Chapter Three #3
Because it hadn't been fun. It had been devastating.
I can't fall for him. He's the reason I lost everything.
Except... was he?
A memory flashed. His office. Through the doorway, I'd glimpsed file cabinets, a desk covered in papers.
Evidence. I needed evidence to prove he was the villain. Proof that would let me kill these feelings before they destroyed me.
I splashed water on my face, pulled my clothes back on, and waited for my breathing to steady.
The shower was running in the master suite. Perfect.
I moved quickly through the cabin to his home office just down the hall. The door stood open—why wouldn't it be? He had no reason to hide anything from me. He had no idea who I was or what I was really doing here.
The file cabinet was unlocked. I pulled open the top drawer with shaking hands, rifling through folders. Property deeds, contractor invoices, permits, licenses—
There. A folder labeled "Flynn's Lodge - Acquisition."
My hands trembled so badly I could barely open it.
The offer letter sat on top. I scanned it quickly, ice spreading through my chest with every line.
Offered purchase price: $850,000 Estimated market value given property condition: $650,000
He'd offered more. Two hundred thousand dollars more than it was worth.
I kept reading, my vision starting to blur. Found Uncle Danny's response letter, dated six months ago.
Mr. Pruitt - I appreciate your generous offer, but I cannot accept more than is needed to clear my debts and obligations. $680,000 will be sufficient. Please adjust the contract accordingly. - D. Flynn
Gil had tried to give him more money. Uncle Danny had refused.
I flipped to the next page. Handwritten notes in Gil's bold script.
Preserve original fireplace - heart of the building
Honor Flynn name somehow
Find right executive chef
My stomach flipped and I sucked in a breath.
More notes, all focused on the property itself: "Property family-owned for 30+ years," "Reputation built on hospitality and community connection," "Preserve what made the lodge special."
He'd researched Flynn's Lodge's history. He'd tried to preserve what mattered. He'd offered more money than the property was worth and Uncle Danny had refused it.
My hands shook so hard I nearly dropped the folder.
This wasn't the story I'd been telling myself for six months.
Everything I'd believed, everything I'd been angry about, everything I'd spent six months seething over...
Wrong. It was all wrong.
He wasn't the heartless developer villain. He'd tried to help Uncle Danny. He'd respected my family's legacy. He'd done everything right.
Which meant I was the villain. I was the one lying and scheming and planning someone's destruction for something that wasn't even his fault.
No. There had to be more. There had to be proof he was still ruthless and cold. Because if he wasn't—
If he wasn't, then I'd been wrong. About everything. And that meant facing the truth I'd been running from: that I couldn't have saved Flynn's Lodge no matter what I did. That Uncle Danny's debt wasn't Gil's fault. That my anger had been aimed at the wrong target all along.
The shower shut off.
I shoved the files back into the cabinet exactly as I'd found them and bolted from the office. Made it to the living room just as Gil emerged from his bedroom, hair damp, wearing clean jeans and a black henley.
"Ruby?" He took one look at my face and his expression shifted. "What's wrong?"
My hands were shaking. I felt lightheaded. We hadn't eaten since that breakfast hours ago.
"I'm feeling shaky," I admitted, because I couldn't hide the trembling.
He crossed to me in two strides, his hand on my elbow to steady me. "When did we eat last? You've had nothing but coffee and that breakfast I made hours ago." He guided me toward the couch. "Sit down before you fall down."
"You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do." He settled me on the couch, then moved to the kitchen. I heard him opening cabinets, the sound of a pot on the stove, a can opener.
He returned a few minutes later with a glass of water. "Drink this first."
I took it with both hands, grateful for something to focus on besides the file folder contents burning in my brain.
He went back to the kitchen. The smell of tomato soup filled the cabin. Simple. Comforting.
When he came back, he carried two bowls and a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches cut into triangles. He set everything on the coffee table and sat beside me.
"Not fancy," he said. "There's the contracted dining service at the resort, but that's a walk through the cold and I wanted to get food in you fast. This was quicker."
We ate in silence. The soup was hot and salty, the grilled cheese perfectly golden. Basic comfort food, but it helped. My hands stopped shaking. The lightheadedness faded.
But the knowledge of what I'd found in those files?
That wasn't going anywhere.
"Ruby," Gil said quietly. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
I looked at him—really looked at him. At the concern in his steel-gray eyes. The way he'd noticed I was shaky and immediately took care of me. The way he'd made me simple food and sat with me to make sure I ate.
This man wasn't my enemy.
But I couldn't tell him the truth. Not yet. Not until I figured out what the hell to do with everything I'd just learned.
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just needed food. Thank you."
His jaw tightened. He didn't believe me. But he nodded.
We finished eating in tense silence, and I knew—I knew—that something had to break soon.
Either I told him the truth.
Or this whole thing was going to explode in my face.