Chapter 6
Chapter Six
A shley had received the note, or as she saw it, the summons along with her decaf coffee. She’d been relieved. Her big, bold show took more energy than she had anticipated. If Dad had been able to entertain the guests with stories, she had reasoned it couldn’t be that hard. Under normal circumstances, finding her inner charisma wasn’t challenging. But her subterfuge added a layer to the endeavor that drained her. She refused to give her father a win, even after his death.
She sipped her drink and studied the neat cursive on the crisp folded sheet of letterhead. Her own handwriting was messy and illegible. Her thoughts came too fast to worry about penmanship. Christopher took time in everything.
Swallowing a sigh, she set the mug on the saucer, lifted her chin, and met the gaze of the ma?tre d’. “Of course. Thank you. Please charge the meal to my room.”
“Very good, ma’am.” Pierre bowed and held out her chair.
With her head held high, she walked through the restaurant at a leisurely pace. She tipped her head, nodding and waving at a few friendly faces. She’d been glad he caught at least a hint of her show. She’d felt his eyes on her, the awareness of him as comforting as a favorite sweatshirt. While she often found herself in the spotlight, she only cared if he was watching. She still craved his attention. Otherwise, why was she performing at all?
In the lobby, she held her shoulders back and continued at her own speed. Resting her hand lightly on the polished railing, she floated up the stairs to the top floor. She didn’t let her mask slip until she reached the attic hallway. Then she braced her hands on either side of her waist and dragged deep breaths into her burning lungs.
She hated to appear winded, even if it was the truth. Smoothing her hands over the skirt of her dress, she continued down the corridor to the closed door. She knocked, her fist rapping against the wood in her three-knock-two-knock pattern.
“Enter.” Christopher’s deep voice carried through the solid panel.
She twisted the doorknob and let herself into the room, shutting the door behind her. Last night and earlier this morning, he had rushed her through the space without giving her a chance to study his office. If he wanted to put on a show of demanding her presence, he’d have to allow her to do so at her own pleasure.
In the early afternoon, the sunlight filled the room with a golden glow. With windows on three sides, it was almost like being in the tree house she’d always wanted and never received. Christopher created a sanctuary for himself. While the room was very one-note and seemed to be the result of an online shopping spree, incorporating no refurbished pieces or hints of his personality, he did a better job than she would have imagined.
The leather armchairs and ottoman were almost the same color as the massive desk. He didn’t have any blankets or pillows. The lamps were all the same boring stick shape. Only the sizes differentiated them. He’d done well with the colorful antique rugs.
“Care to revise your opinion about my decorating in the light of day? Does my office meet with your approval?” he asked.
Heat crept up her neck, burning her ears. She glanced at him, seated behind his desk. She shrugged her shoulders and pulled out one of the wooden spindle back chairs opposite him. “It’s not particularly cozy.”
He snorted.
“But it’s not bad. You did a decent job. I wouldn’t hire you as a decorator based on the continued use of that awful cream paint everywhere.”
He frowned, furrowing his brow. “What’s offensive about a neutral color? Isn’t it the standard, acceptable beige?”
“Exactly. It’s predictable and boring. Shouldn’t the Inn be a little bolder? More adventurous?”
“With paint?”
“With everything. The paint is a good start.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face.
She hated it when he did that. The mannerism was dismissive. She wasn’t here for his amusement or derision. She was here for her destiny. “You did a nice job in this room.”
He dropped his hands to the desk and met her gaze. A soft smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “I had help.”
Like Elise? Ashley’s upper lip trembled, cracking the fa?ade of her brittle smile. She couldn’t let him see that she cared. Or, maybe she should start implying she had a far more interesting life. Like she left something, or someone, behind to grace everyone with her presence. If only she believed that, she wouldn’t be groveling. “I’ve answered your call. What’s next?”
“Working.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I am. You need my valuable input.”
“I’m serious, and I need more than a few comments on my interior design skills.” He slid a folder across the desk and tapped a finger against the smooth cover. “I’ve compiled everything you should know if you really intend to take over the resort.”
She reached for the folder, careful to tug the free end. No accidental touches or innocent hand brushing. Unless she could somehow manage her expectations and only leave him wanting more. Opening the folder, she stared at the stapled sheets filling each pocket almost to bursting.
She leafed through one side. Numbers. She frowned at the collection of dates and times followed by spreadsheets with dollar amounts. On the other, she discovered pages of bullet points. He hadn’t given up his micromanaging ways.
Maybe she’d have more support from the hotel staff than she first assumed. And she’d been foolish enough to go along with his plan this morning and act like a snob. How many people had she turned off with the act? It wasn’t too late to correct her course and show more of herself. She could be charming. Far more than him. “I don’t understand how this is part of the plan? Aren’t I supposed to be investigating?”
“In due course,” he said. “If you want to take over, you need to know what is involved in running the place.”
“I can do this.” She shut the folder and returned it to the tabletop. “I can run the resort. It’s in my blood.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I’m serious. It’s my blood, not yours.”
He didn’t correct her. Their marriage had been against Dad’s advice. Within a few months, she had regretted the whole situation. As she fell more in love with her husband, he seemed intent on ingratiating himself with her father more than ever. She found herself the odd woman out. Everything always worked out in Dad’s favor. Even now, he continued to pull the strings and make them dance to his tune. “If this is a discussion of nature versus nurture, I have the advantage of both.”
“Genetics notwithstanding, you need a general grasp of all the layers of the business. I have firsthand experience at every level. I can appreciate how my decisions reverberate through the ranks.”
“How I run the Inn won’t follow some strict set of arbitrary guidelines. It’ll be more…” she studied his face. She knew the perfect word to set his teeth on edge. “Collaborative.”
He flinched.
She was probably petty for how much she enjoyed his squirms. No doubt, he was imagining sharing circles and teambuilding therapy. The victory was short-lived.
“Making money isn’t running a democracy,” he intoned.
“As Dad told me plenty of times.” If he were around, she’d ask him why. Dad could have written her out if he’d wanted to give Christopher the business. Why include her at all?
“What’s your experience in the hospitality industry?”
The matter-of-fact question deflated her. He hadn’t been following her brief stints in food service? She’d hoped he checked in on her social media accounts. She shifted on the seat. “I’ve dabbled in the service sector over the past few years. I’m more of a big-picture thinker.”
He nodded. “Which is great, and I don’t doubt your sincerity. But you need a practical understanding of the Inn. You have to get your hands dirty.”
“Is that really necessary? Do I have to learn? Or am I proving something to you?”
“If running this place is so easy, why don’t you show me?” He leaned forward, his hot breath tickling her cheek. “Unless you’re scared, you can’t…”
Her shiver had nothing to do with fear. She straightened her shoulders. “Fine. Great. I’ll be the hotel manager.” She’d been the assistant for a short while during the summer before she graduated college. However, she remained fuzzy on the details. She had skipped the tutorial about the booking software in favor of sneaking to the beach as he lifeguarded. With her eyes closed, she could remember how the sun had glistened off his lean muscles. She had failed the swim test miserably and been put to better use indoors at Dad’s insistence. She was sure she’d be more than capable as an adult.
“Oh no.” Christopher waggled a finger in her face. “You’ll work your way up. Just like I did.”
She hoped he wasn’t speaking literally. He’d started on the ground crew in middle school before moving on to bussing and then lifeguarding in high school. When he graduated college, he assumed a management role.
If she followed his path, she’d spend the day weeding the flower beds at the front entrance of the Inn, inhaling exhaust from idling vehicles waiting for the valet. She studied her chipped manicure. At least she hadn’t fixed her nail polish yet. Within hours, her palms would be callused from manual labor.
With a placating smile, she studied him. How could she get out of it? Play into his concern about appearance? “Isn’t that sort of vindictive? Do you really want your employees to think poorly of you? And give the townsfolk even more fodder?”
He steepled his fingers together and rested his elbows on the desk. “Exactly. I need you to make a show of doing whatever it takes to get the Inn. You’ll look like the wronged heroine of the whole situation. You’ll earn everyone’s sympathy.”
He had a point. She needed more. She wanted his support. “What will you do while I’m otherwise engaged? Ghost hunting?” She wanted him to find the answers. But she hoped he wouldn’t poke around and disturb the ghost. Whoever haunted the abandoned building didn’t want company.
The more she considered her experience with the lighthouse phantom, the more she questioned why her late father hadn’t used that angle to keep guests from poking around the building. His treasure myth had stoked interest.
“Not quite.” Christopher sighed. “I need photos and documentation. If it’s foul play, I’ll need to file a police report.”
Reasonable and rational, as always. She wasn’t surprised but concerned. Ghosts could still hurt non-believers. “You really think it’s sabotage?”
“I don’t know.” He dropped his arms to the table. “An accident still seems the most reasonable explanation.”
“When will you inspect the lighthouse?”
He stared at her, holding her gaze until his left eye twitched. Then he looked away. And she almost cheered.
“I’ll have a look tomorrow. I don’t want to make an insurance claim. The rates would spike, and I intend to renovate, anyway.” He stared at her hard. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
She frowned. What could she owe him gratitude for?
“If I wanted reimbursement for the property, I’d have to involve the police.” He steepled his hands together, pressing the fingertips against his chin. “You’d be in trouble for trespassing and held liable for the fire.”
She hoped he was only thinking out loud. A legal issue was the last thing she needed. “I didn’t start it,” she said.
He pushed back his chair. “Whenever you want to tell me what happened, you don’t need to worry about repercussions. I wouldn’t be upset about an accident. I wanted a blank canvas. An intentional blaze, however, would change things.” He strode around the table to lean against it, standing close and staring down his nose at her.
“I love the lighthouse. You know that.” Her voice and words were weak. She loved many things but had proved capable of blowing those up with the right motivation.
“Regardless of the lighthouse, you have to get going for your first job.”
“I do?” She frowned.
He nodded. “The first sheet on the left pocket is a schedule for you of various jobs I’ve assigned you. You’ll need to get started. You might want to change into jeans.”
She opened the folder and scanned the page he mentioned, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Concessions at the afternoon movie? She’d swap her heels for flats, her only compromise. She could do everything he did but better. She’d show everyone.
Shutting the folder, she interlaced her fingers on her lap. “Not today. Whatever you’ve assigned can start later. I have somewhere I’d like to go right now.” Start the way you intend to finish . Dad’s old advice rang through her mind.
“Already giving up?”
She snorted. “Hardly. If I’m back in time, I’ll stop by the matinee and help.” She stood and, with one quick nod, spun towards the door and left.
She was the one to exit first. Every time.
* * *
Christopher gritted his teeth as the door shut.
She was careful not to slam it behind her as she flounced away.
Giving up? Already? He’d barely given her a checklist, and she hightailed it out of the room. Rolling his neck, he rubbed the base of his skull just above his spine. He wasn’t being fair. He hadn’t asked for details. Now that she was officially back, she probably had places to go and people to see.
Who? He wasn’t a jealous type. If she’d moved on during the past ten years, could he really be that surprised? Out of sight, out of mind?
He powered up his laptop and glanced at his inbox. A message from a friend he’d met at a hotelier conference a few years ago popped up on the top of the to-be-read queue. The subject declared, Don’t say no immediately.
Tom Lavande ran a resort on the Big Island of Hawaii. Roughly the same size as the Inn at Loon Lake, Hotel Lavande catered to high-end clientele with Tom’s trademark French hospitality. Closer in age to Xavier than Christopher, Tom had hit it off with both men and jokingly tried to steal Christopher away from the Inn. While Christopher had never had the chance to visit, he’d felt a twinge of envy at the beautiful images of sun-soaked lanais off every room, an open-air lobby that led to the beach beyond, and a truly spectacular restaurant for viewing the sun dip below the ocean at dusk.
He clicked on the email.
I have sent you information and have a room ready. I would very much like to discuss selling Hotel Lavande to you. Sincerely, Tom Lavande.
Christopher stared at the screen. Tom offered paradise on a platter. Only a fool would turn down the offer, especially with the uncertain ownership of the Inn. Moving to one of the most remote islands in the world promised the ultimate escape. Christopher would have to take out a loan to make a purchase but would earn the money back in no time. He could start over somewhere new. He could leave everything behind.
He pushed away from his desk. Leaning against the windowsill, he angled toward the sunlight. If that happened to be the same direction as the main entrance, who cared? She’d have to be racing out of the Inn to make it through the lobby in the next few minutes. He still had plenty of time to observe where she was supposedly heading on her important errand.
Just don’t date Zach Jenkins. If she moved back and settled here, she’d live her life in full view. He couldn’t handle watching her move on with his enemy. Loon Lake didn’t have many eligible bachelors. With slim pickings, Zach probably rose in any woman’s estimation. Steve Prim might even be a candidate. Hadn’t he had a crush on her years ago in high school? Sending her flowers on Valentine’s Day before Christopher made his feelings known?
Christopher hadn’t glanced at anyone else. Ever. To even consider dating again was ludicrous. Besides the fact that there were fewer eligible bachelorettes than bachelors in town, the very idea was ridiculous. How could he look at another woman? He’d held a diamond. He wasn’t going back to rhinestones or sequins.
She drew every eye with her friendly, flirtatious personality. She was charming and endearing. She never met a stranger and seemed taken aback whenever she received a compliment or a phone number. She was a rare jewel.
Where could she head off to on some sort of all-important rendezvous that didn’t involve another man? If I consider Tom’s offer, I wouldn’t have to watch.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, tension building in his temples. Leaving Loon Lake had never been a possibility. The community knew him from birth. Starting over was a shocking consideration.
However, he couldn’t write off the idea. He had to consider everyone’s best interest. Packing up and moving on would simplify everything. He didn’t have generational ties to Loon Lake. Unlike Ashley.
Being curious about her had led him into repeated trouble. This time, he couldn’t and wouldn’t chase after her. He had his own problems and work to attend to. If he assumed the role of villain in her life to protect her from the truth, he would deal with the fallout. He couldn’t unburden himself with honesty without inflicting pain.
For years, he’d been treading water in the icy lake. He had to stop. He’d reach the moment of either taking a full stroke toward the shore or letting go and sinking to the bottom. He couldn’t stay in place any longer.
Back at the desk, he dialed the phone number he’d accidentally memorized over the past few weeks. Tapping a pen rapidly against the desktop didn’t soothe him. Ashley returned, and a sudden tidal wave of emotions hit him.
“Boyd Printing,” Seth answered. “How may I assist you today?”
“Seth, hi. It’s Christopher Lewis at the Inn.”
“Oh, good morning. How are you?”
Christopher smiled. Seth was a remarkably cheerful person. He was an optimist gliding from one day to the next. If he ever got upset, he never showed it. He rolled with the punches with his trademark good humor. “I’m well. Listen. The menus aren’t quite right.”
“Really?”
“Looks like the margins are off by an inch. We’re nearly there. Can you rerun them?”
“I sure am sorry. I thought I nailed it this time.”
“Me, too,” Christopher said. After all the back and forth, he would usually be out of patience. But not with Seth. Getting angry with him was like raging at a dog. It served no purpose other than to show him he needed empathy. “Do you think you can run them this week? I want to get the new menus out as soon as possible.”
“Absolutely. I’m finishing up another round of stickers today and plotting Soupy sightings on a map. But I’ll add this to the list.”
Pointing out that his side hustles barely broke even while the contract with his major customer kept his business afloat was also an exercise in futility. Seth operated on his own schedule. Christopher knew better than to explain his side of things again. Seth was one of his few allies in town, and alienating him wasn’t an option. Instead of looking for problems, Christopher focused on the positive of Seth’s passion project, a lake monster legend for the community. “How is Soupy? Any new sightings?”
“None lately.” Seth sighed. “But the Prims haven’t been out on the lake too much this year. I expect we’ll be hearing about him soon. Zach is going to bring up the legend with his customers. I think once the idea spreads, it’ll take off from there.”
Christopher frowned. Should he do the same? Most of the Inn’s tourists returned year after year. They’d notice something amiss on the water. But he was never sure how to explain. Soupy was Seth’s very own Loch Ness monster. While Christopher couldn’t understand how the creature existed, he appreciated the creative and industrious spirit that dreamt up the idea.
His world was black and white. This or that. Rational. Logical. He had always been drawn to imaginative, romantic types who understood the world on a completely different level.
He’d missed the wild fantasies of one particular mind in person. For too long, Seth had been the only visionary in town. Christopher supported anyone with a big plan. “Keep me posted.”
“About the menus?” Seth asked.
Christopher smiled to himself. “And Soupy.”
“Okay. Have a great day,” Seth said.
“Bye, Seth.” Christopher hung up the receiver, refraining from any sort of breathy exclamations until the call ended. At least he could count out Seth as a potential love interest for his wife.
He cradled his heavy head in his hands, digging his elbows into the desktop. His wife. Had he missed her? If he ran to the window now, could he catch a glimpse?
He couldn’t. She came back to claim his hard work. She’d run the Inn out of business with her whims. He hadn’t given everything he had to let her ruin the town. Enough with feeling sorry for himself.
He grabbed his tablet, flipped back the cover, and unlocked the screen. In a few swipes, he brought up Zach Jenkins’ blog. While the website was almost solely dedicated to slandering Christopher, he couldn’t stop himself from checking every day, several times. He probably had an excellent case for a libel suit. But he wasn’t into censorship, especially when silencing his enemies would only embolden them to work in secret.
He’d rather see someone’s ugly behavior so he could act accordingly, rather than think he had friends.
The blog had been updated in the last hour and was its usual diatribe about the community’s ruin because of the Inn. Christopher’s heartbeat slowed. No mention of his wife.
Wherever she went, she hadn’t run off into Zach’s arms. Good. That was something, at least. If he racked his brain, he didn’t remember the few years older Zach ever paying Ashley any attention and vice versa. But only a few appropriately aged suitors lurked in Loon Lake. And he felt confident she wouldn’t be interested in Seth. Only one dreamer per relationship seemed a solid rule for success.
It had never been him. He wasn’t creative or witty. Not like her. She shined so brightly. Her leaving was inevitable.
He stayed. His strength was his character. He was steadfast. Years ago, she might not have said the words, but she delivered an ultimatum by leaving.
While he wasn’t the cleverest, he wasn’t a fool. As a rule, he learned to listen and consider. Then he’d plan and execute. When Xavier had come to Christopher for help, he’d had to assist. He’d shielded her from the truth and couldn’t tell her now—justifying his actions—without causing more pain.
He made his choice and would gain nothing by trying to rewrite the past. He could only go forward. And hope she moved on with someone he could stand.