He’d barely dug into the cause of the slowdown when another alert buzzed his smart watch, this time a phone call from his lawyer. He let it go to voicemail, making a note to check the message later.
Instead, he got a text:Need your sign-off on the North-side parcel disclosure by end of day.
Seb’s jaw tightened. The North-side parcel was the lighthouse. His lawyers had advised him to keep the ownership quiet until the merger was finalized, fearing that local sentiment or concerns could create a PR nightmare that would devalue the company’s assets. It was a standard business move. Logical. Defensible. But the locals—Holly—already knew it was part of the Marion estate. Shuttling the legal ownership away from himself felt like a lie waiting to be exposed.
He could imagine Holly’s recorder, red light glowing, capturing his attempt to explain that. She wanted the truth as part of the job. And she’d openly revealed how important transparency was to her on a personal level. He wouldn’t go back on his word now. Rubbing at his face, the day’s stubble rasped against his palms. He wasn’t a man who moved by instinct, but everything about Holly Brooks was making him want to rewrite his own source code. She felt like a catalyst prodding him to be better. To be the best version of himself. The man who could balance work and downtime, who played games for the joy of the strategy, not just the win. He thought about the way she’d stood her ground and buffered him from Mrs. Gable’s conjecture. She hadn’t protected him because of his net worth, she’d protected him because he was a neighbor. Or a friend. Both words felt strange in his mind, but not unwelcome. More like a moderndecorating choice that didn’t quite fit the original architecture. Like his monitors in this classic parlor.
He swiveled in his chair to study the view of the front drive flanked by the dormant gardens. Somewhere to the east, out of sight from this vantage point, was the old lighthouse. He hadn’t even been out to see it yet, too focused on the work that required his attention.
But he wondered. And felt guilty about ignoring something Holly considered important.
Was there a view from one of the bedrooms?
When he’d moved in, he’d chosen the suite with a view of Charleston across the harbor. It had satisfied his preference for space and distance while still providing a sense of connection to the city.
Suddenly, he was charging upstairs to the suites on the other side of the house. The cold knot in his stomach loosened when he found the view he was after. In the distance, the lighthouse stood tall, a black and white sentinel glowing in the bright afternoon sunlight.
Both a beacon and a guide, at least at one time.
He’d intended to sell the property eventually. Holding it for now was a tax hedge, but when the market shifted it would create a valuable return. But as he stared out at that stunning, quiet piece of Brookwell Island history, his intentions shifted.
Telling Holly the original plan would upset her. Keeping it from her would be worse. That land wasn’t just his asset. And he’d be damned if he did something that lumped him in with a load of charming strangers she couldn’t trust.
Returning downstairs to the office, he tried to work once more. Instead of protocols or electronic signatures, he focused on the intriguing local history. If the merger was delayed, so be it. A day wouldn’t kill the deal. He wasn’t a diva about his talentor skillset, but his innovations were the best on the market and the contracts would hold.
Once he made that decision, the others were easier. He told the lawyer not to hide the ownership of the North-side parcel. He’d manage any fallout and Holly would help him manage any issues from the locals.
Confident, he sank into the research. The online sources kept him occupied for hours, corroborating facts in the historical record and sharing some fascinating stories about the Brookwell lighthouse. Now he wanted to see it up close and personal.
With her.
“That’s where we should do the interview,” he said to Digby.
The dog merely trotted to the office doorway and back again.
“Oh, right. You’re hungry.” Seb’s stomach rumbled.
He went to the kitchen to feed them both and as they ate, he thought about what Holly was likely dealing with at her book club. He was sure her friends would be conducting an interrogation about him and his new estate. And probably the lighthouse too.
He didn’t want to interrupt, but he wanted more details and the local take on the lighthouse’s importance.
“There’s more research to do,” he said to Digby. “And you’re my wingman.” Seb grabbed his keys, jacket, and Digby’s leash.
His sister would be in shock if she could see him walking away from work right now. For the first time in his life, he was following a variable he couldn’t control, and he was exhilarated to see where it led.
CHAPTER 7
Holly had spent the day with Vince in the office, going over what she had so far for the Sterling interview as well as the usual island news. Of course, her co-editor was as curious about Seb’s plans for the lighthouse as she was. That would make the final article easier for them to write. As long as she could keep herself from delving too close to the personal stuff.
Seb didn’t want to share too much of his background and frankly, the more she learned, the more she liked being the only one privy to those details.
Which was absolutely thewrongattitude for a reporter, especially in a small town.
She’d gone home to grab a bite to eat before the book club meeting. Normally, she picked up take-out, but she really didn’t want to run into anyone who might try and pump her for details on the new owner of the famed Marion estate. Though the evening was cooling quickly, she couldn’t resist taking her bicycle over to the Palmetto Perk on Central Ave.
Under previous management the coffee shop had been fun and pleasant. And relatively quiet in the evenings, making it a great choice for The Beach Readers Silent Book Club. Now thatWillow owned the place it was as if she’d dialed up the coastal vibe to ten and created a sanctuary from mismatched armchairs, a variety of tables, and one wall dedicated to local artists. Holly still wasn’t sure how Willow had packed so much into the same space.
She walked inside, the air redolent with the aroma of roasted coffee beans and hot cocoa, her mind on the Victorian mystery book in her backpack. “Hey,” she said, joining her friends at the space near the back corner.
