inn. I know you’ll make sure everything turns out right.”
“Thanks.” More than one person had called or texted yesterday to lend support. Added pressure, yes, but that only firmed Bailey’s resolve. “I’ll do my best.”
Mrs. Caldecott smiled warmly, the wrinkles on her face deepening. “You’ve always been a good girl, Bailey Cole. Just a little...different.”
With that, Mrs. Caldecott left the coffee shop.
Different, huh? Bailey supposed that was a step up from odd. She’d been called that, too.
“Here you go.” Justin placed a large white mug in front of her. “One cappuccino with a pretty flower.”
“Thanks.” Bailey studied the rosebud in the foam, complete with a stem and a leaf. “The baristas personalize their drink creations here. Bart, who works weekends, makes animal faces. He’s a volunteer at the local rescue shelter. Puts out a jar for donations.”
Cup in hand, Justin pulled out his chair. “I’ll stop by on Saturday.”
Her spine went steel-beam rigid. “You’re staying in town?”
“For now.” He sat.
The small, round table made for close quarters. His scent, soap-fresh and enticing, tickled her nose. She raised her cup to smell her coffee so she wouldn’t want to sniff him.
Bailey’s foot ached. She stretched her left leg and brushed his. She stiffened. “Sorry.”
“My fault.” He scooted back in his chair. “You need more room.”
No, she needed distance from him. “I’m fine. We won’t be here long.”
Bailey drank her coffee. The warm liquid did nothing to help her growing unease.
“I’m putting together an improvement plan for the first approval committee.” Justin raised his mug in her direction. “I appreciate the handy list you put together on the city’s website to help approach the groups. Very thorough. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She chewed the inside of her mouth. Great. Her work would lead to the inn being torn down.
Okay, not really, but she needed to drink her coffee and leave before she gave him more helpful hints. “That’s a requirement of my position.”
“You’re not anti-remodel.”
“Not at all, but improvements need to be carefully considered so the historical significance isn’t remodeled out of the property. Integrity of the architecture and intent of the design must be protected. Floyd...”
Saying his name squeezed her heart. She stared at the pink lip gloss mark on the rim of her cup.
Justin reached across the table, covered her free hand with his. The touch filled the empty places inside her with surprising warmth.
“What about Floyd?” Justin asked.
She stared at their hands. A sketch formed in her mind with lines and shadowing falling into place. The rough and calloused skin on his hands contradicted his style of dress. Her late grandfather and father and brothers—AJ, Ellis, Flynn, Declan and Grady—had similar hands. Her sister, Camden, too. Bailey’s weren’t much better.
“Floyd created the historical committee.” She set her mug on the table. “He put together
the committee to oversee property improvements. Wrote most of the rules and regulations. I took over for him a year ago.”
For such large, scarred hands, Justin’s touch was solid, safe, comforting. So what if pulling her hand from beneath his was the smart thing to do? She liked the feel of his skin against hers to deal with the consequences and rumors.
“His choice to leave the position or someone else’s?”
“His. He wanted me to take over.”
“Doesn’t sound like the same guy I talked to. He was all for tearing down the old and making way for the new.”
“Floyd was raised at the hotel. Loved that old building. Cared about the employees. His girlfriend must have pressured him to do this.”
“You keep surprising me, Bailey Cole.”
She glanced up, meeting Justin’s gaze. “Why?”
“Most people want Floyd to rot in jail.”
“I’ve known him my entire life.” Bailey expected Justin to lift his hand off hers. He didn’t. That surprised her, but in a good way. “Floyd let me open a co-op gallery at the inn and use the bar for my classes. I’m not about to condemn him without a hearing. I just wish I knew why.”
“You might not ever hear his side or get the answers you want, but his reason could be as simple as falling in love with the wrong person.”
“Yeah, his girlfriend sounds like a loser. That relationship has been full of red flags from the beginning.”
“Lust can be addicting and dangerous. Powerful enough to make people change, not always for the better.”
Something about Justin’s tone piqued her curiosity. She leaned forward. The table pressed against her rib cage. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”
Bailey waited for Justin to answer her question. His taken-aback expression told her she’d crossed the line. Wouldn’t be the first time.
The bell on the coffee shop door jingled. A young couple—tourists, based on the camera bag one carried—walked in holding hands and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. Sweet.
A part of Bailey longed for a partner, one in the truest sense of the word. She stared at Justin’s hand still on top of hers. Oliver had never comforted her with a touch. He was too worried about the solvents on her hands ruining one of his expensive manicures.
Falling for Mr. Right: Still the One ; His Proposal, Their Forever Page 26
