by Jen Peters
He yanked his attention back to the figures in front of him, tying them together with the terms of the proposal. He could picture his client’s satisfied smirk when he absorbed the smaller company into his conglomerate. Bigger was always better, the man liked to say.
Mitch grunted. It was only ten in the morning, but he needed a break. With more excitement than he had felt for the last three workdays, he pulled out the McCormick Inn file and paused at the interior decorator’s suggestions. He liked her idea of clawfoot tubs, and her lighting choices were exquisite, albeit expensive.
When had he become fascinated with Victorian ambiance? Never before, that was sure. He browsed through the rest of the images and sent it back to the decorator with a go-ahead, then pondered the next step.
They needed staff. A 12-bedroom hotel was small, but even as a Bed & Breakfast, it was too much for one live-in person to handle. They would need a manager, maid, breakfast chef and night clerk. The maid and night clerk he could get locally, but where was he going to find a concierge-class manager in a small, out-of-the-way town? He had already put the word out for a decent chef, but no one decent seemed willing to work part-time.
Sighing, he closed the file, forced himself to shift mental gears, and started again on the takeover proposal.
Two fourteen-hour days later, he had researched, crunched numbers, printed and signed various papers. By noon on Friday, he was bugging out. He checked his texts while he waited for the elevator, and Melanie Xanthe strolled up to meet him.
“Hey, there, Mitch. I’d like to ask you a question.”
“Legal? I don’t know that I have much to offer in divorce cases.”
Melanie smiled. “No, I already popped in to have a word with Howard. But as long as you’re here…want to take me to the Black and White Gala?” She ran a sleek red fingernail up his arm.
Mitch easily envisioned her blonde hair in a fancy up-do, her tucked-and-toned body in an elegant gown, her slender hand on his shoulder to dance. She was an enjoyable, sophisticated partner at social events…except for her ulterior motives. But her machinations hadn’t been very visible lately, and it had been several weeks since they last went out.
The elevator dinged and he followed her in, pressing the down button and keeping his sigh to himself. “What’s the date?”
“Next weekend, the 13th. You should be there.”
“I know." This time the sigh escaped. The law partners would be there, along with a good portion of the movers and shakers in the city. A month ago, he would have looked forward to it. Why was it that these days, McCormick’s Creek sounded better than it used to?
“I’ll have my secretary confirm the date,” he finally said.
“Lovely,” she purred. “And perhaps dinner on our own sometime before then?”
“We’ll see,” he said as they reached her floor. He really needed to find another social companion, but it wasn’t going to be easy to do unless there was someone else he could get Melanie interested in. Until then, he’d keep their dates to public events. “Have a good weekend.”
He swung by his apartment, packed an overnight bag, and headed for McCormick’s Creek.
The tightness in his shoulders eased as he guided the Porsche down I-5 and then up the mountain highway. Being out of the city had its advantages, not the least of which were leaving the people and the guilt behind. Once he pulled in, the mansion’s bright blue added an extra lift to his smile. It wasn’t quite as startling to him as the first few times.
Cat Billings greeted him on the porch. “Not too much more to do, now,” she said. If he ever saw her without a coating of sawdust on her forehead, he’d be surprised. “Want a tour?”
“Of course." Mitch followed her in and made appreciative comments about the details finished since the last visit. And it was nice. He’d been in many hotels that were fancier, but many more that were just everyday decent. This one, the one that carried his family name, would be all the more impressive for having quality service and an aura of elegance in a town where you wouldn’t expect it. Even if it never turned a profit, it was worth it.
He toured the empty bedrooms and unfinished bathrooms, then they headed back down the glorious staircase.
“Cat? Are you here?” a feminine voice called from the front. “I saw Mr. Blake’s car outside…” A young woman with long black hair stumbled to a halt in the foyer.
Wait, he knew her. She was the girl from the florist shop last weekend.
Next to him, Cat smiled. “What’s up, Ree?”
She shook her head. A pretty blush crept up her face. Mitch watched her visibly collect herself and put a professional look on her face.
“Let me start over. Mr. Blake, I’m Ree Swanson, and I’d like to make an appointment with you while you’re in town.”
He stifled a sigh—he couldn’t think of anything that needed more than a quick conversation and he was tired of humoring women who had hidden agendas. “I’m sorry,” he said, “we won’t be needing any flowers here for a while.”
She pursed her lips a bit. “It’s not about flowers, although we’d be happy to supply them for your rooms. But I have a proposal on another topic.”
What could he want from a girl who couldn’t run a simple flower shop? He looked at his watch, more from habit than anything else because he certainly wasn’t putting himself on a timetable this weekend.
Cat nudged him. “Go ahead, Mitch. You said you had plenty of time.”
He wished she would have kept quiet and let him handle his own business. But in a small towns where everyone knew everyone else… He couldn’t put the flower girl off without showing disrespect to Cat. And he had a lot of respect for his contractor. “All right, then. In an hour. At the coffee shop?”
Ree frowned. “I was hoping for somewhere more private. I mean, for private business. I mean…" She broke off, the rosy hue creeping quickly up her pale skin again.
He chuckled. It was rather amusing to watch her get flustered—there were some advantages to small town personalities. But he knew what she meant. He let her stew for a moment, then nodded. “Here at the mansion, then. Cat, do you have a couple of chairs we could sit on? And would you care to join us?" He didn’t know what this girl had up her sleeve, but he didn’t want any accusations of impropriety later.
Cat nodded, her smile almost a smirk. “I’ll be here. Justin will be around too, if that helps.”
“Ms. Swanson, I’ll see you in an hour,” Mitch said.
She grinned. “You won’t be sorry, I promise.” And she dashed out the door like a teenager, her black hair flying after her.
Mitch turned to his contractor. “What have I gotten myself into?”
Cat just shrugged and went upstairs. A few moments later he heard the thunk of her nail gun.
An hour later, Mitch had checked in at the rather dreary Sleepy Time Motel and was back discussing the last of the renovations with Cat and Justin. He pulled out the decorator’s choices for lighting, drapes, and the soft furniture. They pored over them for a few minutes, Justin admiring the bedroom chandeliers, Cat liking the clean lines of the breakfast tables.
While they talked and pointed to where things would go, Mitch tapped his finger on the worktable. Ree Swanson had requested this meeting, and it was two minutes after the hour. If it was so important, where was she?
Ten minutes later, Cat and Justin were still taking the selection folder from room to room, and Mitch was still tapping his finger.
Steps sounded on the outside porch, followed by a thud, followed by a muttered curse. Ms. Swanson. Well, whatever she wanted, he’d listen for ten minutes and then send her and her distracting black curls on their way.
There was a pause before the door opened. Ree stood confidently, portfolio in hand. She strode forward. “Mr. Blake, my apologies for being late.”
He lifted one eyebrow, a skill he had practiced for months when he was eleven or twelve. “It certainly couldn’t have been the traffic.”
“No, I just wanted
to have everything perfect for you.”
No excuses? That was unexpected. He motioned to the other stool at the worktable, and she slid onto it smoothly. “What do you have?” he asked.
She pulled two folders from her portfolio, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. Her blue eyes sparkled, and he ignored the way they made him want to smile.
“This is everything that your Bed & Breakfast requires to run, and it’s too much for one person,” Ms. Swanson said. She lay lists in front of him, showing breakfast room operations, guest room cleaning, common area cleaning, bookings and bookkeeping.
“And here’s my resume,” she said, pulling an ivory sheet from the other folder. “You can see that while I haven’t finished my degree, I’ve had excellent training and exposure at the Duniway Hotel in Lake Oswego. They’re known for high quality details and concierge service." She paused to take a breath. “I have the experience you need, and I’d like to manage the McCormick Inn for you.”
What? The cute little florist who couldn’t be attentive in her own shop?
Mitch sat back and stared. Sure, it seemed she knew what running the place would take, but she hadn’t managed to translate the Duniway’s concierge attitude into basic customer service in the florist shop.
He looked at her resume long enough to be politely interested, then met her eyes again. “I’m sorry, I don’t think it will work out."
Her face tightened and those blue eyes dulled a bit. “May I ask why?”
Should he be kind or truthful? Thoughts ran through his head, thoughts of the hurt caused by his corporate work. No need for it here. “You just don’t have the experience I’m looking for. I’m sorry."
Ms. Swanson shook his hand. “Thank you for your time, then."
“It’s nothing personal, Ms. Swanson. Just a sound business decision.”
She nodded, and he watched her go. And wondered why part of him wanted to call her back.
Chapter 6
Ree fumed as she slid into the driver’s seat of her battered old Honda. All that time researching facts and figures, and Mr. Blake had hardly looked at them. Finding a business outfit that still fit, doing the professional make-up and hair she hadn’t bothered with since last summer, all for nothing.
But what did that handsome, stuck-up lawyer know? He had never run a hotel. He didn’t get his hands dirty with the real work. She slammed her open palm on the steering wheel. She was capable, she had experience, and she wanted this job.
Or a job like it, she mused, driving home. There was no reason she couldn’t start looking for a real job now, even though she was stuck in this dinky town until her mom was better. In fact, she could have started looking weeks ago. But she hadn’t thought of it, so she should at least be grateful that the McCormick Inn had put it in her mind.
She pulled into the driveway and stared at the home she’d grown up in. One long level, with faded orange brick and small, high windows. If it weren’t for her mother’s gardening, the whole thing would look as tired as the rest of the street.
When Ree was a teenager, they had dreamed of what they’d do with the place, but never had the money to make it happen. Her dad had left when she was eleven, and her mother’s whole purpose became keeping food on the table, clothes on her growing daughter’s back, and somehow setting aside some money for college.
Ree had spent years being angry with her father, a businessman who couldn’t face his failures, but when she was sixteen she had learned what really happened. Dad’s small electronics company had been growing, and he had just patented a new design. He’d turned down offers to sell, wanting to watch his dream grow. But one company who wanted to buy it turned to nastier methods. They hired a slimy lawyer with shark instincts and a talent for backroom deals, who had found a way to pressure the bank to call in their loan.
Dad had had no choice but to accept the low price the take-over corporation offered.
It had left him at loose ends, with no job, no dream, and no purpose in life. Ree came home from school one day to find him packed and gone, and she and her mother were on their own. “We’re strong and we’ll find a way through” had become their mantra, their consolation for things they wanted and couldn’t do.
That wasn’t going to happen to her. She had dreams, and she wouldn’t let them just die. She especially wasn’t going to let another lawyer ruin them.
She strode into the house and headed straight for her computer. Her resume was good, even if Mr. Blake had scarcely looked at it. She would flesh out her work at the Duniway a little, after she browsed hotel job openings. Surely she could find something like the McCormick Inn, but preferably far away from this town. Some place without supercilious lawyers trying to run things they had no idea about.
Between the application and interview process, plus the inevitable drug testing, it would probably take several weeks before she started a new job. Hopefully her mom’s hand would be healed by then, and Ree could leave with a clear conscience.
She found a large hotel that wanted a night manager and numerous smaller ones that only needed desk clerks. All the management openings required three years experience, which she didn’t have. All the while she was browsing the listings, trying to imagine herself in different places, she kept thinking of what she could do here with the McCormick Inn. The ideas kept pushing at her, and she finally opened a new document and began typing.
A knock on her bedroom door startled her, and her mother poked her head in. “Remember I’ve got physical therapy in the morning. You’ll have to open the shop.”
“Sure, Mom.” She glanced at the clock, surprised to find it was already midnight. It didn’t matter, though. She was on a roll, ideas and details and questions flowing from her mind onto the computer screen.
In the morning, Ree scratched Pumpkin behind his ears before creating a gorgeous 20th anniversary bouquet for a man who had waited until the very last minute. She took it out to him and worked on two more that would be picked up the next morning.
She spiffed up her presentation between customers, and by the time her mother returned, Ree wasn’t in a hurry to find a hotel job outside of McCormick’s Creek anymore. She was on a mission to find Mr. Blake.
She finally discovered him sprawled in a booth at Nora’s Place, the restaurant Robin’s mother owned. Robin was chatting with him, coffee pot in hand. Mr. Blake looked like he was just hanging out. Did lawyers even hang out?
Her thoughts about what lawyers did or didn’t do got sidetracked by the slight stubble on his jaw. Maybe he didn’t shave when he wasn’t going to work? Or at least going to work in his fancy office? Either way, the shadow of stubble just made his jaw a little stronger, his cheekbones a little more masculine. And then the light hit his mouth just right and showed a little scar off to one side. It was just barely curved, maybe a quarter-inch long, and she was fascinated by the way it moved when he spoke.
Robin saw her and gave a wave. Ree took a breath and tried to cool her blush before she slid into the booth across from Mr. Blake.
“Hey, Ree,” Robin said. “Your usual Coke?”
Ree nodded, then focused on Mr. Blake. Neither that tiny scar nor those frowning eyes were going to sidetrack her. “I have something I’d like to show you." She didn’t wait for permission, she just opened her folder.
“You want the McCormick Inn to be known for its ambience and personalized service, right? You want people to love their stay, recommend it to their friends, and come back again themselves. These are the finishing touches I would include." She placed a few sheets in front of him showing fresh flowers in each room, an exotic selection of coffees and teas, an eclectic selection of books, magazines and games in the parlor.
She glanced at his one raised eyebrow briefly—who did he think he was, Spock?—and continued with another set of images. “We don’t have theater events or concerts in town, but concierge service includes more than that. It’s the personal welcome, the restaurant recommendations, and the specialized knowledge of
what the area does have to offer. We have waterfalls and mountain paths and even a natural hot spring that guests wouldn’t know about.”
Mr. Blake had leaned back in his seat with a half-smile on his face. Ree’s heart raced, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to focus on that mouth and those gray eyes. Or were they green? She wanted to gaze into them, to find out if they were closer to a stormy sea or a mountain mist. To see if…
Stop it! she told herself. The last thing she needed was to be attracted to someone she hoped would be her boss. With an effort, she tore her eyes away from his face and focused on her papers.
“I also think that more could be done with the dining than a typical B&B,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Most B&Bs offer a continental breakfast with one or two typical pancake-house hot options. If you found a chef who could make exquisite breakfasts, he or she would undoubtedly be able to offer more. The inn could host weekend dinners, open to the public as well as guests—people would come from out of town for a special occasion.”
She had prepared some comment to wrap up the presentation, but it was completely gone from her mind now. She dared a longer look at Mitchell Blake.
He unwrapped a peppermint from his pocket, not taking his eyes off her. His face was once more closed-off and forbidding. Warmth rushed through her, and she fought to keep it from rising to her face.
“The dinners would pay for themselves and get the word out.” Her voice squeaked and she cringed.
Mr. Blake finally nodded. A lock of his wavy dark hair fell forward but she ignored it. “I had thought many of the same things, but I appreciate your diligence and creativity.”
Her diligence. That’s all he had to say? And so matter-of-fact? So coldly?
She leaned forward. “Mr. Blake, I am qualified to do this job. What do I have to do for you to give me a chance?”
And he smiled. His countenance changed completely, the sharp attorney vanishing and a relaxed, comfortable businessman taking his place. “Ms. Swanson—”