Logan

Darcy Westbury was irritating the shit out of me—even her absence got under my skin. In fact, it was exactly her absence that had me short-tempered and foul-mouthed. I slammed down the phone, cutting off one of my IT guys who was trying to explain why I hadn’t had access to the internet for the last hour. I was pretty sure that if I hadn’t been his top priority before, I certainly was now.

But the internet wasn’t the problem, or at least not the only problem. Darcy had been ignoring my messages, avoiding my calls and generally pissing me off since I’d last seen her five bloody days ago.

Our evening had been incredible, the sex better than I could have imagined. And I thought she’d felt the same. Everything had worked between us. I’d confessed things I’d never told anyone and she’d been open and sweet. The next day I’d left her, knowing I should walk away—but in just a few hours, my resolve had disappeared, and I knew I had to have her again. Despite myself, I’d suggested another date, but had no response. For the first time in my life, I wanted more from a woman than she wanted from me.

That was bad enough.

But the fact that she didn’t even have the decency to respond to say no was frustrating the hell out of me.

“What?” I snapped in response to a knock at my office door.

“I can come back later if it’s a bad time,” my head of development said as he poked his head around my door.

“Come in, Malcolm.” I should have caught up with him days ago—I needed a way forward after the planning setback for Manor House Club. “I hope you’ve come armed with solutions.”

He took a seat on the other side of my desk. “I need to know if you want to pursue a plan B while we wait for the planning appeal.”

I glanced up. “What plan B and what planning appeal?”

“We lodged an appeal as soon as the decision came in from the Parish Council.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?”

“I spoke to the lawyers—it was their recommended course of action. We appealed the Friday after the decision.”

I sighed. No wonder Darcy hadn’t returned my calls. “You should have spoken to me about that.”

“You’re never interested in this kind of detail.”

“Yeah, well, this is different. For one thing, it’s the first business I’m building from scratch, but more importantly, these people are my neighbors. My grandmother’s friends. I need a heads-up before you start making decisions like that.” At least now I understood why Darcy had been such a pain in my arse since our date. I just had to figure out how to fix it.

What kind of hold did this woman have over me?

“I’ll keep you better briefed in the future. Do you want me to go through possible plan B scenarios?”

I checked my watch. “You have ten minutes.”

Malcolm produced a presentation with three worked-out alternative solutions to pursuing planning permission. The first was to abandon the project and invest in a similar business which was looking for funding. That wasn’t an option for me. The whole point of this project was that I wanted it to be mine from the ground up. The second involved first opening a location in London to prove my credentials, and the final option was to move the location to a brownfield site about fifteen miles away from Badsley, close to transport links.

“I’ve not been on the ground, so I’m relying on desktop research,” Malcolm explained, “but it looks feasible. The surrounding area is five rural acres that have previously been used for industry but are now abandoned.” He produced aerial photos of the proposed site. “The plot has been available for three years, with no takers, and it’s already well-priced. I figure we can secure a decent reduction.”

“Any issues from the previous industrial use?”

“Nothing that would require anything more than demolition and landscaping.”

“What was there before?”

“It’s just some industrial retail units—a scheme that was only half finished, but it means roads and water are already in place.”

“This is good work,” I said, impressed with the idea of the brownfield site. We were less likely to come up against planning restrictions, the site was close to the motorways and we would be enhancing something I imagined the locals viewed as an eyesore at the moment. “When do we hear about the appeal?”

“It’s likely to be months—you know what these things are like.”

“Arrange a site visit while we wait.” Darcy had been able to persuade the Parish Council that the development of Manor House Club would be a curse on all their houses, and I wouldn’t underestimate her ability to block our appeal.

My mobile vibrated. “We’ll go and see the alternate location next week. Monday morning would work, then I can come into the office from there. Set it up.” I picked up the phone as Malcolm stood up and headed to the door.

Darcy’s name flashed on the screen and I willed Malcolm to hurry—I didn’t want to take this call in front of anyone. Why was she calling now?

He shut the door and I pressed accept. “We need to talk—I didn’t know anything about the appeal until a few moments ago.”

“You need to get back here,” she said, her voice tight and filled with panic. “Get on that stupid helicopter. Your grandmother has fallen—they’re taking her to hospital.”

It took a few seconds to process what she was saying. I’d expected a barrage of abuse. Or the silent treatment. I hadn’t expected her to be calling about my grandmother. “She’s fallen? Is she conscious, bleeding?” I asked, heading out of my office.

“No blood and yes, she’s conscious. A bit drowsy—concussed, I think, but—”

Jesus. How had this happened? It was why I paid for a nurse to be on site twenty-four hours a day. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Which hospital?”

“Chiltern Central.”

I didn’t even know where that was. “Stay with her, will you?” I asked. I hated the idea that my grandmother was alone and vulnerable. I was meant to protect her, keep her safe. “She likes you.”

“I’ll be here. Just get here. Fast.”