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Bradley frowned. “Then why the devil are you here at this hour? Really, Casey. I thought you’d finally come to your senses and were ready to—”
“Are you behind all the vendors pulling out of Home’s antique fair?” If Casey had expected Bradley to look guilty or even self-conscious, he was wide of the mark. If anything, the expression on Bradley’s face was smug satisfaction. “I knew it. You are.” He barged past Bradley into the middle of the suite’s living area and whirled. “Why the hell would you do something like that? Home is nothing to you.”
“Precisely. Home”—Bradley sounded as though he’d unexpectedly taken a swig of curdled milk— “is nothing. But it could be something with the proper upgrades, positioning, and rebranding.”
“The people who live there don’t want to be rebranded. They like the way things are now.”
Bradley scoffed. “They couldn’t possibly. No one could. No accommodations for overnight guests. No restaurants. No liquor license within twenty miles. Southern Vermont is a prime target for leaf-peepers and hard-core skiers, but Home”—there was that sour-milk tone again—“isn’t equipped to handle the tourist trade even if they could attract it.”
“Maybe they don’t want their town overrun at all seasons. Ever think of that? They like its quieter pace. They like having it to themselves most of the year. That’s why the antique fair is biennial. It suits them and their needs.”
Bradley shook his head sadly. “I’m not sure what they taught you in that business school of yours—”
“You mean Columbia? That business school?”
“—but the economy of every town in or near a tourist destination depends on tourist dollars. Since the people in charge aren’t fulfilling their mandate to capitalize on opportunities that should be obvious to anyone with a modicum of insight, new management is clearly needed to bring the town up to its full potential.”
Casey frowned. “You make it sound as if Home is nothing more than a commodity.”
Bradley lifted his eyebrows. “Isn’t it?”
“No. Not entirely. Home is its people. It always has been. Tell me, Bradley. The Market, Make It Do, Mountain Laurel nursery, the vet clinic, all the other Home businesses. Where do they fit in your rebranding plan?”
“I’m sure the investors will have some input, but any business that wishes to remain will obviously be expected to conform to the upgraded town model.”
“What if they don’t want to change?”
“Then I’m sure the corporation will offer them reasonable terms to relocate.”
“Corporation? You’re going to incorporate Home?”
“It’s the most efficient business entity for what we expect to accomplish.”
Casey ran his fingers through his hair. “But why? There are other places, other targets, other projects you can add to your portfolio. Why Home?”
Bradley’s gaze tracked Casey’s fingers and his tongue darted out to moisten his bottom lip. “Because it’s ripe for the picking. Unspoiled. Pure potential.”
Casey froze at the avaricious glint in Bradley’s eyes. “Are we still talking about Home?”
He took a step toward Casey. “If I were to be offered something of equal value, something that would fit perfectly with my own brand, I might be willing to… negotiate.”
Casey took a step back. “What kind of something?”
“Casey.” Bradley’s caressing tone sent a spike of alarm down Casey’s spine. “Don’t you think it’s time to accept the inevitable? I’ve arranged a private tutor for you back in Manhattan. You’ll come back with me today. Move into my penthouse while you perfect your kitchen skills. Then, we’ll christen Chez Donatien’s grand reopening with our wedding reception. After that, you can transition into executive chef and we’ll promote the sous chef.”
“So all of this—scuppering the antique fair, trying to buy Dev out—it was all just maneuvering to get me back in line?”
He shrugged. “I want Chez Donatien to succeed. And I always get what I want.”
Okay, that tone wouldn’t be out of place in a serial killer. “So I was right. You only want me for the optics. For the hype.”
“Is that what you think?” Bradley reached out and twined a finger in one of Casey’s curls. “Ripe for the picking,” he murmured. “Unspoiled. Pure potential. How could I resist?”
Casey grabbed Bradley’s wrist and squeezed until Bradley’s fingers twitched and he released Casey’s hair. He let go and wiped his palm on his shorts. “So if I go back with you, you’ll let Home be?”
“If I must. I’ll even cancel the replacement antique fair.” He shrugged. “It might cause me some minor inconvenience, but nothing I can’t absorb.”
“But what about the vendors? You promised them a free venue.”
