by Jen Peters
“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 liabilities. 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?”
“You can pick me up at eight.” She smiled and slipped through the door.
Mitch shook her perfume out of his head and went back to his client’s work for an hour, then couldn’t take anymore. “I’ll be upstairs,” he told his secretary.
In the penthouse, he devoured a hearty roast beef sandwich while his grandfather only picked at his bread. Granddad perked up while Mitch talked about the happenings at McCormick’s Creek and gave a great belly laugh when Mitch related Ree’s determination to get the manager’s position. And then the chessboard came out.
“I’ll warn you,” Granddad smirked, “I’m at the top of my game today.”
“Hah!” Mitch retorted. “You just try.” He had been playing chess with his grandfather since his parents dropped him off when he was seven so they could go traveling. The old man had taught him well, figuring rightly that the advance strategy necessary for chess would go a long way toward training a young mind for the law.
Granddad made his opening move and Mitch countered.
“I can win even without my lucky queen, you know,” Mitch said. The queen his grandfather had awarded him when he was ten and had finally won his first match.
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Granddad said and moved another piece.
Ten minutes later, Mitch tipped his king in acknowledgement of his grandfather’s win.
“Where’s your mind, boy? That was far too easy.”
Mitch shook his head ruefully. “I don’t know. Caught between work and McCormick’s Creek, I suppose.”
“And a woman?”
Mitch reset the board. “Not really. Not unless you count Melanie Xanthe.”
His grandfather looked up sharply. “You watch out for her, son. She’s a brilliant attorney, but she’s had motives behind motives ever since she started here.”
“Don’t I know it." Mitch rolled his lucky queen between his fingers. “We’re going out tonight—Primavera’s a favorite—but I learned a few months ago to keep her at arm’s length.”
Granddad narrowed his eyes. “Just you be careful." He motioned for Mitch to take the first move. “Now, can you concentrate a little better this time?”
Mitch helped Melanie into the Porsche precisely at eight that evening. He didn’t understand how a woman could be so graceful in such a low slung car, especially wearing a dress slit up to her hip.
At the restaurant, the maitre d’ welcomed them personally and escorted them to a secluded, candlelit table. Mitch hadn’t realized that her cancelled date was to have been so romantic.
The food was exquisite, the setting was rich, and their conversation ranged from casework to politics to literature. And Melanie wasn’t even trying to play footsie under the table, despite his grandfather’s warning. So why wasn’t Mitch enjoying it?
Perhaps the monkfish and prosciutto reminded him that he still needed a chef for the inn. Perhaps it was worrying how, in a firm filled with ambitious attorneys, he could hold his head up if anyone found out how much he disliked it? Perhaps it was concern for his grandfather’s health.
Or perhaps it was the memory of a shining face and long black curls and an eagerness for life he hadn’t experienced for a while? Ree would love this place, and would be memorizing all the details with an eye to what she could do with them at the McCormick Inn.
He gave himself a mental shake and turned back to Melanie’s words. “It was a great little indie film, with incredible acting,” she said.
Mitch had no idea which film she was talking about, but it didn’t really matter. “Did you happen to see Under the Clock?” he asked.
“No, but…” Melanie paused, her eyes wide and dark. She hesitated, pursing her lips, then said, “The Isola di Roma is coming up. It would make a great getaway. We could explore Rome together. And maybe take the corporate jet?”
Mitch chilled inside. This was what his gut had been telling him the last few months. Exactly what his grandfather had warned him about. He fixed a smile on his face. “Sorry, no. The inn is taking up my whole summer.”
Something flickered across Melanie’s face. Disappointment? Frustration? But it was gone as quickly as Mitch could sense it, replaced by a smooth facade.
“I understand,” she said, taking a sip of wine. “But you will have to show me this inn someday, you know.”
He chuckled inwardly, trying to picture her there, then nodded. “Be glad to, when you have some free time. It’s a totally different world from here.”
Different pace, different people.
A place he couldn’t wait to get back to. And a certain person he was going to get to know better.
Chapter 8
Ree tried to keep her face neutral when Mitch showed up in the doorway of the inn dining room after lunch Tuesday. He was sure there a lot for having a high-powered legal job in Portland. Didn’t he have any other clients? Or maybe he just didn’t trust her?
Between her instinctive reaction to his looks and charisma, and the need to show him she was competent, her hello came out a confused grumble.
“Do you need a break?” he asked casually, leaning against the door jamb.
That was not what she expected him to say. She looked at her notes and shrugged. “Sure, why not.”
They walked along the creek, starting in the mansion’s back yard and heading out of town. The
sun glinted through the trees, and squirrels scampered through a couple of maples overhead.
They stopped where the creek widened, and Mitch pitched a rock or two.
“Tell me something about you I don’t know,” he said.
Ree watched the water tumble over the rocks as she thought. She didn’t think she ought to share her dreams of travel—he’d just hired her, after all, and she should want to stick around. It would be too intimate to tell him about old boyfriends, especially finding the last one in bed with somebody else. Too deep to tell him about her father? Probably.
Then Ree smiled, still watching the creek run. Running away to somewhere else. “I set the deck on fire my senior year of high school.”
“You what?”
She turned to him. “Mom was meeting someone at the flower shop, to design a centerpiece or something. So I started the grill up.”
“Charcoal and lighter fluid?”
She play-slapped his shoulder. “We do have gas grills here in podunk-ville, I’ll have you know. Anyway, the chicken was going great, but smoking like chicken does. I kept an eye on it, but I was doing other things too. I took the chicken off when mom came home, turned the grill off, and we went inside to eat.”
“Yes?”
“So I looked up later, and the grill was still smoking. Like half an hour later. So we went out and it wasn’t the grill, it was the deck railing behind it!”
He snorted.
Ree elbowed him. ‘Don’t laugh, I could have burned the house down!”
“Flames and fire department?” he asked through his chuckles.
“No flames, just smoldering and sending up billows of smoke. And yes, the fire department came because someone else had seen it, but we had already doused it with water.”
“Hmm, should I watch out for you when you light fires? Or when you get distracted?” he teased. “Or just when you have two things in close proximity?”
Mitch was in pretty close proximity himself. Close enough she could stretch up and kiss him. No! She wasn’t going to jeopardize the best job she’d ever had. She made a face to hide her thoughts. She knew she was flushed, but it was hot this afternoon, right?
