Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Savannah
I stare at the signed contract on my tablet, the weight of success oddly hollow as I shut down the video call with Mr. Bennett. I’ve closed the deal on the largest corporate retreat I've booked this year.
Twenty thousand dollars in commission sitting in my professional account, waiting to be transferred.
I should be celebrating. Instead, I'm staring out the window of my rented cabin, watching the late afternoon sun cast golden light across the mountains, feeling strangely empty.
Before I can even process this unexpected reaction, my phone rings. Margaret Wells, my boss at McLoyd Event Strategy.
"Savannah! Tell me the good news," she says when I answer, not bothering with pleasantries.
"The contract is signed," I confirm, automatically shifting into professional mode. "Twenty-three executives, four days, full premium package."
"Fantastic work!" Margaret's voice practically vibrates with satisfaction. "Bennett Financial is exactly the kind of high-profile client we've been targeting. The executive team is extremely impressed."
"Thank you. Mountain Laurel Lodge really sold itself."
"Don't be modest. This is your victory." There's a pause that feels weighted with significance. "Actually, that's partly why I'm calling. The timing couldn't be better. Are you free for a video call tomorrow morning? Say nine o'clock? There are some exciting developments we'd like to discuss regarding your future with the company."
My heart skips. In corporate speak, "exciting developments" and "your future with the company" usually means one thing. Promotion.
"Of course," I reply, trying to sound appropriately eager while ignoring the unexpected knot forming in my stomach. "I'll make myself available."
"Excellent. Between us," Margaret lowers her voice conspiratorially, "the Denver expansion we've been planning has been fast-tracked. But that's all I'll say for now. Enjoy your victory today, Savannah. You've earned it."
After we hang up, I sit motionless, staring at my phone. Denver. The company has been talking about opening a Rocky Mountain regional office for over a year. A prestigious position that would mean more responsibility, higher-profile clients, a significant salary increase.
Everything I've been working toward.
So why does the prospect fill me with dread instead of excitement?
"Congratulations, Savannah," I murmur to myself, trying to summon the satisfaction that should come with this moment. "Another success for the spreadsheet."
My phone buzzes with a text from Jules: Heard the good news about the contract! Evie wants to celebrate tonight. Dinner at the lodge, 7pm. No excuses.
I hesitate before typing back: Thank you, but I should stay in Juniper Falls. Lots of work to do.
Her response is immediate: Paperwork can wait. Success can't. Besides, a certain activities coordinator will be VERY disappointed if you don't show.
A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. Jameson. After last night at the wedding reception, I'd fled back to my place, making flimsy excuses about early morning calls. The truth was more complicated. Something about the way he'd looked at me as we danced, the almost-confession I'd sensed coming, had sent me into full retreat mode.
This was supposed to be simple. A business arrangement. Pretend to be engaged, land the contract, go our separate ways. Developing actual feelings wasn't part of the deal.
And now with Denver potentially on the horizon...
My phone buzzes again: We won't take no for an answer. Besides, you owe Declan the chance to gloat about his Bennett Beef Wellington.
I sigh, knowing resistance is futile when the Callahans set their minds to something. Fine. 7pm.
Setting down my phone, I gather the files I need to drop off at the lodge office. With the contract signed, our arrangement is officially complete. No more pretending to be engaged. No more family dinners. No more moments like last night, dancing under string lights, feeling like something real was taking shape between us.
It should be a relief, especially with a potential move to Denver looming. So why does it feel like loss?
The drive to the lodge gives me time to gather my composure, to remind myself of the reality. Jameson is charming, spontaneous, rooted in this mountain community. I'm structured, career-focused, with opportunities that could take me away from here. We're from different worlds. What feels magical in this mountain setting would wither under the fluorescent lights of corporate reality.
The main office is quiet when I arrive, most of the staff busy with afternoon activities. I expect to drop off the final Bennett retreat files and leave, but voices drift from Liam's office. They are tense, controlled, but unmistakably heated.
"The numbers don't lie, Liam." Lauren's voice is steady but strained. "If we reallocate some of the marketing budget toward the east wing renovations?—"
"My marketing budget is already bare bones," Liam interrupts. "We've been over this. Find another solution."
I hesitate in the doorway, not wanting to intrude on what's clearly a private discussion. But Lauren spots me over Liam's shoulder and offers a tight smile.
"Savannah. Sorry, I didn't see you there."
Liam turns, running a hand through his hair. It’s a gesture so similar to Jameson's it startles me. "Savannah. Did you need something?"
"I’m dropping off the finalized Bennett files." I hold up the folder, feeling awkward. "I can come back later."
"No need." Lauren steps toward me, putting professional distance between herself and Liam. "We were just discussing budget allocations."
"Arguing about them, you mean," Liam mutters.
Lauren's jaw tightens. "I'm making recommendations based on financial data, which is literally my job."
"And I'm telling you it won't work," Liam counters. "Cutting marketing when we're trying to expand our corporate retreat business makes no sense."
"There are other options?—"
"Which you keep dismissing."
Their back-and-forth has the rhythmic quality of an argument that's been rehearsed many times, with undercurrents I can't quite decipher.
"I know how to do my job, Liam," Lauren says, her voice low but resolute.
"Yeah, well, I know how you leave things unfinished." The words cut through the room, sharp and clearly loaded with meaning beyond budget spreadsheets.
I watch a flicker of hurt cross Lauren's face before her expression smooths into professional blankness. The transformation is so quick, so practiced, that I recognize it instantly. It's the same mask I've perfected for difficult clients, for moments when showing vulnerability isn't an option.
"I'll email you the revised projections," she says, her voice carefully neutral as she gathers papers from Liam's desk. She hands him a folder with precise movements, maintaining inches of careful space between them. "The quarterly summary is on top."
She turns to me with a polite smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Congratulations on finalizing the Bennett retreat. It's a big win for the lodge."
"Thank you," I reply, unsure what else to say in the crackling tension of the room.
Lauren slips past me with a nod, her shoulders straight, her steps measured until she disappears down the hallway.
I'm left standing awkwardly in the doorway, looking at Liam, who seems to have momentarily forgotten my presence. He stares down at the folder Lauren handed him, not opening it.
"Okay, what was that?" The question escapes before I can think better of it.
Liam's head snaps up, as if surprised to find me still there. "Budget disagreement," he says curtly, though we both know it was much more.
"Seemed personal." I step into the office, setting my files on his desk.
"Everything's personal when you've known someone half your life," he mutters, shoving the folder into a drawer without looking at it.
I think of my own half-finished relationships, connections I'd abandoned when they threatened to interfere with my career trajectory. The potential Denver move hovers in my mind—another opportunity to leave before things get too real.
"History has a way of complicating things," I say, more to myself than to him.
"History should stay in the past where it belongs." He stands abruptly. "Was there anything else you needed? I have a supplier meeting in town."
"No, that's everything." I step back, recognizing the dismissal. "The Bennett contract is finalized. All the details are in the file."
"Great. Congratulations." His words are professional, but his mind is clearly elsewhere as he grabs his keys and jacket. "Tell Jameson I'll be late for dinner tonight."
Before I can respond, he's brushing past me, his long strides carrying him quickly out of the office. I'm left standing alone, surrounded by the silent aftermath of an argument about much more than budget lines.
I pick up the Bennett files I've just delivered, running my fingers along its edge. Inside is the culmination of weeks of work, the successful conclusion of what brought me to Mountain Laurel Lodge in the first place. My job here is done. The contract is signed. The charade of engagement is over.
And tomorrow morning, a video call that could change everything.
* * *
Seated at my desk in my Juniper Falls apartment, I smooth my crisp blue blouse and check my hair one last time before the video call begins. It's only 11 a.m., hours before dinner at the lodge tonight. My conferencing software chimes, and Margaret's face appears on screen, joined by Thomas Reid, the company CEO—a rare appearance that confirms my suspicions about this call.
"Savannah, exceptional work with the Bennett contract," Thomas says after brief pleasantries. "Securing a client of their caliber speaks volumes about your abilities."
"Thank you," I respond, maintaining my professional composure. "Mountain Laurel Lodge really sold itself."
"And there she goes, deflecting credit again," Margaret says with a knowing smile. "Which is exactly why we need to be direct about this opportunity."
Thomas nods. "We're moving forward with the Denver office, and we want you to lead it as Regional Director. Full autonomy, team-building authority, and of course, a significant compensation package."
Even though I'd anticipated this, hearing it stated so plainly sends a jolt through me.
"The Rocky Mountain luxury retreat market is exploding," Margaret continues. "Your work with Mountain Laurel Lodge proves you understand the destination business. You're exactly what we need in Denver."
"When would this start?" I ask, buying time to process.
"That's the challenging part," Thomas admits. "We need you in Denver within two weeks to begin setting up operations."
Two weeks. The timeline hits me with unexpected force.
"It's everything we discussed in your last review," Thomas reminds me. "Your exact words were that you wanted 'increased responsibility and a chance to build something from the ground up.'"
He's right. Those were my words, carefully chosen to demonstrate ambition. Words spoken before Jameson, before I knew what it felt like to belong somewhere.
"The board needs an answer by Monday," Margaret says. "We're hoping it's an easy yes."
I maintain my professional smile. "I appreciate the opportunity and the time to consider it. This is certainly the direction I've been working toward."
After the call ends, I let out the breath I've been holding. My phone immediately pings with the official offer. The salary figures make my eyes widen, along with comprehensive benefits and a furnished corporate apartment.
Everything I've worked for.
I open my planner to make a pros and cons list, the way I've approached every major decision in my adult life. But my pen hovers, unable to reduce what I'm feeling to neat columns.
How do you quantify family dinners where no one checks their watch? The way a child's face lights up when you teach her something new? The feeling of dancing under string lights with someone who sees the real you?
My phone buzzes with a text from Jules: Don't forget dinner tonight! Declan's going all out to celebrate the Bennett contract.
Followed by one from Jameson: Bear made you something. Well, I made it, but he helped by stealing the supplies. See you tonight?
I glance at the Denver offer still open on my screen, then back at Jameson's message. In two weeks, I could be in a sleek downtown office instead of a mountain lodge. Building my career instead of whatever has been growing between Jameson and me.
Tonight might be my last chance to experience a Callahan family dinner before everything changes. Before I have to make a choice between the future I've planned and the one I never saw coming.
I text Jameson back: Wouldn't miss it.
But as I set my phone down, I wonder if I'm just delaying the inevitable. If I'm strong enough to walk away from a career opportunity I've worked years for. Or if I'm strong enough to walk away from Jameson.
Either way, someone gets left behind. And I've never been good at goodbyes.