“Great, yes. Do whatever it takes to get stuff started. There’s a caretaker cottage, plus the dozen rooms in the hotel itself. We need to get this place sold. I don’t think I can wait too long with it on my balance sheet. Even if Goldie isn’t interested, I must get the hotel off my hands.”
Libby and her aunt owned too many dilapidated properties; this one was one of the largest. And it was more neglected than dilapidated. This hotel was a gem, but it could easily be destroyed by raccoons or rain if they didn’t get going on it. Libby needed cash; more than that, she needed it from the right places.
Libby saw every repair, every rehab she managed, as a victory against Stirling Stone. She’d seen the plans. This place would be a casino if he had his way.
The hotel here was beautiful, stately, but you couldn’t back one thousand tourists in here, not by a mile. There were twelve rooms, huge for the time, but nothing compared to what Stone was planning.
“What’s my assignment?” Hope asked.
“You’re up to your neck at the restaurant,” Libby said.
Hope had only been open for two weeks. It had gone great. Hope served people the best meals of their lives at Hope’s Table.But there weren’t enough people, that was the thing. Libby was determined to draw tourists to Irish Hills.
“You know, I did cater. What about this? If you get in front of Goldie, let her know that she doesn’t have to worry about a continental breakfast. Braylon and I will work up something that can be delivered here five days a week. He’s amazing with pastry.”
“Great. Work it up, budgets, and everything. Though I have to get her here first. Spring the buying the hotel idea second? Ugh, it’s all a long shot.”
“Yep.”
“So, when is your flight?” J.J. asked.
“Tomorrow morning, wish me luck?”
“Just channel Aunt Emma’s energy, and Goldie won’t be able to refuse.”
Aunt Emma had positioned Libby here, and with her guidance, Libby had maneuvered Hope into staying and joining the fight to save Irish Hills.
Goldie was a different story. She was a movie star, had a gorgeous mansion, and probably everything she dreamed about when she used to hang with them on Lake Manitou.
Libby had to bet on the fact that no matter how fabulous Goldie’s life was, there was something unique about this place and the bond shared by the Sandbar Sisters.
If that didn’t work, maybe Aunt Emma had dirt on her. That’s how she convinced Libby. Ha, no, no.
Libby would just make her a few offers, good offers. That would work.
It had to!
Chapter Three
Goldie
“They’re going to sue you.”
Scott Ozock, Goldie’s agent, sat on her twenty-thousand-dollar sofa. It faced an expanse of windows that showed off an infinity pool that blended seamlessly into her spectacular view of L.A.
But the man was essentially pooing all over the fancy sofa with every sentence.
Goldie couldn’t sit. All she could do was pace. It felt like she was watching her hard work over the last three decades slip between her fingers.
“What?”
“Yeah, the assistant has facial scarring.”
“You have got to be kidding me! I accidentally made contact, and there wasn’t even a scratch on him. Meanwhile, Trevor was being abusive, insensitive, unprofessional, and I will not take it.”
“No one in this town believes it.”
“They believe the gossip, the stuff on Twitter.Great. Of course. The five-foot-two, one hundred pound geriatric actress beat the heck out of the twenty-something, six-foot-tall man child. Makes sense.”
