Three
Lyra
T he lobby of the inn explodes with festive Valentine’s Day cheer. And by explodes, I mean, I go overboard. Possibly that has more to do with how much I enjoy ordering Byron around than actual decorating tenacity.
The entertainment value of a man straining to reach the highest point above a window—while covered in glitter—cannot be overstated.
Byron’s grin never slipped. Somewhere in the depths of my soul, I have a little sliver of respect for that. It’s deep though. Mostly I’m miffed that he doesn’t seem overly hot and bothered by my presence.
I cannot claim the same.
Because let’s be honest. Watching Byron do anything is not a chore and then he took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and proceeded to prove that stringing up hearts can indeed be sexy.
I might have put him through his paces strictly for the view. It’s not a crime.
That’s going to happen later on, when I kill him for selling my inn. And for still being the hottest guy in a valley-wide radius.
At least he finally took off to settle into his room so I could get my faculties about me.
Spoiler alert: that didn’t happen.
Byron is back .
For the next two weeks anyway. How ironic is it that he plans to put the inn on the market the day after Valentine’s Day?
I have two weeks to figure this out. With or without his help. I at least have enough wits about me to understand that he’s the lynchpin in this scenario. My father will listen to him. I know it.
The real question is whether I have enough sway with Byron to get him away from the dark side and back into my camp.
My gut doesn’t feel too good about my chances. What happened between us is ancient history, but dang, it was harsh. And hard to forget.
After telling me he didn’t feel the same way about me as I clearly did for him, he walked away without a backward glance. Apparently, we were too young to know what we really wanted from life, and this way, I could be free to figure it out.
Yeah, the air quotes are quotey enough to create a breeze.
The conversation I need to have with my father deserves a face-to-face, not a phone call. Possibly I might have some choice words to say that can’t be properly conveyed otherwise.
When I get back to the resort, I confront Lachlan in his office, which is the size of a tennis court. It overlooks the valley, which I’m sure is not an accident.
I love running the resort, so my office is in the back, where staff members can find me easily. I’ve spent my whole life weaving myself into this place with my name on the sign. Don’t I deserve better than hearing about the inn from Byron Hale ?
My father glances up when I knock on the heavy wooden door. Lachlan MacLellan commands the space around him, even in casual clothes.
“I’ve been instructed to speak with you,” I tell him, in lieu of a greeting, which matches my mood.
He doesn’t smile. We don’t have that kind of relationship. Which is fine. Mostly. Would I love it if he acknowledged that we’re a team occasionally? Sure. But in the meantime, I’ll take a second chance for the inn.
He gestures to the leather chairs edging his desk, his expression unreadable. “I take it you’ve met with Byron.”
I show my teeth, dropping into one of the seats. “How did you guess? The real question is why you couldn’t have told me you’re selling the inn. What are you thinking?”
“It hasn’t turned a profit in eighteen months,” His tone is calm, as if we’re chatting about the weather. “It doesn’t fit our long-term strategic goals.”
I blink at him, trying to process what I’m hearing. “What are you talking about? Gran’s inn is not a strategy, it’s a piece of our history.”
“I know it’s sentimental,” he says, softening a fraction. “But it’s also outdated, underused, and financially unsustainable. We need to focus on the resort.”
“The MacLellan Inn has our name on it too,” I say, my voice breaking slightly. Which should not be happening, not if I want to make my point to the king of the balance sheet.
Lachlan waves that off. “It’s down in the valley. A bed and breakfast. Taxes are through the roof, and speaking of which, it needs a new one. The inn is running in the red.”
So? The inn is my grandmother’s legacy, the place where she greeted guests with warm smiles and baked scones every morning. It’s where I fell in love with hospitality, where she taught me how to create the community I crave.
The inn is… mine .
If all of this will become my company one day, I should have a say.
“Then update it. Invest in it,” I counter, my voice climbing. “Let me do it.”
“You run the resort,” he says simply. “This isn’t a decision I made lightly, Lyra.”
Yeah, but he is the one making it. Without my consent.
“I can make it profitable. Give me a few days to put a business plan together, Dad. Please.”
He shakes his head, but then he squeezes his eyes shut for a beat. I’m wearing him down, I can tell. My brothers both abandoned the family business, but I didn’t. I stayed. He knows I’m committed.
“Why did it take me deciding to sell to bring this up if the inn is so important to you?” he asks.
Ouch. Direct hit. I rub my chest and decide to go with honesty. “Fair. And the answer is that I’ve been overly concerned with the resort. We can both agree that’s been a priority. Now I’m asking you to let me make the inn a priority.”
“I need you to help me with this, Lyra,” he says, but his eyes are still soft. “Work with Byron to get the inn ready to go on the market. You have the best sense of the place’s appeal and I’m counting on you to make sure it gets into the right hands.”
Ugh. My father, button pusher extraordinaire.
It’s like he knows I crave his approval as much as I hate that our family is crumbling. Liam barely speaks to our father. Leith left for California and never came back. I haven’t even heard from him in over a year.
After our mom died, it’s like everyone retreated to their own corners.
Except me.
“I’m not sure Byron and I can work together,” I say carefully. Only Tabitha, my ride or die best friend, knows how Byron shattered me back in high school.
“I don’t have anyone else I can trust,” Lachlan says, his tone leaving zero room for argument. He stands, clearly ready to end the conversation. “You’re the only one who cares enough to make sure the inn is ready. If you come up with another plan, my door is always open.”
That’s all I need. Even if I know my father’s definition of open and mine are different.
As long as I don’t have to meekly go along with selling my grandmother’s inn, I can take one tiny moment to revel in the fact that my father gave me this task because he trusts me.
Oh, it’s Machiavellian, plain and simple. He’s offering me the promise of his approval (not actual approval, not yet—it’s like bait) in the same breath as setting me up to spend hours upon hours with Byron Hale. And I have a deadline to come up with a plan.
I pull out my phone and text Tabitha.
Need you.
Her reply comes instantly.
I can be there in nine minutes
I love this woman. We’ve been friends for over twenty-five years and somehow, it only got better when she started dating my brother, Liam. I was not a fan of the whole idea but they convinced me it’s the real deal. So, I’m happy for them. As long as they treat each other right.
I would have a hard time picking who to kill if it doesn’t work out.
Because I know it’s almost the end of the workday and she and Liam always eat dinner together, I put on my big girl panties.
It’s fine. Don’t come up the mountain. Dad’s lawyer is here. In town.
BYRON?!?!? The devil can’t execute his scorched earth campaign from Denver?
Apparently not. Side note, do you happen to have a few spare millions lying around? Asking for an inn
Now I’m afraid to ask what’s going on since you already know my parents don’t believe in trust funds.
MacLellans don’t either. It’s like they all read the same parenting manual.
Are you sure you don’t need me to help hide some bodies?
I laugh, which is saying something.
Dad is selling the inn. Says it doesn’t fit his strategic goals.
... No words. What’s the plan for saving it?
Working on it. Can you pull some strings with the Heritage Trust?
Oh, that’s positively diabolical. I will 100% see if we can get it recognized as a historical building
Exactly what I hoped for. Tabitha works with her mother at the Kilt Valley Heritage Trust, and their main focus is preserving buildings with historical significance. If we can get the inn some kind of historical designation, maybe the town charter would prevent selling it to an outsider or something.
At the very least, it’ll drive the price up.
It’s worth a shot.
Back in my condo adjacent to the resort, I throw some things into a bag because if Byron is staying at the inn, I am too. It’s not ideal timing, but this is somewhat of a slow season for skiers. It won’t kill anyone for me to take two weeks of vacation.
Anyway, I need time to plan and work with Tabitha to find documentation, which will likely be at the inn, not here.
Within an hour, I’m back at the inn. Judy doesn’t have any other guests, so it’s just me and Byron for dinner. Which is unfortunate for multiple reasons, primarily because it makes my dad’s point about the inn not making a profit.
What is wrong with people that they don’t want to stay at such a charming place?
(I know the answer: it’s too far from the resort and most people come to Kilt Valley to ski. But still…)
I get to the dining room at the same time as Byron.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he says with one of those eyebrow quirks that used to make me laugh.
I barely bite back the smile this time. How dare he try to be charming. “I took time off from the resort. I’m here for the next two weeks. Get over it.”
“You’re here at the inn where both your father and I want you? Oh, no,” he says with a mock horrified tone. His eyes are dancing.
“I told him I’m going to find a way to change his mind about selling,” I inform Byron primly. “You’ll be singing a different tune when I send you back to Denver because your services are no longer needed.”
His grin widens. “Who’s going to take down all the decorations, then?”
“I have a ladder.” Somewhere.
He bumps me companionably with his arm as he pulls out a chair for me. “I should probably stick around and hold it for you. Besides, I heard something about a party.”
I shoot him a look as I slide into the chair. “You didn’t seem too excited about it earlier.”
“You graciously gave me time to reconsider my position.”
Code for my father calling him, probably. I can only imagine how that conversation went. Something along the lines of keep an eye on her and report back if she tries anything crazy .
Little does he know that I want him right by my side. Even as awkward as that’s going to be when I’m actively trying to make sure he knows I’m over him when I’m not.
It’s a small price to pay. I have an inn to save and I don’t think for a second I can do it if Bryron and I are at cross purposes. “You’ll help plan it? Even if it means I make inroads toward canceling the sale?”
He shrugs. “The inn is already an asset in your father’s trust, so it’s less work for me if it doesn’t change hands. Besides, a successful community party will only attract the attention of a buyer, not dissuade.”
I didn’t think of that. Frowning, I size him up. “You can’t possibly be signing up to help me out of your own free will. What’s in this for you?”
“Spending time in your lovely company, obviously.” Then he winks at me.
Okay, it’s on. “We’ll see how you feel about that in two weeks.”
“I’m game for anything you can throw at me.” He turns one arm over as if showing off the sparkly bits. “Including glitter.”