by J. L. Berg
“This is all part of it,” he said, raising his hands out in a wide gesture. “Don’t you get it?”
“What is all part of it?”
“Us,” he said. “Here. Ocracoke. Jesus, I sound just like my brother.”
“It’s just a hotel, Taylor.”
His chest fell. “To you maybe. But, to the people staying in it, it’s an adventure, a world away from home. And shouldn’t that adventure be an extension of its surroundings?”
I looked around. Local kids rode their bikes past us, happy to be done with another day of school. They all waved and giggled hellos to Taylor, calling out to him by name. Several restaurant owners were setting up for dinner while tourists zipped down the street in golf carts.
“And you think The Cozy Hotel fits this better than anything I could create?”
“No,” he pressed. “But I don’t think tearing it down is the answer.”
“Clearly, we’re not seeing the same building.”
He smiled, staring down the tree-lined street. “Clearly.”
“So, where are you taking me anyway?”
He smiled, his hands shoved into the pockets of those worn jeans of his. “You really don’t like not being in control, do you?”
“No,” I answered frankly. “But it seems like you don’t much like it either.”
His eyes met mine, and I found myself nearly stumbling.
“No, I guess I don’t.”
Somehow, I didn’t think we were talking about work anymore.
“It must be something you get from your dad,” he said as we continued down the street.
It seemed flirting time was over.
“Why would you say that? You don’t even know him.”
He shrugged. “No, but it doesn’t take more than a Google search to learn about the guy. Nor does it take a genius to figure out the type of man it would require to support a company of that magnitude.”
“Well then,” I said, feeling defeated, “I guess you have him pegged.”
He must have noticed the change in my voice because his next words were softer, less direct. “Has he always been like that?”
“You mean, always Stephen Hart, super CEO?”
“Yeah.”
I tried to think back, tried to remember a time when he was a father first.
“When I was little,” I said. “Before there was a Hart International. When it was just Hart Hotels. There were only a few of them back then. Quaint little island hotels my grandma and grandpa had opened right after World War II. My grandmother was a native of Oahu, and my grandpa was stationed there. Back then, he was more of a normal dad. Chill, you know?”
“Wait, your grandfather was stationed at Pearl Harbor during World War II?” This bit of information piqued his interest.
I nodded. “He rarely talked about it, but I know he was trained as a medic, but after everything he saw and went through during the attack, he never wanted to work in a hospital again. So, after he married my grandmother, they purchased a small inn and then another one years later. I think they had maybe four or five when my father took over the business, and he kept it going that way for years.”
“What changed? Why your father’s sudden thirst for power?”
“The threat of failure, I think,” I answered. “I don’t remember it well, but I know from public record that the hotels weren’t doing well, and the company was facing bankruptcy. My father must have been racked with guilt over the idea of losing the legacy he’d been given.”
“Mmm,” Taylor agreed. “I know that feeling. The fishing business has been near ruin more times than I can count.”
“Yeah?” I found myself saying. “And what did you do?”
“We fought back,” he answered. “We changed gears, thought up new strategies. Adapted.”
I nodded in agreement, becoming more impressed with this man with each passing minute. “And that’s exactly what Stephen Hart did. He took my grandparents’ cozy island hotels and turned them into billions.”
It had been a gamble, but it’d paid off big time.
“So, why didn’t he stop there? He’d obviously reclaimed your family’s legacy and secured your future. What drove him to go on to dominate the world?”
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully, remembering all the times I’d wished for a father and seen an empty seat at my ballet recital. Or a voice mail instead of a hug. “I guess he wanted more.”
“We’re here,” Taylor said softly as we came to a full stop.
I looked around, seeing a small house to my right. But it was the bright white fence that captured my immediate attention. My eyes followed it down a long path until it reached the end.
“Wow,” I said.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
I simply nodded, my feet already moving forward toward the massive white lighthouse in front of me.
“I saw it from the sky when I flew in, but honestly, I kind of forgot about it.”
“I figured. Come on. Let me give you a history lesson.”
He took my hand, something I hadn’t expected but didn’t mind. His fingers wove between mine, so warm and sure as he pulled me down the wooden path toward our destination. Every step only made the lighthouse bigger and more impressive in my eyes.
My expertise might lie in the interiors, but it didn’t stop me from appreciating the beauty of this old lady.
When we got to the base of the lighthouse, Taylor let go of my hand. I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointment coil around my heart and then a quick shot of annoyance that I’d even felt anything at all.
“Now,” he said quite formally, “what you see before you isn’t the prettiest lighthouse in the Outer Banks or the biggest, but she is the longest running, and she happens to be the second oldest to still stand.”
“That’s incredible.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you think so.”
I looked up at the mammoth white tower and groaned. “You’re going to lecture me now, aren’t you?”
He didn’t respond. He just dived right into it. “There were many times in the last almost two hundred years of this lighthouse’s life when it’s fallen into disrepair. The government could have chosen to tear it down and replace it with something better. I mean, why bother with something so old when there are better, newer designs out there that would work just as well? Better in fact?”
“Oh my God,” I simply said.
“But they didn’t,” he went on. “And do you know why, Leilani?”
Hearing my name on his tongue sent a flutter down to my belly. “Because, Taylor,” I answered, “it was part of the island?”
His grin widened. “Why, yes, you are exactly right.”
My arms folded across my chest, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by his captivating green eyes. “I get what you’re saying; I really do. But the government was dealing with a beautiful structure. And not just one beautiful structure. They have, like, a dozen of them. That’s like built-in tourism right there.”
“Seven,” he said.
“What?”
“We have seven lighthouses in North Carolina, not a dozen. You really need to get outside more.”
My hands flew up in the air. “Whatever! It’s still the same issue. They have beautiful, tourist-magnet lighthouses that people love to photograph and put on their walls. I have a fleabag hotel that looks like it time-traveled here from the 1970s.”
“Actually, 1950s.” He didn’t wait for me to respond this time. “Have you even done any research on the building you bought?” he asked, those hands deep in his pockets again as he took several steps around the open area in front of the base of the lighthouse. It was roped off to prevent people from trying to enter, but there were several plaques where you could read about the history and background as well as a scale model that was perfect for pictures.
“I…” I honestly had no answer. I’d been so eager to change it into the vision I had in my head that I hadn’t
really cared what it’d been in the past. It wasn’t like the historical hotel Becky had gotten in Chicago. It was just an unimpressive, boring building in North Carolina.
“I didn’t think so. The building was constructed in the early fifties, and although the bulk of what you see inside is, yes, sadly leftover from a tragic renovation done in the late seventies, I’ve seen pictures of what it used to look like when it first opened. It was stunning.”
“Stunning how?” I asked, not trusting his taste at all.
Fifties architecture and design usually meant mid-century modern, and I didn’t see how that fit into his island lifestyle any more than my upscale, modern spa retreat.
“I think the term is art deco.”
My eyes widened at just hearing him speak my language. It was kind of sexy.
“I don’t know,” he went on. “I had to look it up. But it was a far cry from what it is today. The lobby had these shiny, patterned floors, and there were big, tropical plants. It looked like a destination. Special, you know?”
It was the first time he’d said something that had me excited, and I suddenly wanted to rush out of there and look up everything I could about the hotel I owned.
That, of course, had me halting in my tracks.
“Why are you helping me?” I asked.
His eyes met mine.
Vulnerable, cautious eyes.
“Honestly, I don’t know, Leilani. I really don’t. Every bone in my body right now is telling me to just shut up and let you fail.”
“Lani,” I said in response. “You can call me Lani. Everyone else does.”
A smile crept up the corners of his lips. “Maybe I don’t want to be like everyone else.”
“Oh, believe me, Taylor Sutherland, you aren’t. You are definitely one of a kind.”
He laughed. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
I could only join him because the truth was, neither was I.
Neither was I.
“What are you doing?” a tiny voice asked, making me nearly jump out of my skin.
“Jesus!” I cursed, leaping back from the window.
I turned to find my niece, Lizzie, standing in the doorway of our office, looking at me with an inquisitive stare.
“Nothing,” I quickly said, feeling embarrassed. “Shouldn’t you be at school or something?”
She suspiciously eyed me. “It’s Saturday.”
“Right. Of course. Well, shouldn’t you be with your tutor or doing something other than lurking around my place of business?”
“I was looking for my daddy—I mean, Dean.”
I smiled. I liked hearing her call Dean her father. She’d had a rough go with her own dad over the past few years after he’d admitted himself into rehab for alcoholism and anger management. Since then, his visits had been spotty at best as he tried to work through his issues. Dean, however, had been there for her every step of the way.
“I’m pretty sure he’s okay with you calling him Daddy,” I said. “And I haven’t seen him this morning. Are you sure he isn’t at home?”
She nodded as I watched her take a cursory look around before she picked up a candy bar from the display at the front. She didn’t eye it like most children, the look of pure sugar lust taking over the second their hands made contact with the plastic wrapper.
No, Lizzie was different. She always had been.
She flipped over the chocolate bar and began reading. I could see her absorbing the information like a sponge.
“Did you know there are at least twenty different kinds of chemicals in here?”
“Uh, no.”
“And chocolate is actually known to trigger migraines in some people.”
“I did not know that either,” I said, always flabbergasted by the things this kid said.
Lizzie was beyond gifted and had already skipped several grades. She required additional classes and tutoring to challenge her accelerated pace of learning.
But, even knowing all of that, I still was taken aback by some of the things that came out of her mouth.
Like, how in the world did she know about migraines at eight years old?
But I guessed for a girl who was already doing high school math, a migraine was common knowledge. By the time she was my age, she’d probably have a cure for the damn thing.
“You never answered my question. What were you doing over there by the window? Were you spying on that lady everyone keeps talking about? Leilani Hart? Did you know her dad is one of the richest people in the world?”
My stomach tightened, the knot that had formed since the arrival of the woman in question growing stronger at the mere mention of her name.
“No,” I answered before adding, “And I wasn’t spying on her. Why would you think that?”
“Well,” she began, her voice sounding far too grown-up for her little body, “I overheard Mommy and Dean talking about you last night. Dean said he thinks you have a crush on her.”
“I do not!” I exclaimed, the sheer force of my denial making a mockery of my claim.
“And then there’s the fact that you were staring out the window that happens to face the hotel she owns.”
“So?” I said, not caring in the least that I was arguing like a child…with a child. “Doesn’t mean she was out there.”
“I saw her standing out in front on my way here.”
Busted.
“Okay, fine,” I conceded “But it doesn’t mean I have a crush on her. I’m not in the fifth grade.”
Her face scrunched up. “Of course you’re not.”
Sometimes, humor was lost on Lizzie.
“Anyway,” I went on, “I was just looking out the window because it’s my job to keep an eye out on her. The town needs to be informed of her progress, and they’ve appointed me to report on it.”
“Well, it looks like she’s planning on taking down the building. I saw the truck pulling up just as I was walking in.” Shrugging, she ripped open the candy bar she’d just maligned and promptly shoved the whole thing in her mouth as she gestured toward the window I’d just been staring out of.
“What?” My eyes went wide as I glued my face to the glass.
She followed—albeit a bit slower but followed all the same.
Sure enough, the little genius appeared to be correct. The moment I got back to my perch, the spot I’d been frequenting more than my desk lately, I found her outside, next to a truck that said Halladay Architecture.
“Son of a bitch,” I breathed out.
“I’m going to go get ice cream now,” Lizzie said, clearly bored with me. “If you see Dean, can you tell him where I went?”
I didn’t utter a good-bye, just waved her off. I was too committed to the scene set out in front of me. It was like a knife to my gut as I watched an incredibly tall, tan, and good-looking guy step out of the truck and offer a hand to Leilani.
The smile she gave him was dazzling.
The only kind of responses I got from her were usually eye rolls and frustrated huffs as she stormed away.
Never a smile. And never one as bright and beautiful as that.
She had a giant folder with her and didn’t waste any time in opening it, planting it on the hood of his truck to show him whatever was inside—most likely her precious plans.
Plans I’d thought I’d changed.
I’d taken a risk, bringing her to the lighthouse yesterday. I’d gone into this hotel project with guns blazing, ready to fight her until the bloody end, but the moment I’d stepped into that hotel, I couldn’t help but wonder what it could be if only put into the right hands.
I hadn’t been lying. I’d done the research. I’d looked up pictures of The Cozy Hotel back in its glory days. It had been a destination, a place people would pay to stay.
A place Leilani would be proud to call her own.
Or at least, I’d thought she would have been.
When I’d walked her back to the hotel last night, I’d thought we wer
e on the same page. I’d thought I’d finally seen what my brother was talking about.
Compromise and all that shit.
But then I saw this—a freaking architect showing up less than twenty-four hours later.
My words hadn’t meant a damn thing to her.
Just like this town.
I continued to watch as they spoke. She gestured toward the hotel, and he nodded. My jaw clenched as his hand grazed her arm. She didn’t seem to notice, but I sure as hell did. The two shared a brief laugh. His teeth were so damn white that I could see them glowing from here. He gestured toward the walkway that led to the road, and they both headed off in the same direction.
Where are they going?
Not into the hotel…
That was kind of a relief.
Too many closed doors and cramped spaces.
“Focus, idiot,” I mumbled as I strained to catch my last glimpse of them from the window before they disappeared from my view.
Racing to the other side of the office, I realized I probably looked like a ridiculous moron, running from one side of my office to the other, but I didn’t care.
I needed to know where they were headed.
I tried to tell myself it was for the sake of the town.
This was my duty after all.
But, as my feet carried me toward the front door and my eyes peered out the glass toward the unsuspecting couple walking past, I knew this had nothing to do with the town or the people in it.
Nobody, except for one.
Her.
It didn’t take me long to figure out where Leilani and her architect were headed. After only a few minutes of spying, I deduced that they were off to Billy’s for lunch.
I might have had to creep out onto one of the boats, climb up to the top deck, and use a spyglass to gather that information, but now that I knew where they were, I felt a little better.
No, I don’t.
At this very moment, she was sitting across from the guy with the pearly whites, probably about to share a bottle of wine, laughing it up, while I was pacing the length of this boat, doing nothing.
Well, fuck that.
I’d gone into this, prepared to fight for the town I loved.
Pulling out my phone, I made a quick call, adding this to the list of many idiotic mistakes I’d made since this woman arrived in town.
