Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
JACKSON
The next morning rolls around entirely too quickly.
This sleepy town is almost too peaceful. The room Meyer forced me into is nice, with its four-poster bed and its en suite bathroom complete with a claw-foot bathtub, but as I settled beneath the sheets, I couldn’t shake the weird feeling. Because it was too quiet.
I wouldn’t say Toronto is a city that never sleeps, but there’s always something interrupting the silence of the night. Whether it’s raucous shouting after a hockey game or the whir of an air conditioner, motion is a constant. But Fraisier Creek is disconcertingly still.
When I didn’t immediately nod off, my brain took that as permission to wander. It first settled on the inn’s parking lot and how much money it would require to repair the crater-sized holes in the asphalt. A handsome sum, no doubt.
Then, predictably, my thoughts drifted to my business partner.
It’s easy to claim plain curiosity. Anyone would have an interest in the new person they were supposed to work alongside. But I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that it’s more than that. In the simplest terms, Meyer Ellison intrigues me.
Especially when I walk downstairs and catch her mid-argument.
“You stole my identity ,” Meyer hisses from inside the back office.
The door is open, giving anyone passing by the freedom to observe. To his credit, the man—Trystan, according to his name tag—standing behind the front desk pretends not to listen. I have no such qualms as I lean against the desk.
“Meyer,” an unfamiliar woman says, “I can explain.”
I imagine Meyer crossing her arms and levelling her opponent with that icy gaze of hers.
“I don’t want to hear it right now. What I want is for you to tell me he’s wrong. That there’s been a big mistake and this is all a nightmare.”
There’s a beat of heavy silence. “You know I can’t do that.”
I straighten when Meyer comes rushing out of the office. Her head is down, but it snaps up when she nears me, and she stops short.
Gone are her jeans and t-shirt from yesterday. In their place is a poufy-sleeved blouse tucked into a pencil skirt that hugs her hips even better than the denim. She’s mesmerizing.
It doesn’t matter what she wears, though—she’s still my off-limits business partner. And consequently, the woman who hates my guts.
“What are you doing here?” she bites out .
I grin, knowing it will infuriate her. Because feeling her wrath is better than seeing the pain in her expression.
“Like I told you yesterday, we have a meeting.”
She sneers. “If you think I’m going to sit in a confined space with you, you are sorely mistaken. I’d rather chew on glass.”
This pulls a laugh from me. “You have a rather creative imagination, Ms. Ellison.”
Meyer nods, crossing her arms. “You wouldn’t even want to know what I’ve imagined doing to you.”
To this, I can’t help my smirk. “Oh, but I think I would.”
I can see the moment the double meaning of her words hits her because she goes stiff, jaw clenching. Fire ignites in her gaze, and fuck, if that isn’t enticing. These thoughts are dangerous, but I can’t help myself. I want to?—
A throat clears behind us.
We both turn to the older woman standing in the office doorway. She looks to be in her sixties, with silver hair chopped just above her shoulders. The woman in that photo with Cherie, I realize. This must be my grandmother’s friend and business partner.
I step forward, hand outstretched toward her. “Jackson Vaughan. Nice to meet you,” I say.
She returns my handshake with a smile. “Beatrice Ellison,” she replies. “You look a lot like Cherie, you know.”
The comment tugs painfully on my heart, but I push the feeling aside. It’s something I don’t have time for today.
“I presume you are the one I’ve been speaking with over email?”
Beatrice’s gaze flits to her daughter, then returns to me. “I am. I apologize for the subterfuge, but I’m glad that we could all be here today to sort everything out.”
Meyer lets out a snort of derision behind me.
The front door opens then, cutting our conversation short. A man in a tan suit comes striding in, briefcase in hand. The inn’s lawyer is here.
Beatrice offers me a strained smile. “Let’s get started.”
“So I think that about sums it all up,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair. “Any questions?”
The business lawyer, whose name I barely caught because I was focused on the way Meyer was glaring holes into my chest, is an older man both short and stout. He talks faster than the speed of light and sports a fedora that he, as far as I can tell, wears unironically.
I shake my head, and then I chance a glance at Meyer. If she clenches her jaw any harder, she’s liable to turn her teeth to dust from the sheer pressure.
She opens her mouth, readying to say something, but her mother places a hand on her arm. A silent reprimand.
“That’ll be all, Louis,” Beatrice says. “Thank you very much.”
Louis replaces his fedora on his head and tips it in her direction. “My pleasure,” he replies. He then addresses me and Meyer. “Once I wade through all the paperwork on my end, I’ll just need your autographs, and then you’ll both be the proud new owners of Dog Days Inn!”
Suffice to say, the lawyer’s enthusiasm is leaps and bounds ahead of ours. And he seems totally oblivious to the pure ire radiating off of Meyer.
I stand from my seat and stick a hand out. “It was nice to meet you, Louis,” I say. “I look forward to working with you.”
A slight exaggeration, but that’s the name of the game.
Louis turns to Meyer, looking like he’s gearing up to go in for a hug. As he moves closer, Meyer’s hand shoots out between them, almost jabbing the lawyer in the belly from the force. She clears her throat.
“Man, I remember when you were just a tyke,” he says as he takes her hand, unperturbed. His tone then takes on a teasing quality. “Are you sure you’re grown up enough for this?”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Montaigne,” Meyer says, tipping her chin up with a smile. It’s polite, but I can detect the frustration simmering below the surface. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
Louis squeezes her elbow. “Talk soon, little lady.”
Meyer’s jaw hardens ever so slightly. Her annoyance with him isn’t as outright as with me, but I detect it all the same. Hell, I feel annoyed on her behalf. Still, she doesn’t say anything. But letting that belittling remark hang in the air doesn’t sit right with me.
“Ms. Ellison has a name,” I say firmly. “I suggest you use it.”
When the lawyer leaves, looking chastised, Meyer whirls on me. “I do not need you fighting my battles,” she seethes.
I cross my arms. “Well, someone had to set him straight, seeing as you weren’t doing it. ”
Her cheeks heat as her eyes blaze. “And who the hell decided that you were that person? Don’t kid yourself into thinking you’re my knight in shining armour, Vaughan.”
“Hey—”
A throat clears. Both of us turn to see a very stern Beatrice staring us down. I wonder how often Meyer was on the receiving end of this look growing up.
Beatrice’s brow is arched. “Are you two just about finished?”
I nod, now feeling chastised myself. Meyer opens her mouth again, but she wisely decides to shut it before she utters another word.
Beatrice sighs. “Why don't we all sit back down and have a proper conversation?”
I settle back into the mismatched chair opposite Beatrice at the office desk. Begrudgingly, Meyer slides into her own chair beside me. It feels a lot like sitting in the principal’s office after being pulled out of class, some kind of punishment imminent.
“It can be an uphill battle trying to make something of yourself in a town that’s seen you in diapers. But it’s a battle Meyer knows well, and one she is equipped to handle how she sees fit,” Beatrice says to me. Then she turns to her daughter. “And Meyer, Jackson was trying to help you. Don’t forget that.”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” she mumbles.
Then silence stretches for a moment too long. I can tell that Beatrice is waiting for one of us to make the first move. Judging by Meyer’s sour expression, that won’t be her, so I resolve to be the bigger person.
“My grandmother thought very highly of you, and this inn,” I tell Beatrice.
This coaxes a sad smile from her. “I thought the world of her as well. Both in a professional and a personal capacity.”
I look down at my hands clasped in my lap, turning my thoughts over in my head. I want to know why my grandmother kept this place from me. I have the strong urge to ask, but I’m fairly certain neither one of them will have the answer.
That’s just how Cherie was—she kept a lot of stuff to herself. But I always thought there were no secrets between us. Obviously, I was wrong.
“Well,” Beatrice says, “I would offer you a tour, but these old knees don’t work like they used to.”
Some of Meyer’s anger shifts. In its place is unbridled concern. “Are you okay?”
Beatrice smiles at her daughter. It’s reassuring and apologetic all at once. “Same old, same old.” She wiggles the cane in her grip. “Just meant I would be no fun hobbling through the halls with this.”
“That’s alright,” I say. “I can figure it out.”
“Nonsense. Meyer will show you around.”
Meyer, at this very moment, looks like she would rather be on the receiving end of a lobotomy gone wrong. Or, more likely, she’s imagining what it would be like to perform said operation on me .
“I’ll stay here,” Beatrice continues, addressing her daughter. “ After your walkabout, you can treat me to lunch and then drive me home.”
Beatrice’s words drip with finality. And despite how angry Meyer may be with her, she doesn’t plan to go against her mother. She stands from her chair and strides into the hall without so much as a backwards glance.
I say my farewell to Beatrice and then I follow Meyer out of the office. When I spot her standing with her arms crossed, I sigh. “Listen, you don’t have to?—”
She holds up a hand. “Don’t take pity on me, Vaughan. We’re not going to be friends. You don’t want to be here, and I don’t want you here. So,” she says, “I’m going to give you this tour and then we’re going to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible. Got it?”
No , I want to say. As much as these initial interactions have been one clusterfuck after another, I don’t want to be at odds with her. Working together would make the process much smoother.
But Meyer is stubborn. I can tell she’s in no mood to hear me out, so I simply nod. “Got it.”
Fuck, it’s going to be a long six months .