Chapter Eighteen
The clock hadn’t even hit noon, and Cora was already running on fumes.
After a sleepless night spent agonizing over Nathaniel’s plans, she’d finally pieced together his scheme: If he got The Salty Spoon, which was the heart of Main Street, he’d gain control of everything.
The town would change, and not for the better. She couldn’t let that happen.
Which is how she found herself clacking her way toward the lion’s den in a pencil skirt, lipstick, and kitten heels, armed with nothing but determination, a mild stomachache, and a takeout container of Bea’s cherry pie.
She smoothed down her blouse and mentally rehearsed her pitch for the millionth time. The plan was simple. One: Don’t cry. Two: Don’t beg. Three: When in doubt, channel her inner Lolly and offer him a slice of pie. It’s hard to foreclose on someone with a mouthful of lattice crust.
Easy.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and marched up the steps of the bank, praying both her shoes and her nerves would hold up.
“May I help you?” The receptionist hadn’t thawed one bit since the last time Cora and Jack had been there.
“Cora Lockwood to see Nathaniel Worthington, please.”
“Do you have an appointment?” Her face was as welcoming as a brick wall.
“No, I don’t.”
“Mr. Worthington is a very busy man. If you’d care to make an appointment, I can pencil you in for three weeks from next Tuesday.”
Cora leaned in, lowering her voice, hoping to break through the woman’s icy demeanor. “Look, I’m aware that this is unorthodox, but it’s about The Salty Spoon. If you’d just—”
“Cora, what a surprise.” Nathaniel’s smooth voice sliced through their whispered standoff. “I knew you’d see things my way.”
She turned to see him descending the grand staircase. With his tailored suit, perfect hair, and air of polished disdain, he looked like the Grim Reaper, if the Grim Reaper had a stylist and a trust fund.
“Nathaniel,” she said, forcing cheer into her voice. “I was hoping to speak with you.”
He flashed a smile that was probably meant to be charming but came off predatory. “I’m booked solid today, but for you I’ll make an exception. Shall we step into my office?”
She warily followed him down the hall. In high school, he’d been captain of the debate team, wore a tie every Friday, and handed out flyers about water conservation. Even then, he’d talked like a politician. But he hadn’t been cruel. Just calculated.
She wondered what had changed him.
“Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a chair that belonged in a museum rather than an office. White, pristine, and somehow offensive in its perfection.
She hesitated, wondering what kind of psychopath chooses white furniture for his office.
Did he not expect people to sit in it? She perched on the edge, trying not to touch anything, when something on his desk caught her eye—a folder labeled Harlow’s, sitting at the top of a stack.
Jack’s restaurant. Her curiosity spiked, but with Nathaniel sitting right there, she couldn’t exactly dive in.
The folder was just out of reach, taunting her.
Before she could think too much about it, the receptionist’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Mr. Worthington, I need you for a moment.”
Nathaniel’s gaze flicked to the phone and then back to her. “Excuse me, please,” he said smoothly, standing and adjusting his jacket before stepping out of the room.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Cora’s heart kicked into overdrive. The folder was sitting right there. She checked the door one more time and then, with shaking hands, she snatched it from the stack and shoved it into her tote bag.
She barely had time to steady her breath before Nathaniel returned, his footsteps sharp against the floor. She forced a smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice how tightly she was clutching her bag.
“Now, what can I do for you?” He settled behind his desk, his eyes fixed on her.
She pressed on. “I was hoping we’d be able to come to an agreement about the terms of the loan. Maybe an extension?”
Nathaniel leaned back, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “The terms of the contract are very clear, I’m afraid.”
Her stomach dropped. “So there’s nothing I can do?”
The way his gaze slid over her made her skin crawl. She resisted the urge to squirm.
Nathaniel stood and moved around the desk and perched on the edge. “I’ve always thought it was a shame we didn’t get to know each other better growing up.”
She leaned back, trying to keep some distance. “Different social circles, I guess.”
“True,” he said slowly. “But maybe it’s time we changed that.” He leaned in, his cologne thick in the air. “How about we discuss the extension over dinner? Just you and me, away from all this business. I think we’d make an excellent team.”
She barely held back a gag. The idea of dinner with Nathaniel was about as appealing as day-old gas station sushi. Or Ebola.
She shot up from the chair so fast it wobbled. “Wow, look at the time! I suddenly remembered I have . . . a thing. A very important thing.”
As she stood, her eyes flicked to the takeout container of Bea’s pie. For a split second she imagined opening it and smashing the cherry filling all over his perfect white chair. The thought was almost too good to resist. But Bea’s pie deserved better than that.
Nathaniel’s smile stayed in place, but his eyes darkened. “Come now. It’s just dinner. Unless you’re not serious about saving the café?”
“Oh, I’m serious,” she said, backing toward the door, the stolen folder pressing against her side. “But I’m going to have to decline your offer.”
His smile vanished, replaced with cold calculation. “Very well. Your loss.”
Cora stormed out of Worthington Bank, her head spinning with frustration.
Nathaniel Worthington—smug, slimy, and officially the most repulsive man alive—had made her feel powerless.
Worse, a creeping sense of worry gnawed at her.
His smirk, combined with the way he’d dangled The Spoon’s fate in front of her like a carrot, had thrown her completely off balance.
As she stomped down the steps, the file on Jack’s restaurant was sitting against her side, heavy and dangerous.
Should she tell him? Would it help or just make everything worse?
The idea of admitting she’d swiped something from Nathaniel’s desk made her stomach twist. But keeping it secret didn’t sit right either.
She needed to clear her head, but all she could see was Nathaniel’s infuriating grin.
Somehow, she found herself behind the wheel, driving toward Jack’s place. She didn’t have a plan, or even a reason to go, but it was the only place that made sense.
As she pulled up, the familiar sounds of waves lapping against the shore greeted her.
Jack was down by the dock, standing at a weathered table, a thin knife in hand as he expertly filleted a fish.
He moved with calm precision. The grill beside him sizzled, filling the air with the mouthwatering scent of whatever he was cooking, while a tray of vegetables waited their turn.
For a moment, she watched, letting the sight of him working with such ease settle the chaos inside her.
“Cooking all that just for yourself?” she finally called, her voice breaking the peaceful spell.
Jack looked up, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into a smile. “Not anymore.”
She walked down to the dock, the wood creaking beneath her feet. As she got closer, his smile faded, replaced by concern. He set the knife down, wiping his hands on a towel as his eyes searched her face.
“Cora,” he said, his voice low and steady, “what’s wrong?”
That simple question was all it took. The tension she’d been holding on to unraveled.
“Nathaniel Worthington is a grade-A scumbag.” She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself as the weight of the encounter came crashing down.
“I went to see him about the loan. He threatened to foreclose, then tried to bribe me with a dinner date.”
Jack’s jaw clenched. He picked up the knife, gripping it tightly. “He did what?”
“He said he might consider helping me if I agreed to have dinner with him.” Her voice shook with disbelief. “And I don’t think he was talking about food.”
The knife clattered onto the table as Jack straightened, his eyes blazing. “I can debone this trout in thirty seconds. I doubt Worthington would take more than a couple of minutes, tops.”
She grabbed his arm as he moved to step past her, her hand barely wrapping around the solid muscle. “Whoa, there. As much as I appreciate the sentiment, a murder charge isn’t going to help us save the café.”
Jack took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he tried to rein in his anger. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “But if he tries anything like that again, he’ll have to deal with me.”
A small, irrational part of her found his protectiveness swoon-worthy. There was something undeniably attractive about someone ready to commit a felony on your behalf, but she couldn’t let herself get distracted by Jack’s muscled knight-in-shining-board-shorts routine. Not now.
“There’s something else,” she added, forcing herself to focus on the real reason she’d come.
Jack’s gaze sharpened. “What is it?”
“When I was in Nathaniel’s office, I saw a folder on his desk with the name of your old restaurant on it. I couldn’t see inside, but it can’t be good.”
Jack ran a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal.
“Worthington didn’t have anything to do with the restaurant.
” He stopped and looked at her, his jaw tight.
“We need that folder. We need to figure out why he’s sniffing around.
” His voice dropped as he muttered to himself.
“Maybe I can distract him somehow. Or wait until his office clears out and—”
“Break in?” She tilted her head to the side. The man looked two seconds away from planning a full-blown heist. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but we don’t need to go full Ocean’s Eleven here.”
Jack stopped mid-pace, his eyes blazing. “I’m not joking, Cora. If he had anything to do with my restaurant going under, I need to know.”
She took a breath, letting him stew for a moment before pulling the folder from her tote and setting it on the table between them, making sure to steer clear of the fish guts.
Jack’s eyes went wide. He stared at it for a moment Slowly, a grin spread across his face, and the storm clouds in his eyes cleared.
“Looks like I’ve been underestimating you.
” He leaned in, his voice dropping to that teasing tone that always made her stomach flip.
“Turns out sweet, by-the-book Cora has a rebellious streak. Gotta say, it’s really sexy. ”
She rolled her eyes, even as a smile tugged at her lips. Nobody had ever called her sexy. Organized? Definitely. Detail-obsessed? Sure. But sexy? That was new. So she did the only thing she could. She ignored it. “I’m not a rebel, Jack. I just borrowed some paperwork.”
Jack’s grin didn’t falter as his fingers skimmed the edge of the folder.
But instead of diving in, he leaned a little closer, his eyes locked on hers with something that made her pulse pick up.
“I thought you had every part of your life planned out on those color-coded spreadsheets you’re so fond of. ”
“And your point?”
His grin turned wicked. “I’m wondering which tab on your spreadsheet covered robbing a bank.”
She snorted, shaking her head. “Please. If I were going to rob a bank, there’d be a full risk assessment and a checklist involved.”
Jack threw his head back and laughed, the sound warm and rich, cutting through the tension in the air. “God, you’re adorable,” he said, leaning in a little more. “And here I thought I was the reckless one. Turns out, you’re the one full of surprises.”
She crossed her arms, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach. “If this is where you tell me my spontaneity is suddenly hot, you can stop right there.”
His eyes glinted with amusement. “You’re too late. I already thought that.” But the playfulness faded as he opened the folder. His expression darkened with each page he flipped through.
“Jack?” She stood, moving around the table, a knot of anxiety tightening in her chest. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer right away, his eyes flicking back and forth over the documents as he tried to make sense of them. Then he cursed, low and sharp, under his breath.
“What?” she pressed, her heart pounding at the way his jaw clenched. “What’s in there?”
“Nathaniel Worthington,” Jack growled, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it. “He’s behind everything.”
She blinked, trying to process. “What do you mean, everything?”
His gaze snapped to hers, dark and furious. The intensity in his eyes made her instinctively want to step back.
“The company that held the loan for Harlow’s? It wasn’t some random investment firm. It was a shell company. Owned by Worthington.”
The ground shifted beneath her. “Wait, what? So he’s the one who called in the loan? But why? Harlow’s wasn’t even competition for him. What would he gain from that?”
Jack let out a harsh laugh, but there was no humor in it. “There’s more.” He flipped to another page, his hand trembling slightly. “He paid off Mitch.”
She froze, the breath catching in her throat. “Mitch? Your business partner?”
Jack nodded, his face tight. “Yeah. There’s a wire transfer receipt here. Worthington paid him to walk away. That’s why Mitch bailed. He left me with the debt, the failing restaurant, everything.”
Her mind spun, trying to catch up. “This whole time . . . Worthington was setting you up?”
Jack’s shoulders slumped, and the anger slipped, just for a moment. Beneath it, she saw the hurt.
“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “He set me up to fail, and I walked right into it.”