Page 75 of Final Proposal

I suddenly have a coughing fit.

Major points now completely erased.

They’re even falling into the negative about now.

Secondly, the phrase shoot my shot never sounded more fucked up than it does right now.

“Wow. Well, okay,” I say as stoically as possible while hating the fact that now one of my favorite guys on this site has now dropped rank to Diego status.

Maybe just a little above.

“Do you think I have a chance?” he asks, eyes eager, smile hopeful.

“About as good of a shot as I have”—I nudge him—“and that’s not much.”

The thought, the conversation, sticks with me the rest of the day. Through phone calls dealing with S.I.N. responsibilities. A call to our resort manager in Japan about our newest resort about to come back online after an extensive overhaul. A run-through of our new marketing campaign to see if a rebrand of our Aspen location is helping to pull in a new demographic. A check-in call with my brothers to make sure we’re all on the same page. Between hiring a new resort manager, dealing with a supply chain issue, and a possible union strike at the Napa property, this week has been challenging to say the least. It’s pertinent that we know what each other is doing or has done so we can step in for the other if need be.

Then there were the day-to-day items to do here at the inn. A site walk-through with the superintendent where we check off items completed and add things that need attention. Discussions over logistics. The breakup of an argument between a frustrated Ellery and a plumber who refused to take orders . . . and, I’m assuming, take them from a woman, because when I told him what to do, he did them quickly. Asshole.

The day has been exhausting yet satisfying. Just like it seems every other day here has been.

Isn’t that what I was hoping for when I came here? To work with my hands and see something materialize from that hard work?

And what’s even better? To do all these things with a partner, with Ellery, and watch the joy and satisfaction she finds in the process too.

Ellery

“What?” I pull my phone from my cheek and look at it—as if seeing is believing—before putting it back to my cheek. I can’t possibly have heard that correctly.

“I said I was reviewing everything for the Revlon job with Gregory, and I am thoroughly impressed with all the prep you did for it. Stellar work. Simply stellar.”

“Um. Thank you.” What’s the catch here? Why is Garland complimenting me now when this is the same kind of work I’ve always done for Haywood?

“The project is going well, I presume?”

I feel like I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone.

“Yes. Very. Most days.” I laugh. “You know how projects are. They always have their hiccups, but for the most part, yes, things are running smoothly.”

“Good. I’m glad. I hope they continue down the same path.”

“Thank you.” An awkward silence stretches across the line, and I struggle for something to fill it with. Just as I’m about to speak, he does.

“Her birthday is coming up soon.”

My throat constricts at his words and the atypical emotion woven in them. “I know.”

Another pause. A clearing of his throat. “It’s a tough day for me to get through. I can’t imagine how it is for you.”

I have absolutely no idea what to say to his comment. He’s never said anything of the sort in the years since her death. I open my mouth. Close it.

“I just wanted you to know I’ll be thinking about you, Elle. And that she’d be proud of what you’re doing because it’s exactly what she would have done too.”

“Thank you.” I can barely get the two words out over the emotion clogging my throat.

“No need to thank me.”

When the call ends, I stand there and stare at my cell, replaying the conversation in my head and wondering what it meant.