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We reach his room, and I motion for him to proceed me. The executive suite is one of my favorite rooms. It’s not technically a ‘suite’ as the bedroom is not a separate room and there isn’t a kitchen area. But there is a separate living space and a desk set up in front of the large window with a view over Main Street.
“I’m here for work,” Cole says. “I need my car to get to meetings.”
I barely hold in my eye roll. He ‘needs’ his car. Where exactly are his meetings? You can literally walk from one side of Winter Falls to the other in less than twenty minutes.
“What kind of work are you here for?”
He puffs out his chest. “I’m an architect.”
“You’re here for the community center project.” It’s not a question. In a small town – especially this small town – everyone knows what’s going on.
“I’m surprised you’ve heard about it.”
Why is he surprised? Oh yeah. He thinks I’m a cleaner. “I’m actually—”
He cuts me off before I have a chance to tell him how I actually own The Inn on Main. “I guess you must have heard about it from your boss.”
I open my mouth to once again try to clear up the misunderstanding happening here, but Cole is on a roll.
“Anyway, I’m an architect.” Yes, you said. “And my firm is bidding to acquire the project. I’ll be meeting with the mayor and city council.”
“The plot for the community center isn’t far from here. It’s not even a five-minute walk.”
“You’re well-informed for your position.”
I don’t bother trying to clear up his misconception again. I tried. I failed. I’d much rather have a front row seat when he realizes the truth. Someone’s going to be mighty embarrassed. Not my problem. It’s not my fault making assumptions makes you an ass.
