“I’m John Stone, head of Stone, Mann, and Poole Development,” he said, the smarmy smirk never leaving his face.
“Development?” Sylvie repeated. “Development ofwhat, exactly?”
There was a flicker of surprise in the man’s otherwise frozen expression.
“Sylvie—” Fiona started, but Lilly cut her off.
“Mom, don’t!”
One of the other men stood and extended a hand she had no intention of shaking. “We’re just here to make sure you’re aware of the options you have.”
“Options? To developmyfamily’s inn?” she shot back.
He retracted his hand. “We are prepared to make a very generous offer.”
Bile rose in her throat, and she briefly wondered if being sick on his shoes would send a firm enough message to outweigh the embarrassment.
She turned on her heel and stormed out the way she came. She needed air. She thought she heard her name called behind her, but she had no desire to stop. Before she knew it, she was at the end of the driveway, breathing heavily.
“Howdareshe?” she muttered under her breath. “How dare that clawing, poisonous woman think she has the right—” Anger bubbled inside her, and she was worried she might be sick. Pressing her hands to her face, Sylvie took a deep breath and held it.
“Uh, hey?” a male voice said, alarmingly close—and instantly familiar.
“Damian!” she exclaimed, startled to see him.
“You seem like you’re about to set fire to something,” he said. “Can I help?”
Sylvie looked him up and down, taking in the faded jeans and boots he was wearing.What was he even doing here?“With arson?” she asked.
To her surprise, he shrugged. “I mean…if that’s what you want help with. I was going to go on a long walk, but I don’t haveanything formal planned for today—or the next seven to twenty years, I guess.”
A laugh escaped her, and despite clamping her hand over her mouth, she couldn’t stop laughing.
“Okay, that’s it. I’m notthatfunny,” he said. “What’s going on?”
Sylvie relayed what had happened inside, watching his expression shift from confused to incredulous to furious.
“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”
Sylvie snorted and went to reply, but he cut her off.
“Sorry, I’m being rude now, but did you just leave your own kitchen—yourown house—because your guest invited a bunch of jackals over for tea and crumpets?”
Blinking hard, she realized he was right. “Yeah, I guess I did,” she muttered, looking over her shoulder at the inn.
“Do you want to sell?” he asked. “Because, no judgment either way, but do you want thatat all?”
“No!” she replied instantly.
“Then turn around, put your mean face on, and tell them that.” He pointed toward the house. “You have—what did you say? A year? A year is aneternity. You can do anything in a year.”
Sylvie nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I can.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.
She did, but she knew it would be better to go on her own. “No, I’m good. Thank you, though.”
Without saying goodbye, she turned and stormed back toward the inn.
