AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Are you sure he’s not hitting on you?”
She laughs. “Not likely, given he’s married to a man.”
I’d forgotten that about him. “Thank you. It’s nice to know my money is going to someone who treats people well.”
The elevator doors open and there stands an older man I recognize from the articles I’ve read about the firm. He smiles as I walk off the elevator. The guard passes him the package. “Mr. Klein, this came for you.”
“Thank you, Thalia.” He turns to me as the doors close. “Beau, I am so glad to finally meet you in person. Your parents have been bragging about you for years.”
“All lies, I assure you.” I give him a cheeky grin, and he chuckles.
“We are going to the Inspiration Conference Room. Right this way,” he says, leading me down a hallway.
His office suits his reputation. The floor and ceiling are light wood, and the ceiling features warm lights, giving the illusion of daylight from above. A half wall to the right provides the semi-privacy of open cubicles. By the faint hum of phones being answered in hushed tones, I presume these people are the clerical workers. The other wall is glass, which provides a hell of a view of Manhattan, and at this height, it’s a gorgeous spectacle. I’ve always loved coming to the city, even when I was a boy and had no say-so in where we went. Just being there, I felt at home.
My family used to tease that once I crossed into the city, I was an instant New Yorker. I walked faster, talked faster. Navigating the streets and the people came naturally for some reason. The food, the arts, the pulse, all of it was a perfect fit.
And yet, I never moved there.
Perhaps it is the comfort of my actual home, but as much as I love the city, I like the wide open spaces of Somerset Harbor more. My hometown features genuine quiet, something that is scarce in New York. Somerset Harbor is also home to my career—not that I can’t commute. Walking through the hall beside Walter, I cannot deny the pull of Manhattan. Or maybe it’s the feeling that destiny has led me to this moment.
He smiles, and it’s then that my hackles raise. I can’t put my finger on it, though. Something feels off. He asks, “How are your parents, Beau?”
“Quite well. Though they will be better once this project is off the ground.”
“So will we all,” he says. We turn the corner and walk along another wall of windows. “The drive wasn’t too bad, was it?”
“No, I rather enjoy trips to the city.”
“Funny. I’ve always enjoyed trips to Somerset Harbor. I’ll enjoy them even more once your resort is there. It’s going to be a hell of an improvement over the Somerset Hotel.”
“I should hope so,” I say with a chuckle. “That place has needed a renovation for two decades, at least.”
He nods knowingly. “We come to the regatta every summer, and the one year the yacht club was booked up, we stayed at the hotel.” He shakes his head. “It’s not bad. It’s just… not good either. The yacht club is far better suited to my tastes.”
Just the mention of the Cargills’ yacht club sends a pulse of resentment through me. The Cargills have been a thorn in my family’s side for a generation, and their yacht club is the only actual competition we will have when we open the resort. Thankfully, they don’t have the room capacity we will have, nor the amenities. If it weren’t for the yachting aspect of things, we’d put them out of business, never mind the fact that my sister is dating their youngest son. If I have my druthers though, no one will care about the yachting aspect once they see our amenities. It will be so satisfying to see the Cargills close up shop.
I put the thought out of my mind. “I understand the Olson B&B is rather nice.” Since my brother is dating their daughter, I feel a strange obligation to bring it up as a viable alternative until the resort opens.
“It is. But I still prefer the yacht club for now. Until the resort opens.”
“Understandably.”
He stops in front of a pair of wide brown doors, smiling. “Here we are.” He opens the doors together.
I take a breath, and my pulse rises even more. Not for the conference room, though.
The conference room’s back wall is all glass, overlooking Central Park. Side walls host a long counter and shelves with various décor and accoutrement, as well as a few potted plants. A massive light wood table takes up the middle, and it’s surrounded by plush brown leather chairs. But I cannot focus on any of that at the moment, because inside sits a woman I recognize, but cannot place.
And no Pavel Cerny.
She strides confidently to us, a smile on her face.
Walter says, “Beau MacMillan, this is Elsie Braudel. She will be the architect for your resort.”
No, she will not.
-
