Generations

by Amelia C. Adams

  “Agreed.”

  “Restore that incredible check-in counter—it has to be mahogany. Once it’s cleaned up, we’ll know for sure. A floral rug in the parlor, with a horsehair couch. I know I can find a replica that looks exactly like the real thing using imitation horsehair. More durable, more hypoallergenic, and it will please the animal rights activists.”

  “Very good. What else?”

  She loved how he listened with his eyes and not just his ears. She felt like he was really seeing what she was trying to show him.

  “You mentioned having a portrait of Adam and Elizabeth Brody. You should take that in to a professional, have them blow it up and retouch it, and hang it over the fireplace.”

  “I love it.” He gave her a grin. “I was going to see about talking to some other designers, but you know what—you’re the one I want. You have the passion for what I’m trying to do here.”

  She tried to smash down her excitement so she could stay professional. “I’m more than happy to help, but I have to warn you that it’s not going to be cheap. The kinds of furniture you’ll need, the flooring, the table linens, the silverware—are you really ready to deal with all that?”

  “No, I’m not. That’s what I have Tony for.” Andrew reached out and clapped his lawyer on the shoulder. “We’re not going to skimp, folks. We’re going to do what it takes to restore this place, and we’ll let the chips fall where they may. Marissa, I give you carte blanche to do whatever you want, with two exceptions—first, everything has to be historically accurate to 1875, and second, don’t go all nuts with the budget.”

  She nodded. “And I’m guessing you want me to check in from time to time so you know what I’m up to?”

  “Yeah, that would be good too. Take the time you need to come up with some ideas, and then we’ll make them happen. The architect will be here soon, and we’ll see what he has to say.” Andrew paused. “We just have to hope that he’s able to see it like we can.”

  “I don’t think anyone can see it like you can,” Tony interjected. “The two of you are in a class by yourselves. Come on, Tabitha—can I buy you a sandwich at the deli down the road while these two keep yammering about carpets and draperies and all that garbage?”

  “I’ll need to be in on that yammering at some point, but for now, yes,” Tabs replied. “Feed me.”

  Marissa watched them go with a smile on her face, knowing full well that her friend was trying to play matchmaker between her and Andrew. She couldn’t say that she minded. “Now, for the dining room, you aren’t thinking white tablecloths, are you? Those get stained so easily, and they look like hospital bed sheets.”

  “I hate white tablecloths,” he replied. “I hope we never have any sort of white tablecloth in this entire location.”

  “Then I think we’re going to get along just fine,” she said. She had no idea how she was going to come up with all the designs she’d need in time for them to be put to use, but she was going to do everything she could to make it happen.

  ***

  “Back here is a little stone cottage, and beyond that is a huge apple orchard,” Andrew said, walking the architect along the back portion of the property. “I’m keeping the stables because I think riding would be a great feature, but we can tear out everything else from here back. Can we attach the addition to the hotel by means of a hallway going from the back of the parlor out this way? Or would it have to remain separate?”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure what to tell you.” Griffin Baker was the best architect Beverly had been able to locate on such short notice. He’d won awards for some of his designs, but now he had doubt written all over his features. “It’s not just a matter of drawing a picture of a building and then putting it together like Legos. I have to look at the composition of the property, find out about the water table, examine the original building materials, and half a dozen other things before I can decide if this is even doable. It would be a whole lot easier to tear everything down and start from scratch, Mr. Brody. Have you thought about doing that? You could create the same look, but it would be new from the foundations up.”

  “I have thought about that—quite a lot, in fact,” Andrew replied. “It’s true that it would be a great deal easier, but that’s not what this is about. This is about history, about the original location and the true stories. We’re preserving something here, not just replicating it.”

  Griffin passed a hand across his chin. “I was told the parameters of your budget on the phone. If I take on this project, and that’s a pretty big if, I’m going to need another ten percent. Even if everything checks out all the way around, it’s going to be a difficult task.”

  “I understand that, and I’m prepared to make it worth your while,” Andrew replied. He tried to keep his voice mellow, but he was cringing inside. Ten percent wasn’t a lot when you were dealing with a hundred dollars, but this wasn’t just a hundred dollars, and ten percent would cut a huge hole in the budget. Maybe he should talk to some other architects, but even as he had that thought, he realized it wasn’t the right answer. Griffin was their man—Andrew could sense it.

  “All right. Let me spend a little time out here poking around. You say we can rip out the entire orchard?”

  “Yes. Take everything you need except the stables. The property lines are marked with fences, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

  Griffin nodded. “Okay. I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

  Andrew figured he’d been dismissed, and he was fine with that. Griffin could probably think better when he wasn’t being hovered over, and Andrew very much wanted to hover. He wanted to know everything the man was thinking, most especially if he thought this could be done.

  And if he didn’t . . . well, then it would be time to look for someone else. Andrew wasn’t going to give up without one whale of a fight.

  He came back inside the hotel through the back door. He loved the wraparound porch, even if it was sagging. He could picture himself out there in a rocking chair in the evenings—he’d have to make sure to purchase enough chairs for every side of the building.

  When he entered the foyer, he saw Marissa sitting on the stairs, sketching in a notebook. Light was coming in through a nearby window, illuminating her dark hair and making it shine, and the look of concentration on her face was beautiful. He didn’t want to interrupt her, so he paused where he was, watching. Her hand movements were strong and sure as she drew, and he couldn’t wait to see what she was coming up with.

  “Careful or I might think you’re stalking me,” she said after a moment. She glanced up and grinned. “How’s it going with the architect?”

  Andrew walked over and sat on the bottom stair. “He’s outside right now looking around, trying to decide if it’s even feasible,” he replied. “I think I might have been a little naïve about this whole thing—he told me it wasn’t like building with Legos, and I admit, that’s sort of what it looked like in my head. Clear a little land, get some lumber—boom! Done.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve invested in projects like this before, but this is the first time I’ve ever been personally involved. I feel like I have a lot to learn.”

  “Maybe you do, but the fact that you recognize it is a great first step.” She sat back and regarded him. “So, let’s say he can’t do it. What’s your next move? Would you sell?”

  “No,” Andrew said immediately. “I’m in this for the long haul. We’d just have to change our tactics.”

  “To what?”

  “We’d renovate what’s already here and focus on a historical bed and breakfast,” he replied. “It wouldn’t bring in as much money, but we’d break even eventually.”

  “Well, there you go. You can be moving ahead even before you find out what Griffin says.” She slid down a stair so they were sitting side by side. “You have eight bedrooms on the second floor. They were redone at some point and bathrooms were put in, but I don’t care for how the walls were put up. They look flimsy, and I rea
lly recommend doing those over.”

  He nodded. “Okay, we can do that.” He liked being closer to her. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla.

  “Now, each room is different—some have space for a king bed, while others are more suited for singles. Instead of doing each room exactly the same, I’d love to do them each in a different theme, in their own style. I’ve done a little Googling on my phone—first priority out here has got to be WiFi—but look at this wallpaper.” She passed her phone over. “That’s a hyacinth pattern on ivory which replicates one that was popular in 1875. I found a whole series of this paper. Can you just picture bedspreads and wall hangings and linens all along these themes?”

  He grinned at the excitement in her voice. “I think that would look fantastic. It’s exactly what I want.”

  “And it’s exactly what you’re going to get.” She smiled back. “I honestly can’t wait to get started.”

  “Me neither. I’ve got to get the contractors nailed down on a time to come . . . Sorry,” he said when she started to laugh. “Unintentional pun.”

  “I thought it was kind of clever. In a dorky way.”

  He shook his head, feeling heat come to his face. “Let me try again. I need the contractors to commit to a time when they can come out and start on the floors. At least we got all the dust and cobwebs out of here—it was almost impossible to look around on Friday, everything was so covered up.” He nodded at her notebook. “How long do you think it will take you to have the designs ready?”

  “Well, now that I have the basic concept in my head, it’s a matter of taking measurements and determining what goes where in each room. Can you give me two weeks?”

  He nodded. “That seems more than fair.”

  “Great. And could you get me a key so I can come and go as needed if I have a question?”

  “Of course.” He paused, realizing he was taking a pretty big risk, but it seemed to be the week for taking risks. “Would you come out to dinner with me tonight? I’d like the chance to get to know you better, but so far, we’ve only talked about the hotel.”

  “That’s because we’re building a hotel,” she said, motioning around with her pencil.

  “Well, yeah, but I’d like to find out who you are as a person. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, and it would be nice to know if we’re going to get along.”

  “You don’t want to figure that out as we go?”

  “Not so much.” He noticed a smile playing at the corners of her mouth and realized she was teasing. “I know, I’m being a party pooper, but there are some kinds of drama I prefer to avoid.”

  “Me too,” she said softly. “Where should we go?”

  “How about Alberto’s?”

  She lifted an eyebrow and nodded. “Impressive. Are you sure, though, that we should be going somewhere so fancy? I heard a rumor that you’re going to be in trouble with your board of directors if you don’t get this place turning a profit.”

  He shrugged. “If you’d rather go to McDonald’s . . .”

  “Uh, no. Alberto’s is fine.”

  He smirked at the look of horror that had crossed her face. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

  “Well, let this be a lesson to you that you have to watch what you say around me.” She stood up. “What time?”

  “I’ll make the reservations for eight, if that’s all right. Do you need me to send a car?”

  “I’ll meet you there, but thanks.”

  She waggled her fingers, then walked across the lobby and outside. A moment later, he heard Tabs and Tony, and he stood up and looked out the window to see them chatting with Marissa at her car. Then the women both climbed inside and drove off, and Andrew stepped outside to meet Tony on the porch.

  “How are things going with the architect?” Tony asked.

  “He’s trying to decide if it’s doable. How are things going with Tabs?”

  Tony looked innocent. “What do you mean? How should they be going?”

  Andrew nudged his friend’s shoulder. “She seems great, and it’s been a long time since you’ve hung out with such a nice girl.”

  “Hey, this is about you and redeeming your childhood by building a crazy hotel,” Tony replied. “My love life, or lack thereof, has nothing to do with it, especially when I haven’t seen you go on a date in forever. Speaking of which, Marissa is equally as great.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right. But I also think this isn’t about falling in love. We have work to do, and romance needs to be the last thing on our list.”

  “Agreed. And I think the first thing needs to be chatting with that rather serious-looking man walking toward us right now.” Tony nodded over Andrew’s shoulder, and he turned to see Griffin making his way around the building. Time to see if this dream was even possible.

  Chapter Five

  When Marissa stepped into the lobby at Alberto’s, she wasn’t expecting to be met by the owner himself or to be personally escorted back to the table where Andrew was waiting for her. He came to his feet as she walked up and held out his hand. She took it, then slid into the chair Alberto pulled out for her.

  “Tonight, you will try my special, yes? Tender chicken with rosemary on a bed of delicate pasta, paired with an arugula salad. Very summer, very nice. I’ll send the waiter in a moment. Enjoy.” He beamed at each of them before disappearing.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Andrew said, looking a little sheepish. “He does that whenever I come in, but you seem like the kind of girl who prefers to fly under the radar.”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right,” Marissa replied. “He seems like a really nice guy, though. How’d you get on his special list?”

  “He was a friend of my father’s.” Andrew nodded toward the menu. “You don’t have to get the special—order whatever sounds good to you.”

  “No, the special sounds great.” Marissa smiled up at the girl who brought them water, then turned back to Andrew. “I have a confession to make. As soon as I got back home and had decent Internet, I Googled you. I feel really stupid for not knowing who you are before now.”

  “What do you mean? You’ve always known I’m Andrew Brody.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t know you’re Andrew Brody.” She emphasized each word. “There’s a difference.”

  “Is there?”

  “Oh, come on. Multi-millionaire investment banker, philanthropist, supporter of the arts, collector of fine spoons . . .”

  He laughed. “You made that up.”

  “Okay, I made up the spoons, but not the rest of it. Why didn’t you tell me you’re a stinkin’ celebrity?”

  He leaned forward. “Because I’m not a stinkin’ celebrity. I’m just a guy with a lot of cash who decided to spend it on things I like. Spoons don’t happen to be one of them. I’m more of a fork guy.”

  “And you don’t think I should be weirded out by this new information?”

  “No. Why should you be? I’m the same guy you met on Friday.”

  “Not really. Honestly, I’m not even sure what to do with myself. I feel awkward and gangly and all sorts of gauche now.” Saying it made her feel even more gauche, but it was important to her that he knew how she felt.

  “I see.” He looked down at the table, then back up. “This doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, does it? I didn’t mean this to . . . be a thing.”

  Marissa shrugged. “I’ll get used to it, I guess—and maybe it’s better that I didn’t know at first. I might have been too nervous to show you my ideas.”

  “I’m glad you did show me.”

  The waiter came around and took their orders, then Andrew said, “I just didn’t peg you as being so . . .”

  “So what?”

  “Well, snobby.”

  She sat back and looked at him with surprise. “Snobby? Snobby? What are you talking about? I’m probably the least snobby person you know.”

  “Are you sure? What do you consider to be the definition of snobby?”

>   “Someone who thinks they’re better than someone else. Who focuses on money all the time and can’t see past it.”

  Andrew lifted his glass in a mock toast.

  “But . . .”

  “You’re the one who brought up the money, and you’re the one creating this divide between us. Not me.”

  She blinked a couple of times, then opened and closed her mouth. “Touche,” she said at last. “You really know how to get to the heart of a matter, don’t you?”

  He grinned. “Life’s too short for anything else. I tell you what. Let’s go back to before—when you knew I was Andrew Brody, but you didn’t know I was Andrew Brody. I think it was easier back then.”

  “It definitely was, but I’m not sure it’s possible.”

  “Then we’ll just have to get you used to hobnobbing with rich people. That’s the only solution.”

  “Rich people hire me to redecorate their houses and then spend every minute making my life miserable.”

  “All rich people?”

  “Most rich people.”

  “I see.” He shook his head. “We’ve definitely got to reeducate you, Miss Clark. Yes, some rich people are that way, but then again, so are some not-so-rich people. I think it has less to do with how much money you have and more to do with how entitled you feel. You can feel very entitled with no money at all—it’s a state of mind. A decision to be grateful, or a decision to be dissatisfied. It afflicts every walk of life.”

  “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t leap to conclusions.” Why had she been so prepared to be judgmental? He hadn’t said or done anything to make her think he was elitist.

  “But for that matter, I know several rich people who are real pieces of work, so there’s that.”

  She looked up and saw a sparkle in his eye. “You’re just going to keep giving me a hard time, aren’t you?”

  “I think I am. It’s kind of fun.”

  “Well, I tell you what. I’ll stop being prejudiced, and you can stop baiting me. How’s that?”

  He seemed to consider it. “I’m not sure. I haven’t been this entertained for a long time.”