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"As a heart attack," he states. "This place has been my parents' dream. But now they want to retire, and there's no way I'd let someone else handle it."
"Your parents want to retire, already?" This is all news to me. And it's devastating to hear it from anyone other than the two people who have taken me into their home like their very own daughter.
I'm trying to hide the pain that threatens to burst from my very chest, but I can't hold in my grimace.
It's no secret that Deacon and I didn't get along a decade ago. But couldn't they have at least told me ahead of time? I thought we were family. Or have I misunderstood them all these years? It didn't seem that way.
Deacon jars me from my downward spiral. "Don't look so shocked. My dad's in his seventies, and I'm sure you know Mom's health isn't the best. Their work days should have ended a few years ago. It's past time."
It's true. The Reynolds are much older than my own parents would be today. I've heard them say they'd like to travel someday, but Deacon?
He's never cared about this place before. Why would things be different now? There is no way I am letting some unbelievably good looking brat ruin everything all these people have worked so hard to create.
Not without a fight. I'll do everything I can to convince the Reynolds to find someone else, anyone else.
"From what I've seen so far, you've done a nice job turning the place around. You should be proud of yourself," Deacon adds smoothly.
I blink. I can't tell if he's being honest or if he is pretending to make amends. All I know is I'm going to remain guarded. "Yeah, thanks."
"I mean it," Deacon insists, stepping around the desk and facing me, getting way too close for comfort. I feel his eyes hot on my skin. He moves like he's a jungle cat cornering his prey.
I want to step away from the feel of his gaze and the smell of his cologne, but I hold my ground the best I can.
I nod, another flutter growing as I'm suddenly struck by how handsome he really is. Being this close to him I can see how he's changed. How his jawline has grown tighter, more refined. It only emphasizes how kissable his lips are. Ok, forget the scruff. We've got bigger problems.
Must. Get. Away. From. Lips.
But I can't force my feet to move.
Did someone just turn the heat up in here? I mean, he's notthatgood-looking, right? It shouldn't affect me that he's so closeI can see the flecks of gold in his eyes or smell the soap he uses. Something piney, by the way.
I'm sure there's no chance he can sense the warmth that threatens to engulf me in his presence. Can he? Ugh, what if he can? Self-preservation mode activated.
"No offense, Deacon, but it's been a long time, and you have no idea what it takes to run a resort. You may be great at calculating risk for some clients up north, but you don’t know this place anymore."
I try to keep my tone chipper and my smile shining regardless of my inner turmoil.
"Who are you to say what I can and can't handle?" His lips are drawn down in a tight, harsh line. "Just because I was gone for a few years doesn't mean I haven't been keeping an eye on things."
"Right," I say, folding my arms. "So, tell me, Deacon, how much did we spend on our last quarterly advertising budget? During the renovation, how many adjustments did we have to make due to supply issues and budget concerns?"
"Well, I... How much was it...?" he sputters, and finally, he blows out a breath, shaking his head. "I just got here, Harper. I'll review all that information first thing. I know you care a lot about this place, but so do I."
"Do you? Because I haven't seen any evidence to support that."
"Look, Harper, I'm on your side. I want to see Reynolds Resort thrive just as much as you do. I have as much of a stake in this place as my parents do. And just because I wasn't here, it doesn't mean I haven't had my finger on the pulse."
"Listen, Deacon, I work for your parents right now, not you," I remind him, choosing to step even closer so we're almost touching noses. "This employer-employee dynamic won't work. It's like trying to mix oil and water."
"This isn't personal," he responds, holding his ground and staring down at me. We're toe to toe, eye to eye and neither one of us is breaking away.
Heat warning. Heat warning.
As much as I'd like to slap the sneer off his handsome face, I can't help but feel something other than anger stirring inside me. Something that I'd like to throttle and tie into a knot and throw into the deepest ocean. Every minute near him is a swirl of conflicting emotions I'm struggling to contain. My brain is in complete anarchy.
"You don't think this is personal? I can assure you, Mr. Big Business, to the people who work here, it's very personal. To this community, it's very personal," I insist, poking him in the chest.
What has gotten into me?I'm losing it…
