ChapterSix
Ashley had received the note, or as she saw it, the summons along with her decaf coffee. She’d been relieved. Her big, bold show took more energy than she had anticipated. If Dad had been able to entertain the guests with stories, she had reasoned it couldn’t be that hard. Under normal circumstances, finding her inner charisma wasn’t challenging. But her subterfuge added a layer to the endeavor that drained her. She refused to give her father a win, even after his death.
She sipped her drink and studied the neat cursive on the crisp folded sheet of letterhead. Her own handwriting was messy and illegible. Her thoughts came too fast to worry about penmanship. Christopher took time in everything.
Swallowing a sigh, she set the mug on the saucer, lifted her chin, and met the gaze of the maître d’. “Of course. Thank you. Please charge the meal to my room.”
“Very good, ma’am.” Pierre bowed and held out her chair.
With her head held high, she walked through the restaurant at a leisurely pace. She tipped her head, nodding and waving at a few friendly faces. She’d been glad he caught at least a hint of her show. She’d felt his eyes on her, the awareness of him as comforting as a favorite sweatshirt. While she often found herself in the spotlight, she only cared if he was watching. She still craved his attention. Otherwise, why was she performing at all?
In the lobby, she held her shoulders back and continued at her own speed. Resting her hand lightly on the polished railing, she floated up the stairs to the top floor. She didn’t let her mask slip until she reached the attic hallway. Then she braced her hands on either side of her waist and dragged deep breaths into her burning lungs.
She hated to appear winded, even if it was the truth. Smoothing her hands over the skirt of her dress, she continued down the corridor to the closed door. She knocked, her fist rapping against the wood in her three-knock-two-knock pattern.
“Enter.” Christopher’s deep voice carried through the solid panel.
She twisted the doorknob and let herself into the room, shutting the door behind her. Last night and earlier this morning, he had rushed her through the space without giving her a chance to study his office. If he wanted to put on a show of demanding her presence, he’d have to allow her to do so at her own pleasure.
In the early afternoon, the sunlight filled the room with a golden glow. With windows on three sides, it was almost like being in the tree house she’d always wanted and never received. Christopher created a sanctuary for himself. While the room was very one-note and seemed to be the result of an online shopping spree, incorporating no refurbished pieces or hints of his personality, he did a better job than she would have imagined.
The leather armchairs and ottoman were almost the same color as the massive desk. He didn’t have any blankets or pillows. The lamps were all the same boring stick shape. Only the sizes differentiated them. He’d done well with the colorful antique rugs.
“Care to revise your opinion about my decorating in the light of day? Does my office meet with your approval?” he asked.
Heat crept up her neck, burning her ears. She glanced at him, seated behind his desk. She shrugged her shoulders and pulled out one of the wooden spindle back chairs opposite him. “It’s not particularly cozy.”
He snorted.
“But it’s not bad. You did a decent job. I wouldn’t hire you as a decorator based on the continued use of that awful cream paint everywhere.”
He frowned, furrowing his brow. “What’s offensive about a neutral color? Isn’t it the standard, acceptable beige?”
“Exactly. It’s predictable and boring. Shouldn’t the Inn be a little bolder? More adventurous?”
“With paint?”
“With everything. The paint is a good start.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face.
She hated it when he did that. The mannerism was dismissive. She wasn’t here for his amusement or derision. She was here for her destiny. “You did a nice job in this room.”
He dropped his hands to the desk and met her gaze. A soft smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “I had help.”
Like Elise?Ashley’s upper lip trembled, cracking the façade of her brittle smile. She couldn’t let him see that she cared. Or, maybe she should start implying she had a far more interesting life. Like she left something, or someone, behind to grace everyone with her presence. If only she believed that, she wouldn’t be groveling. “I’ve answered your call. What’s next?”
“Working.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I am. You need my valuable input.”
“I’m serious, and I need more than a few comments on my interior design skills.” He slid a folder across the desk and tapped a finger against the smooth cover. “I’ve compiled everything you should know if you really intend to take over the resort.”
She reached for the folder, careful to tug the free end. No accidental touches or innocent hand brushing. Unless she could somehow manage her expectations and only leave him wanting more. Opening the folder, she stared at the stapled sheets filling each pocket almost to bursting.
She leafed through one side. Numbers. She frowned at the collection of dates and times followed by spreadsheets with dollar amounts. On the other, she discovered pages of bullet points. He hadn’t given up his micromanaging ways.
Maybe she’d have more support from the hotel staff than she first assumed. And she’d been foolish enough to go along with his plan this morning and act like a snob. How many people had she turned off with the act? It wasn’t too late to correct her course and show more of herself. She could be charming. Far more than him. “I don’t understand how this is part of the plan? Aren’t I supposed to be investigating?”
