Page 4 of Billionaire's Coastal Haven

She’s right. Dad wouldn’t have let Webber sell. He would’ve known what was happening a week before anyone else. How did I not know?

I can’t make that mistake again. Not if I’m going to keep Dad’s secret. Not if I’m going to prove I can be mayor.

Ryan pats my shoulder. “Time to earn your keep.”

Chapter 2

Landon

“It’s done?” my brother asks on the other end of our video call. He’s leaning close to the camera, green eyes—a match to mine—bright with excitement.

I flip the camera and show him the view from the estate’s backyard. “Signed the paperwork this morning.” The rock-strewn patio spreads beneath my feet to a stacked-stone wall at the edge of the cliff. Beyond, the ocean sparkles, the day abnormally clear for the Pacific Northwest.

I pivot the camera so he can see the house. “It’s ours.”

No one would guess the crumbling fifteen-thousand-square-foot French-chateau-inspired mansion had been the pinnacle of elegance when it was built over a century ago. Steepled slate roof, tall arched windows, and ornate terraces that stretch to the edge of the bluff rivaled anything the Rockefellers created.

Now, the walls look ready to fall. Dying trees crowd the roofline. Mother nature is one squall from reclaiming the house.

The lack of care is why we bought the fifteen hundred acres it sits on for such a steal—even after I didn’t haggle too viciously when the former owner countered my bidby more than fifty percent.

Either way, adding this property to our portfolio is a win. My brother and I need a place to unwind from the hectic pace of our lives.

Now I need to make our dream a reality.

“Is it everything we remember?” Oliver asks. “You have the napkin?”

A chuckle escapes my lips. “I have it.” I retrieve the folded paper from my pocket and shake it in front of the camera lens. “Stop worrying.”

“Did we get the details right?”

One drunken night after his girlfriend broke his heart, we sat at a bar and drew the blueprint for our dream. I immediately remembered the estate in Rainwater Bay from our childhood and knew it would serve our purposes.

Our parents had been visiting Pine Ridge and Rainwater Bay to meet with business associates every year since I was a kid. When not dragged to meetings to learn the business, Oliver and I were left to our own devices. We’d hike to this estate and spend the day exploring.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Oliver is as giddy as a little girl adopting her first puppy.

“I told you I’d take care of it.” It’s perfect for a retreat, with plenty of land for ten cabins to host friends and business acquaintances.

“You take care of everything, but…this is different.”

“It is.” This is the first project Oliver and I have undertaken that lacks a clear financial benefit. The Webber’s taxes and accrued interest alone would bankrupt a normal investor.

But we aren’t normal.

Restoring the house and building cabins might make a tiny profit when we rent them, but that’s not the goal.

Escape is.

A getaway when business is overwhelming, when we can’t take a full breath.

We’ve never made rest a priority before. My stomach squirms when I imagine the fallout if I step away from work, even for a week, but we can’t keep up our current pace.

After his break up, Oliver practically killed himself working too hard.

I’ve seen too many of my parents’ contemporaries get old before their time. Stress, anxiety, and overwhelm rob them of the reason they’re amassing so much wealth.

Why have a billion dollars in the bank if you can’t enjoy them?