My phone vibrates, and I see a few emails from Gideon that I haven’t responded to in days. My vacation runs through August 3, and I’m running out of time. I have less than two weeks left, and I’m going to enjoy every fucking one of them.
The company knows I’m away, but the photos of me and Wendy have made my absence a liability. A CEO on a beach with a woman makes investors and partners nervous. They want me to look and act like a CEO, like my father, but I am not him. I can’t handle a managed narrative about my life. I have to start living it.
I take a deep breath and go upstairs to the Captain’s Room. The spot in the ceiling is dark around the edges, but the repair doesn’t look like it will be too difficult. I want to help. I don’t want her to be stressed or worried or upset. Money doesn’t make problems magically disappear, but it can make some things in life easier.
I grab my book off the table beside the bed to read downstairs so I can be close to Wendy even if we’re not on the greatest terms.
When I pass the Sandcastle Room, I hear her downstairs. She’s not speaking in her normal sweet but professional voice at the front desk. There’s annoyance in her direct tone. Then she gets louder.
I stop halfway down the stairs, skipping the ones that creak to figure out what the fuck is going on.
In the lobby, a man stands across the desk from her. He’s in his mid-forties, wearing khaki pants and a button-down shirt that’s too pressed for Coconut Beach. Under his arm is a leather portfolio.
Wendy’s tense with her jaw locked. Her eyes pierce through him.
I stay back and watch until I need to act.
“Our drones have already flown the property, and it’s very clear that this establishment needs the roof changes. There are also things that aren’t up to code. The timeline on this is?—”
“No,” Wendy says. “You can take your offer and shove it up your ass.”
“Mrs. Winslow?—”
“Ms.My grandmother isMrs.And she’s not available. She’s also not selling this property.” Wendy doesn’t blink.
The man adjusts his grip on the portfolio. “We will triple the offer. That’s three-point-six million dollars, Ms. Winslow.”
“I don’t care if it was a billion dollars. The B&B has been in my family since the ’70s. A Winslow will always own it, as long as I’m alive.” She leans forward. “So, take your offer and your predatory behaviors and get off my property.”
The guy doesn’t move. “I’d like to speak to Gale Winslow. My business is with her.”
I walk down the stairs, holding the book tight in my grip. He glances over his shoulder, and his eyes slightly widen when he sees me. Recognition flashes, and the color drains from his face.
“Mr. Banks,” he says.
I move into the lobby, not addressing him, and meet Wendy’s eyes. “Everything okay?”
He swallows beside me, and his fingers grip the portfolio. This is what my presence does to people.
She gives me a smile, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. “Great. This is Darren Calder from Coastal Heritage Holdings, and he was just leaving.”
Darren looks at Wendy, and I turn and glare at him.
Whatever stance he was trying to take ends.
He pulls out a business card. “If you change your mind?—”
“Leave! Stop calling. Stop sending letters. Disrespectfully, fuck off. And if you don’t, I will come after you for harassment,” she warns.
He swallows hard and shoves the card into his pocket.
“Goodbye, Darren. Time to take the walk of shame.”
He glances between us, then leaves without another word. The door closes.
Wendy’s pulse is racing, and she’s breathing hard.
“That,” I say, “was hot.”
