Second Chances (Nugget Romance 3)

by Stacy Finz

Nate pushed open the door and stuck his head in. “I’m having Tracy Cohen from corporate take over with Landon Lowery. Send me his contact info and the dates he wants.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Sam stood up and folded her arms over her chest. “Tracy has never even been here. When we talk on the phone she acts like Nugget’s in a foreign country.”

  “Sam, this is too important to let you play at being an event planner. Lowery could mean big business for Breyer Hotels—not only this reunion, but corporate events. The man’s a legend in the tech world.”

  Sam glared at him and Nate said, “Let me boil it down for you: It would be like having a Kennedy show up at one of your fund-raisers.”

  “Kennedys regularly show up at my fund-raisers.” She pointed her chin at him in challenge. “That’s why I’m perfect for this job.”

  He looked up at the ceiling, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Look, if this were an old blueblood looking to book a family reunion at the inn, I’d probably give you a crack at it. But this is Silicon Valley. It’s a different breed than New England old money. They’re like rock stars, and Tracy knows how to handle these people. Hell, she and Marissa Mayer went to Stanford together.”

  “So that automatically makes her more capable than me?” Sam had gone to Vassar with lots of successful people. At least she didn’t go around bragging about it. Not like Nate. I’m so great, I went to Harvard. Whoop-de-do.

  “She’s more capable because unlike you”—he jabbed his finger at her—“she actually does this for a living.” And with that he started to walk away.

  “What do I do about the other guests, the ones who already booked for that week?”

  “If we get the Lowery gig, we cancel them and hopefully get them to book for another time slot.”

  “We can’t do that,” Sam said in disgust. “Some of them may have already bought plane tickets or at the very least gotten the time off of work.”

  “Yes, we can. Read the fine print. Any reservation can be canceled for a conference, event, or large group.”

  Sam was aghast. “That’s an awful way of doing business.”

  “That’s the only way to do business.” Nate propped his shoulder against the doorjamb. He looked so arrogant that Sam wanted to smack him. “Again, let me remind you, we’re a for-profit company. Emphasis on profit. If you don’t believe me, ask your father. Doesn’t he manage one of the largest hedge funds in the country?”

  It was clearly a rhetorical question, since they both knew that George Dunsbury’s financial prowess was legendary. Her father had once been short-listed to be chairman of the Federal Reserve Board, but declined and Ben Bernanke got the position.

  Nate walked away before she could answer and shut his door a little louder than usual.

  She had half a mind to barge into his office and quit. But if she wanted to launch this new life of hers, she needed the job. The only reason she’d gotten it in the first place was that Maddy believed in her. That, and Maddy had been desperate to find a replacement during her maternity leave. Otherwise, Sam wasn’t the least bit employable. Not unless you counted her bulging résumé of lunching with the ladies and throwing charity galas as a prerequisite for a job. But in a way, it was the perfect experience for planning events at a small inn. She had the fortitude to deal with difficult people—nothing was more challenging than planning a charity auction or cotillion with a group of insanely rich, narcissistic women. Hello, Judith Forsyth, the biggest bitch in Connecticut, who wanted to take credit just for breathing. And there was Muffy Vandertilten, whose husband would threaten to sue the committee if the Muffmeister didn’t get her way. But the biggest takeaway was that Samantha knew how to make every detail, from the color of the napkins to the party favors, blend seamlessly with the theme of every event.

  And no one knew better how to fix a last-minute catastrophe than Samantha. And believe it or not, large-scale society events were rife with catastrophes. When Tony Bennett came down with pharyngitis six hours before performing a charity concert in New Canaan, Sam had managed to rope Billy Joel into doing the show. She went over to Long Island and drove him back to Connecticut herself. She had a contact list filled with florists, caterers, and celebrities who would come to her rescue at a moment’s notice. Sure, having the Dunsbury name helped, but even without it, Sam had an aptitude for creating memorable parties.

  People were still talking about her Snow Ball. She’d put the entire affair under a glass dome, used nothing but diamond white as her theme color, and created a winter wonderland complete with a machine that dropped fake flurries from the sky to make the event look like a giant snow globe.

  She might not be a cutthroat business person like Nate or her father, but she knew that if given the chance she could increase sales tenfold at the Lumber Baron. For that reason, she gritted her teeth and got back to work. She’d just gotten off the phone with a linen vendor when she heard a fuss coming from the lobby and went out to investigate. Maddy had come in to show off baby Emma to the housekeeping staff.

  “Look who’s here.” Sam gave Maddy a hug and kissed Emma on the forehead, getting a sweet whiff of baby smell. “You look fantastic, by the way.” Sam had only known Maddy since the tail end of her second trimester, but now she looked slender and glowing.

  “Thanks. You too. Love that dress.”

  “You here to put in a few hours, or just visiting?” Sam asked.

  “Just visiting. I’m meeting Emily and Pam at the Ponderosa in a bit, but is there anything I can do?”

  Yeah, tell your bother he’s a colossal jerk. “I think we have everything under control.”

  “Nate told me about the Abernathys,” Maddy said. “I’ve never had a guest with appendicitis before. But it sounds like you handled it perfectly.”

  “Thank you.” Now why couldn’t Nate throw a little praise around every once in a while? “I called the hospital earlier and she’s doing much better.”

  “Good,” Maddy said. “Poor thing. Anything else going on?”

  “Landon Lowery’s interested in the inn for a family reunion.”

  “The gaming guy? He wants to stay here?”

  Why was it that everyone knew who Landon Lowery was except Sam? “He’s thinking of booking the entire inn for a week in July.”

  They were still standing in the lobby, near the reservation desk, where Andy pretended not to be eavesdropping. Maddy motioned that they should move the conversation to someplace more private, parked the stroller in a corner, and carried Emma into her old office. “You’re kidding. That would be huge, not just because it’s a guaranteed full house for a week, but it’s . . . uh . . . Landon Lowery. Wow!”

  “He’s coming next week to tour the grounds.”

  “Be sure to show him the millpond in Graeagle. And don’t forget about the rodeo. You have that box, remember? Call Grace over at the Nugget Farm Supply to get the schedule. It might be something he’d be interested in.” Maddy waved her hand in the air. “But you already know all this stuff.”

  “Nate’s having Tracy from corporate handle it,” Sam said, and tried not to sound peeved.

  “What? She’s never been to the inn. As far as I know she’s never been to Plumas County.”

  Sam wondered if Nate was still next door and could hear every word they said. It wouldn’t help their already tenuous relationship if he thought she was going around him. Although she got the sense that while Maddy was in charge of the Lumber Baron, Nate held ultimate veto power. Breyer Hotels was his, after all. The inn was the only property the siblings held together.

  “She has a lot of experience and I’m pretty new at this,” Sam said.

  “Is that what Nate said? Because that’s just bull.” Sam tried to shush her, but Maddy wouldn’t have it. “No. He’s wrong. You love this place and that’s what we want our guests to see. Tracy is an excellent event planner—for big luxury hotels, not small country inns. I’ll talk to Nate.”

  “Don’t get me in trouble, Maddy. He already d
oesn’t like me.” “Detest” was closer to the mark.

  “Of course he likes you. Nate’s just very brusque—and driven. When we were kids, my sister and I had to book appointments with his secretary, i.e., our housekeeper, when we wanted to talk to him.” Maddy laughed. “But he’s mostly bluster.”

  Sam must’ve looked doubtful, because Maddy said, “I don’t know if you know this, but he bought this place to get me back on my feet after I went through a nasty divorce. And Sophie and Mariah . . . Well, look what he did for them. He’s a good guy, Sam.”

  Everyone knew that Nate had fathered Lilly, Sophie and Mariah’s child. Which even Sam had to admit was going above and beyond, even for a best friend. Truthfully, she never would’ve expected Nate to be so progressive. The man seemed more conservative than any person she’d met in California so far. And he was wound tighter than a spool of thread. Although, to be honest, he seemed fairly loose when he was around anyone besides her. For the life of her she didn’t know what she had done to make him dislike her so much.

  She was punctual, positive, and professional. But from day one he’d given her the cold shoulder.

  The man’s ears must’ve been burning, because he pushed the door open—he didn’t even bother to knock—and stepped in.

  “I heard a rumor you were here,” he said to Maddy, and lifted Emma out of her arms and muttered something about her getting big.

  “She’s in the ninetieth percentile for length,” Maddy said. “She must get it from her daddy.”

  Maddy’s husband, Rhys, the police chief, was tall, even taller than Nate. In Sam’s opinion, though, not as handsome.

  “What brings you in?” Nate asked his sister. “I thought that husband of yours wanted you home, barefoot and pregnant.”

  Maddy took back Emma and punched him in the arm. “I’m meeting Emily and Pam, but wanted to drop in for a visit. I miss the place.”

  “Come back, then.” Nate said.

  “I don’t miss it that much. Plus, you’ve got Sam. I heard she bagged you Landon Lowery.”

  Oh boy, here we go. “We haven’t bagged him yet,” he said. “But I’m confident Tracy’ll reel him in.” Clearly the comment had been for Sam’s benefit.

  “I don’t think that’s such a hot idea, Nate.” Maddy swayed and bounced a fussing Emma.

  “You want to come back to handle Lowery?” he asked.

  “I think Sam should do it.”

  “Maddy”—Nate’s voice dripped with annoyance—“you really want to do this now?” He looked at Sam pointedly.

  “I was just leaving,” Sam said, grabbing her pashmina off the chair and making a beeline for the porch.

  She sat on one of Colin Burke’s rocking chairs. The man had made half the furniture in her house. Before coming to Nugget, his rustic pine pieces never would’ve appealed to her. But now she wouldn’t part with them for anything. She gazed out over the square and pondered the wisdom of getting a cup of coffee at the Bun Boy—her third one today and it wasn’t even noon. She could see Donna’s new employee, a local kid trying to earn college money, manning the window at the takeout stand, and waved. Carl Rudd had redone the windows of his sporting goods store with Tour de Manure bicycle jerseys. The race, a sixty-two-mile loop through the Sierra Valley’s ranchlands and historic townships, brought cyclists from all over. The inn was already booked solid for the ride.

  Yes, she thought, it was a nice town. No one here seemed to care about a person’s net worth, portfolio, or bloodline. And while the townsfolk had been leery of her, as they seemed to be of any newcomer—she knew they called her the runaway bride behind her back—they’d accepted her into their fold. Especially Maddy.

  She continued to survey her new home, thinking about how she’d chosen her own course for the first time in her life. And while she sat there reveling in that decision, her father sent her a text with his latest ultimatum.

  And this time it was a doozy.

  Stacy Finz is an award-winning former reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle. After twenty years-plus covering notorious serial killers, naked-tractor-driving farmers, fanatical foodies, aging rock stars, and weird Western towns, she figured she had enough material to write fiction. She is the 2013 winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award. Readers can visit her website at www.stacyfinz.com.

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  Copyright © 2015 by Stacy Finz

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  First Electronic Edition: April 2015

  eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-342-6

  eISBN-10: 1-60183-342-3

  ISBN: 978-1-6018-3342-6