Chapter 5
BEN
Wiping my brow, I lean forward to peer through my windshield. Yep, this is the place. Dragging my palm down my face at the staggering sight before me, I take a deep breath. It’s just a blank slate, Ben. Keep your eye on the prize.
“Holy hell, it’s hot,” I mutter. Or maybe it merely feels hotter than it is, given this dilapidated motel looks as if it should have tumbleweeds rolling by and the soundtrack from a Clint Eastwood western playing in the distance.
Heat appears to dance in waves above the cracked asphalt like one of those oversized windsocks you find at a car dealership.
Moving to Virginia from the UK a few years ago had been quite the adjustment.
While England had its fair share of hot summer days, I hadn’t given them much attention due to my overscheduled university calendar.
Not to mention, toiling away at my internship kept me inside the confines of a luxurious air-conditioned office most of the summer.
Somehow it never seemed as oppressive as Hanover.
Flying across the pond to move in with my long-distance girlfriend kept me home more often than not when I first arrived here.
It also pulled my concentration away from my business plan.
I’d entered my first serious relationship with blinders on.
Trusted her to embark on the journey of starting my venture with me.
Instead, I allowed her to distract me from everything I’d been working toward.
My focus, as well as my finances, took a serious hit.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
My heart rate escalates as I glance down at my phone. I quickly clear my throat before answering the call. “Ben Banks.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Banks. This is Milton Beaumont. I was reaching out to see if we were still on tonight for dinner to discuss the Lake Anna property.”
“Yes, sir. I’m looking forward to it.” My eyes sweep back over the structure before me, and I feel my brows draw together at the sight. This is the way rehabs go, Ben. You want an eyesore with a good foundation.
“I do hope you’re bringing your wife. As I mentioned when we spoke previously, this hotel has been in my family for decades. It wouldn’t be the place it is without my late wife, Patricia.”
My eyes drift across the building’s facade, clearly in disrepair.
It’s probably been several decades since any refurbishments have been made to the place.
I drag my palm down my face. This might be more of an undertaking than I’m prepared to tackle.
But from all my research, the bones are good.
If all goes well, I can turn this into a chic boutique hotel with a modest amount of capital.
“It was my wife, Patricia’s, pride and joy.”
She must not have set the bar very high.
“Had she not left us so soon, she’d still be sitting behind the counter welcoming guests.”
What guests? There’s all of three cars in the parking lot. And I’m sitting in one of them. Not sure how many renters they’ve been greeting lately. “I’m so sorry for your loss. It sounds as if you had a wonderful life together.”
“That we did, son. That we did.” The delight in his tone is evident, warming me up to the overbearing old coot.
He’s made this acquisition a lot more complicated than I’d envisioned.
I had prepared myself to elicit the usual professional tactics required in a high-stakes acquisition.
Yet I hadn’t planned for Milton’s focus on my marital status.
“My preference is to sell to a family man, like myself. To ensure the owners never lose sight of what’s important. ”
My eyes roll as I prepare the lie on my tongue. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure my fiancée will be able to join us tonight, Mr. Beaumont.” The line goes quiet for a tad longer than feels comfortable. It’s as if he knows. “It’s her family,” I splutter. “She’s very devoted.”
Good grief. I’m going to hell.
This is merely business. I’m certain if this conversation were occurring with my stepbrother, Dev, he’d have convinced Milton to sell to him sight unseen. And trust me, Slick Willy will undoubtedly never have a family, much less a fiancée.
I had an ideal upbringing. My mom shared stories of being swept off of her feet by a rich, handsome aristocrat who pledged his eternal love, begging her to marry him.
For a single mother from Washington, D.C.
working two jobs, she said it felt equivalent to starring in a Cinderella retelling.
It wasn’t until about ten years ago that the niggling feeling emerged that I might grow to be a disappointment to her.
My stepfather, Charles Sly, owned a chain of prestigious hotels in Europe and had just acquired locations in New York, Los Angeles, and D.C.
when he met my mother. He’d groomed his son, William, Devon to family and friends, to take over the family business.
A decade his junior, I rarely saw much of my stepbrother while he was attending the University at Oxford.
When he did return home, he barely acknowledged my presence.
I couldn’t help idolizing him. His charisma, confidence, and good looks had everyone he met enthralled.
Yet my admiration was later replaced by an unavoidable comparison syndrome, which left me feeling I’d never measure up.
I refused to live in Dev’s shadow. So once I made the decision to return to the United States, I developed a business plan.
Instead of investing in large hotels as my stepfather and stepbrother had, I’d focus on acquiring smaller properties I could acquire at a discount and renovate them, creating a unique boutique experience catering to the uber rich.
My stepfather had established a sizable trust fund for me once I graduated university.
It was paramount to make careful financial decisions so as not to squander a penny.
Nothing about procuring hotel properties came without risk.
Additionally, there are so many options for luxury travel now, it’d be easy to go all in and lose big.
“Well, I’m certain if you stress how important it is that she accompany you…
” Milton’s words jolt me back to the here and now, and I pray I can convince him to give me a chance, regardless of my single status.
Because after my last relationship, the very last thing I want is a woman by my side.
“Oh, I’m afraid I’ve got to run. Duty calls.
I’ll meet you at Lake Anna Bar & Grill at seven. ”
Thankful to end the call, I answer, “Yes, sir. I look forward to meeting you.”
As I put the truck in reverse, my eyes fall on the time. I’ve got three hours. Three hours to get cleaned up, polish my impossible to resist business proposal, and return with a mail-order fiancée.
Sure. No problem there.