Chapter 9
“ We need to talk.”
Good goddamn he was attractive.
“We need to talk,” he repeated.
Like not just attractive, insanely handsome. Classic good looks, strong jaw, broad shoulders but a nice tapered waist, maybe he—
“Ms. Morgan?”
“Hmm?” I asked, my eyeballs not able to move up from the white T-shirt peeking out above his fleece.
“I’m asking you to listen to me,” he interrupted. His lower lip was puffy from my teeth, and I could see at least one scratch on his neck from my fingernails. His hair was tousled, his jacket was almost completely unzipped, and I smiled in spite of myself when I saw the muddy prints my shoes had left on the sides of his running pants.
I shouldn’t talk. I shouldn’t get in any deeper than I already was. But I’ll admit I was curious. And dammit, I was still 100 percent turned on by this gorgeous but infuriating ass.
See, dangerous.
Get in your head!
“Mr. Bryant, yes, got it, right here with you,” I said, dazed. But regaining control. “No need to talk, we’re good. Won’t happen again, this isn’t a thing, doesn’t need to be a thing, let’s just move on, shall we?”
“Oh, I think we better talk before we move on,” he replied.
Against every part of my brain screaming at me to push past him, to go directly to my room, I nodded and let him lead me toward a small summerhouse a little ways off the main trail.
Settling onto one of the wooden benches, I waited to hear him out. Like he said, I’d chased him up the side of a mountain, so I wasn’t about to be the one to go first this time.
He paced a few times, walking the length of the gazebo back and forth, his gait smooth and even. I should’ve known he was a runner, his frame practically ensured it. Long and lean, every step measured. Conserving energy.
But when he let that energy run wild and free? Damn. I shifted a bit on the seat, the feeling of his fingertips digging into my skin still burning. I’d be willing to bet that by tonight I’d have ten little bruises on my hips.
Why the hell was that so thrilling?
“What’s the longest relationship you’ve ever been in?”
Whoa. “Um, what?” While I’d been ruminating on my hips, he’d stopped pacing and asked me a question. He repeated it.
“I don’t know that it’s any of your business.”
He looked skyward, dragging his hands over his face. His hair really was still messed up.
“I’m asking because I’m trying to explain why I had such a reaction to you asking about Ashl”—a look of pain crossed his face—“about my wife.”
Oh boy. “Listen, I’m really sorry about that, I never meant for you to hear me and it wasn’t like I was trying to gossip or anything, I just . . .”
“Because the longest relationship I’ve ever been in was the one with my wife, and it started when we were in high school. To be fair, it started long before that. I knew her almost my entire life. I assumed I’d spend the rest of my life with her. Turns out, it was only the rest of her life.” He blinked, and his eyes were so very blue. “So even though she’s gone, and I know she is, sometimes it rears up to surprise me in the strangest ways. You can’t . . . know someone that long and suddenly know how to handle it when they just disappear from your life. You can’t be with someone that long and not still feel the need to step in, to fight for them, to protect them.”
I couldn’t believe he was talking to me, like really talking to me. This was such a one-eighty from everything that had happened up until now. He’d been so closed off and angry up to this point, and now he was opening up? And about something so tragic. “I can’t even begin to imagine.” And that was the truth. I’d never felt the need to protect anyone other than myself. There was certainly no one to watch out for me. Ever.
“I meet new people every single day in this business. They come into what I feel like for all intents and purposes is my home, and I welcome them and make them comfortable. No one knows the story, no one knows what happened, because these are all new people you see, and they’re just here for the lake and canoes and the hiking.”
“And the fireplaces, you have some really great fireplaces,” I added, and he grinned. He really should grin more, it does incredible things to his face. There’s a sense of heavy that I sometimes feel around Archie, a sense that he’s seen too much for a young man. When he smiles, that goes away. The lines soften, smooth out, lines that I now know were put there by tragedy.
“And the fireplaces,” he agreed. “The people who work here, they’re my family. They know the story, they know everything, so they never mention it. Why would they? So you see, it’s a very safe place for me. And then someone comes in, someone I never wanted here in the first place.”
I raised my hand. “That would be me.”
“That would be you.” Another smile. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”
“Am I supposed to answer that?”
“You asked about my wife.”
I took a deep breath. “I did.”
“Why?”
I wanted to walk to him. I wanted to go over to him and lean up on my tippiest toes and press a soft kiss on his cheek, but oh boy, there were ninety-nine reasons why I shouldn’t and no real reason why I should.
Other than every single fiber of my being wanted to do so, and not stop there.
So I did the only thing I could do. I sat on my hands. And tried to explain. “You’re also a huge pain in the ass, and I don’t mind telling you that. In fact, someone should tell you that, repeatedly and often. But when I found out about your wife”—his eyes sprang open, searching—“you became more than just an ass. It’s not pity, but I did feel sad for you. I asked the wrong person. I should’ve asked you.”
He sighed. “When someone dies, the people left behind, no one quite knows what to do with them. They don’t want to talk about it, but sometimes you need to talk about it. But I never liked knowing that other people were talking, does that make sense?”
“It makes perfect sense.” I nodded. “So you tell me about her.”
“You sure we shouldn’t talk about what just happened? Up there?” His eyes flickered up to the observation tower, observing us right at this very moment.
“Oh, we’re gonna talk about that, Mr. Bryant,” I said, arching my eyebrow, “especially how you took matters into your own hands up there. And by matters, I’m speaking specifically of my ass.”
“I did nothing of the kind,” he murmured, the indigo flashing fire once more. “Your hips, on the other hand . . .”
“Remind me to chase you up a mountain more often.”
He laughed then, and it was magic. And it was into this magic that I did walk over to him, reach up toward him, not with my lips but with my hand, and gently brush back the shock of auburn hair that had fallen down over his forehead. He closed his eyes, then instantly leaned into my touch, almost like a cat. Jesus, when was the last time someone had touched this guy?
The truth was, however, it’d be the last time I’d be touching him, at least in this way. “And since people seem to go a little crazy up on these mountains, I recommend we stay a bit closer to the ground.”
His eyes remained closed, and he nodded, agreeing with my words. But he didn’t pull away just yet, and neither did I.
In the end, it was people coming up the trail, other early birds anxious to get out in the nice weather this morning that blew apart our little world inside the summerhouse. We backed away from each other, finally putting a respectable and appropriate distance between us.
But even at that respectable distance, his eyes blazed with heat.
The next day I arrived at the morning meeting and was surprised to see Archie there. Surprised because he hadn’t attended all week, only coming to meetings that he was specifically requested to attend and then to either sit and listen and not volunteer any information, or if asked a direct question respond in such a way as to prompt an argument with me as soon as he could.
Today when I walked in he immediately rose, brought me a cup of coffee, two sugars and a splash of cream, exactly the way I take it, and before I could stammer out anything he turned me toward the rest of the group and announced, “Starting today I will be embracing Ms. Morgan.”
I didn’t quite spit-take my coffee, but only because I’d swallowed it almost entirely, burning my esophagus in the meantime and blistering my tongue. The rest of the team simply stared at him in anticipation, wondering what in the hell kind of meeting this was about to become.
My reaction and their staring prompted him to immediately reevaluate his words, and he offered a nervous laugh. “Embracing her ideas, of course, her ideas. I’ve been, well, I think we can all agree, a real pain in the ass up until this point.”
I raised my hand. Although, to be fair, I might’ve been signaling someone to bring me ice cubes for my throat.
“Some of her ideas may be a bit unconventional, but I’m willing to try and see things her way. Within reason, of course.”
“Of course,” I croaked out, managing a smile while wondering what in the world he was up to.
Famous last words. The truce lasted barely an hour. By ten thirty he was frustrated, I was irritated beyond belief, and I wanted nothing more than to pick up my now empty coffee cup and whap him squarely in the middle of the forehead with it.
“You can’t keep dragging your feet on this, Mr. Bryant, it’s got to happen this way or we will literally never get anywhere.”
“Nothing has got to happen until I say it’s got to happen, Ms. Morgan, and I’ll thank you to remember that. I’m willing, more than willing, I think, to look into upgrading some of the rooms, but—”
“Not upgrading. Overhauling. New mattresses. New bedding. New pillows. Speaking from my own experience here, my bed, in a word? Sucks.”
“The beds don’t suck, Ms. Morgan,” he sputtered. “And I’ll thank you to remember that each of those beds has been a part of this hotel for over a century—”
“New wallpaper,” I continued, feeling on a roll and running with it, “and an entirely new concept for that carpet, if indeed there will be carpet. There’s money in the budget for this, if we can—”
He exploded. All over the Camellia Conference Room and all over the department heads who’d been passing the economy-sized bottle of Tums back and forth between them. “The budget? How in the world do you expect us to pay for this overhaul, and reduce the room rates, and bring in additional entertainment for the summer season, and—”
“May I see you for a moment?” I asked, interrupting his tirade. “Privately?”
He looked as though he was about to say something else, but bit it back. Exhaling heavily, he pushed back from the table. “Everyone take fifteen.”
Stoically he followed me out onto the porch overlooking the lake. I usually took my breaks out here, getting a little hit of nature when I needed it.
I needed it right now. I needed to pitch him something pretty drastic and I needed to have him on board.
“Ms. Morgan, I realize I got a little heated back there, but you have to realize all these changes are going to be expensive and—”
I cut him off. “You’re going to have to close for a few months every year, for probably the next five to eight years, in order to keep this place going.”
He tilted his head like he didn’t actually hear me. “Come again?”
“Look, I’ve been over and over the books and it’s the only way I can see making the changes we need to make and keep within the budget. You’re literally bleeding money in your off-season, you’re barely at thirty percent full, it no longer makes financial sense to be a true winter resort. At least for a while. It’s drastic, but it’s what needs to be done.”
His lips pressed together hard enough that they turned white. “We have never closed, not one day since we opened our doors. Not for blizzards, not for wars, not for major repairs, not for anything.”
I sighed, knowing this was a lot to take in. “I realize that, and I know I’m asking for a lot.”
“You are literally asking for the impossible.”
I shook my head. “It’s not impossible. We did it at the Manor Crest in Colorado and at the Seaspray in Rhode Island. Granted, they’re still doing it, but Manor Crest is on track to reopen full-time in two years . . . a year ahead of schedule.”
He shook his head slowly. “You want to close Bryant Mountain House.”
I nodded just as slowly. “For ten weeks, starting in mid-January. Get through the holidays, have a helluva New Year’s party, and then close up shop. We can discuss reopening for Valentine’s Day, although I don’t recommend it, at least for the first year.”
“And we reopen?”
“Right before Easter. I’d say Easter weekend, but since that date is fluid each year, I’d aim for the third week of March.”
“The third week of March,” he whispered, the idea as foreign a concept to him as if I’d suggested we iron each other’s feet. “We’d miss the entire winter season, all the outdoor activities. We get snow before Christmas, sure, but the big stuff doesn’t really come down until January, and the lake doesn’t freeze until then anyway. No ice-skating on the lake, no snowshoeing through the woods, none of it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bryant, I truly am.” I had to make my hand into a fist behind my back, it wanted so much to reach out to him, touch him, soothe him and make this better. I resisted. “But we can make this work, and you’d be surprised how much we can do when the hotel is empty of guests and with only minimal staff.”
“The staff, what will we do with them? They depend on their salaries, many of them, they’ve worked here for years. We can’t just, I can’t just . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head again. “This’ll never work.”
“It can work. But you’re going to have to trust me,” I said, stepping a little closer. We were within sight of anyone who might be walking around the lake or down on the dock, not to mention the rest of the team inside. But I still took that step, that very small step. He needed to know I was on his side. “I realize I’m asking for a lot here, but you have to trust that if you don’t come on board, if you don’t guide your team and your hotel through this, in a few years you won’t just be closed for ten weeks in winter.” I watched as his face went through a range of emotions: hopelessness, frustration, and finally, resignation.
“I’m going to need details, and details about those details. And I’ll ask a lot of questions. And it’d be helpful if you didn’t act like every time I ask you something you’re expecting World War Three.”
I bit down on a chuckle. “Agreed, but it’d also be helpful if you didn’t look at me every time I open my mouth like I’m trying to ruin you.”
He shot me a sideways look, then nodded. “But before we bring this to the group, to my father even, you’re going to have to lay out your plans in their entirety, tell me everything you want to do. No more surprises.”
“Agreed.”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight. You’ll tell me everything.”
I exhaled. Why did that statement make me uneasy?
We went back into the meeting a united front, with plans made to have dinner, in town this time, to go over my plans. Neutral ground? Maybe. But for the first time with this guy, I felt hopeful.