“Know of her. I could rig the display lighting, if you want. I consulted on a similar installation in Raleigh last year.”
“You’d know how to light something like this?”
“Absolutely.” He tapped the platform with his shoe. “Let me see the specs when they come in. I can make that glass sing.”
Margot added his name to the task on her clipboard. Caleb moved through the resort easy and proprietary, like a man walking through his own living room. She’d learn where that ease came from, eventually. Right now she needed his help more than she needed answers.
Tessa Monroe appeared in a swirl of blond highlights and floral perfume, phone already raised and recording. Harbor’s Hope’s unofficial social-media ambassador, she seemed to spend half her life documenting the town and the other half convincing everyone else to smile for the camera.
“Oh my gosh, is that the display platform? My followers are going to lose their minds.” She lowered the phone just long enough to shake Margot’s hand. “Can I get early access to the ornament display for content? Those glass pieces catching the sunset? It would trend for weeks.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange.”
“You’re the best.” Tessa squeezed her arm and drifted toward the beach, filming the platform from three different angles as she went. Halfway across the lawn she stopped, crouched low, and framed the ocean behind the empty platform.
Margot watched her work. The girl knew her angles. She also knew exactly where a hundred and seventy thousand dollars in glass would be sitting in nine days.
She turned back to her clipboard. Fourteen items down. Thirty-three to go. The terrace was bright and busy, the breeze carrying the smell of salt and pine garland, and for a moment her grip on the pen loosened.
Then her phone buzzed, and the feeling disappeared.
David Mercer.
She declined the call. Her hand was steady. Her pulse was not.
A text followed.I heard about the Evergreen Tide gig. We should talk. I have an opportunity that could be good for both of us.
Both of us.She stared at those two words. Two years ago, “both of us” had meant a shared business, a shared future, and a shared bank account he’d emptied without telling her. Now it meant he wanted something, and he was betting on the part of her that still confused partnership with trust.
The strange thing was, she wasn’t angry. Just tired. The same weariness that had settled into her bones the night she’d sat at her kitchen table with bank statements spread out like a crime scene, realizing that the person she’d trusted most had been the person she’d known least.
She put the phone in her back pocket and picked up her pen. Somewhere in Harbor’s Hope, a hundred and seventy thousand dollars in glass was on its way. She did not have time for ghosts.
And somewhere on the boardwalk, a man with steady hands was working a dock cleat, and she caught herself wondering, just briefly, if steadiness was something you could trust or just another kind of charm in a quieter package.
Chapter four
Forty-Two Seconds
TheAshevillecouplearrivedat eleven with matching lanyards and the kind of careful smiles that meant they were already grading her.
Jolene appeared at Margot’s elbow before she’d crossed the terrace. “The Aldriches. Bryce and Camille. Expo sponsors. Third-tier. They were investors in a Henson and Hart event three years ago. Budget overrun. Flooring that buckled badly enough to send a caterer to urgent care. A venue that Caleb swore was climate-controlled and was not.”
Wonderful. Margot hadn’t even introduced herself yet, and she was already walking into someone else’s mistake. “Do they know I’m running this event?”
“Camille does. She mentioned your name to Elaine. In a tone.” Jolene fell back without being asked.
Margot tucked her pen into her clipboard and crossed the last twenty feet with her hand already extended.
“Mr. and Mrs. Aldrich. I’m Margot Pine. Welcome to Christmas in July.”
Bryce Aldrich’s handshake was slow. The assessing kind. Camille’s was warmer but watchful.
“We’ve heard about the Sloane Collection.” Camille’s gaze moved past Margot’s shoulder toward the pavilion. “We almost purchased two pieces last fall.”
“They’re extraordinary in person. I’ll arrange a private viewing before the showcase opens.”
“We’ve also heard,” Bryce said, “that you were associated with Henson and Hart.”
