Chapter 24
Hollis Ridge Club — Late Morning (Brunch)
The road climbed the ridge in long, easy curves before opening up all at once.
Green. Perfectly cut.
A golf course laid into the mountain like it had always been there.
The clubhouse sat above it—stone and glass and timber, mountain dressed up for money.
Cal pulled the Escalade around front.
Izzy stepped out, taking it in.
“Well,” she said under her breath. “This is… not what I pictured.”
Cal smiled. “Good.”
Inside, the air shifted.
Cooler. Quieter. Polished without feeling stiff.
Wide windows framed the mountains. White tablecloths. Dark wood. Low conversation layered under the soft clink of silver.
The hostess stepped forward.
“Hi, Cal,” she said, her smile warming a notch just for him.
Christie.
She barely glanced at the reservation book.
Her eyes slid to Izzy—quick, sharp, taking her in from sunglasses to heels and back again.
“Table for two?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cal said, easy.
Christie grabbed menus and turned, leading them through the room.
A few heads turned. Izzy felt it.
Felt the quiet assessment in a place like this—who belonged, who didn’t.
They were halfway to the windows when a voice cut across the room.
“Well now—looky here.”
It carried without effort.
Cal slowed.
Izzy turned.
A long table sat near the windows.
Men in pressed shirts and jackets, coffee and plates in front of them.
At the head—Wade Hollis.
Stetson.
Blazer. Crisp denim. Boots crossed at the ankle.
A cigar between his fingers like it was part of the outfit.
He leaned back just enough to take her in.
Slow.
Intent.
Then he stood.
“Miss Moreno,” he said, smile already set. “I was hoping I’d catch you before you headed back to Denver.”
Cal didn’t react.
Just shifted a half step closer, his shoulder nearly brushing Izzy's.
Izzy stepped forward, composed.
“Mr. Hollis.”
Wade closed the distance like he owned it.
Which he did.
His hand found her arm, guiding her in just enough for a side hug.
Easy. Too familiar.
“I’ve been meaning to get with you,” he said. “Looking for something for my den. Over the fireplace. Figured you might have the right eye for it.”
Izzy smiled, polite and professional.
“I’d be happy to take a look.”
“Good,” Wade said, pleased.
His hand lingered just a second longer at her back before he turned to the table.
“Gentlemen,” he said, gesturing toward her, “this is Isabella Moreno.”
A beat.
“Friend of our sheriff. Out of Denver. Runs a gallery.”
The men nodded. Measured. Interested.
Wade looked back at her.
“We’ll set something up before you leave,” he said. “I insist on it.”
“Dad, we’ve got a table,” Cal said, smooth and even.
“I’ll bring her by when you’re done here.”
Wade’s smile didn’t slip.
Not even a fraction.
“Wouldn’t dream of keeping her,” he said lightly.
But his eyes stayed on Izzy.
“Enjoy your meal, darlin’.”
Cal gave a small nod and guided her away.
Christie reappeared like she’d been waiting.
“This way,” she said, a touch too bright.
She led them the rest of the way to the windows, setting menus down with practiced ease.
“Your server will be right with you.”
Her smile for Cal lingered.
For Izzy—it didn’t.
Then she walked off.
Izzy slid into her chair, pulling off her sunglasses.
She glanced back once.
Wade was still standing.
Still watching.
Cigar in hand.
Smile in place.
She turned back to the table.
“Well,” she said quietly, picking up the menu. “That felt like more than a coincidence.”
Cal leaned back, studying her.
“Don’t take it personal,” he said. “He does that.”
Izzy looked at him over the edge of the menu.
“Does what?”
“Find what he likes,” he said. “And decide it’s his.”
A beat.
“He’ll circle back.”
Outside, the mountains stretched wide and quiet under the low, heavy sky.
Beautiful.
Still.
And suddenly—not quite as harmless as they’d looked on the drive up.
* * *
Cal was saying something about the course—membership, waiting lists, who owned what stretch of land.
Izzy nodded.
Didn’t hear a word of it.
Because all she could feel—
was Grant’s hands.
Warm. Rough. Sliding under her shirt like he had every right to be there.
Her grip tightened around her glass.
And then—his face that morning.
Cold. Controlled. Like none of it had mattered.
“—Izzy?”
She blinked.
Cal was watching her.
“You with me?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Sorry. Just… taking it all in.”
Cal smiled faintly. “Happens.”
He reached for his coffee—
—and a shadow fell across the table.
Izzy looked up.
Wade Hollis stood there, jacket back on now, one hand tucked casually in his pocket. The cigar was gone.
A toothpick rested at the corner of his mouth.
He didn’t rush.
Didn’t apologize for interrupting.
His gaze moved from Cal to Izzy.
And stayed there.
“Cal.”
Cal leaned back in his chair. “Yeah?”
Wade shifted his weight, easy as anything.
“Why don’t you bring Miss Moreno by the house tomorrow?” he said. “Let her take a look at that wall I was telling you about.”
Not a question.
Cal glanced at Izzy, just once. “If she’s up for it.”
Wade’s eyes never left her.
“I think she will be.”
A beat.
Izzy held his gaze.
Smiled—polished, professional.
“I’d be happy to take a look,” she said.
Wade’s smile sharpened, satisfied.
“Good.”
He tapped the edge of the table lightly with his knuckle, the sound soft but deliberate.
“Don’t keep her too long,” he added to Cal. “We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
Then he stepped back.
Just like that.
Moving away before either of them could answer, already turning toward the exit.
A few men at the bar nodded as he passed.
The hostess straightened.
The door opened.
Closed.
And he was gone.
Cal exhaled quietly, reaching for his glass.
“Well,” he said. “That’s how he invites people over.”
Izzy didn’t look at him.
Her eyes were still on the door.
“That didn’t feel like an invitation,” she said.
Cal huffed a low laugh. “No,” he agreed. “It didn’t.”
A beat.
Izzy picked up her fork again.
Forced her attention back to the table.
But the unease lingered—quiet.
Persistent.
And just beneath it—another thought she couldn’t quite shake.
Grant would hate this.
She pressed her lips together. Good.
* * *
Scott House — Early Afternoon
The Escalade rolled up slow, stones grinding under the heavy tires as it came to a smooth, silent stop at the base of the porch steps.
Grant saw it before he even killed the engine on his old truck. He stayed exactly where he was, hands resting loose on the steering wheel, his gaze locked through the windshield.
Cal Hollis got out first. He came around the front of the vehicle with the effortless, unhurried stride of a man who had never had to rush a day in his life, opening the passenger door before Izzy could even reach for the handle.
Izzy stepped out, oversized sunglasses still masking her face, her dark hair catching the mountain sun. She looked… untouched. Like the morning hadn’t happened. Like he hadn’t—
Grant shoved that thought down hard, his teeth clenching until his jaw ached.
Cal said something low, his mouth curving. Izzy smiled back. Then Cal leaned in, smooth and confident, pressing a brief kiss to her cheek.
Grant’s grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Not my business. Not my problem. That’s what he wanted. That’s exactly what he’d told her.
Cal stepped back, sliding into the driver’s seat. The engine didn’t turn over immediately. Instead, the tinted glass of the window slid down with a mechanical hiss.
“Izzy,” Cal called.
She paused on the bottom step. Turned. Walked back toward the idling Escalade, leaning in just enough to hear him over the engine.
Grant couldn’t catch a single syllable. Didn’t need to.
Cal’s gaze stayed fixed on her with a proprietary focus, like he already knew exactly how this game was going to play out.
Izzy nodded once. “Tomorrow works,” she said.
That was all the wind carried back to the truck. Cal’s smile widened just a fraction. “Good,” he said.
The window slid back up, and the Escalade pulled away, kicking up a plume of gray dust that settled slowly in its wake.
Grant opened his truck door and stepped out. Izzy didn’t look at him. Not when she turned toward the house, not when she walked past his fender, and not when her boots hit the wooden steps of the porch.
“Lunch good?” he asked anyway. The words came out rougher, more territorial than he meant them to.
She paused at the screen door.
“Great,” she said, her voice a controlled line.
She didn’t look back as she reached the porch. But instead of stepping inside, she headed straight around the corner of the house, her boots striking the side path with purpose. Grant stood in the middle of the yard for a moment longer, a sinking weight settling right behind his ribs.
Then her voice came from around the ridge line, outside.
“Hello?”
He glanced toward the side ridge. She’d walked fast toward the overlook, her phone pressed to her ear as she stared into the endless valleys below. Away from him.
Good. That was easier. He turned and went inside.
* * *
Izzy paced the very edge of the stone overlook, the Blue Ridge peaks stretching wide and unyielding in front of her.
“Marcus, if this is about the revised acquisitions proposal, I told you—”
“It’s not the proposal, Izzy,” Marcus Halpern said from thirteen hundred miles away.
His voice was too calm. Too clean. Something in her went absolutely still.
“We’ve had a meeting with the primary investors,” Marcus continued, his clinical cadence cutting through the phone line like a razor. “And they’ve decided to move in a different direction.”
A heavy beat dropped between them. Izzy didn’t respond.
“The truth is,” Marcus went on, entirely untroubled by the quiet, “your approach isn’t aligning with what they want long-term for the market profile.”
There it was. Clean. Corporate. Final.
Anger flashed hard through her veins. “So that’s it?” she said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. “After six years, after everything I’ve built for you, that’s how this goes?”
“It’s just business, Izzy.”
She let out a short, humorless laugh that tasted like copper. “Of course it is.”
“We’ll have HR send over the transition and severance paperwork to your email—”
“Don’t bother,” she cut in.
Silence stretched on the other end, cold and controlled.
“I’ll handle it,” she whispered and hung up before he could say another word.