Chapter 13
N
ate lay in bed, watching the morning sunlight stream through his blinds, trying to stave off a headache, while wishing that the previous night had merely been a bad dream.
What the hell had he been thinking, sticking his tongue down Samantha’s throat, especially after he’d sworn off her following the first kiss? He clearly liked living on the edge. The woman would accuse him of sexual harassment and have his company if he wasn’t careful—or worse, his heart.
There were a million females more suitable for him than Princess Samantha. Women who weren’t dilettantes on a mission to find themselves at everyone else’s expense. Women who didn’t run away from their wealthy, powerful fathers just to be rebellious. And most of all, women who could commit—not sneak away at dawn’s early light.
He got out of bed, hoping a hot shower would help him come up with a plan for damage control.
Nate needed to apologize to Sam in a big way. But instead of finding her at the inn, Dink Caruthers, Nugget’s mayor, was waiting for him at the front desk.
“Your Honor,” Nate greeted facetiously. There was nothing honorable about wearing a polyester Western suit. Or having a name like Dink, for that matter.
“Nate.” The mayor tipped his head. “You got a few minutes?”
Not really, but he couldn’t very well tell the mayor that. “Sure. Let’s sit in my office.”
“The Addisons are concerned that you’re running a restaurant without the proper permits.” Dink got comfortable in one of Nate’s chairs.
“The Addisons clearly have a drug problem. I’m thinking black tar heroin.”
“That’s some strong allegations, boy.”
Nate rolled his eyes. “Dink, do you see us running a restaurant? We’re a bed and breakfast. Shockingly enough, we serve our guests breakfast.”
“Now don’t go getting all hot under the collar. They asked me to look into it and that’s what I’m doing. They said you just hired a fancy chef down from Los Angeles, some reality TV star on that
Top Chef
show.”
“Reality TV star?” If he was talking about Brady, the guy lived in a freaking van. “We hired a chef to replace the one we had. The one who cooked breakfasts for our guests, because I’ll repeat: We’re a bed and breakfast. No big conspiracy, Dink.”
“All right, all right. But if you’re running some kind of restaurant on the side, you know I’ll have to shut you down, right?”
Nate blew out a breath. “Are you checking on their pool permits? How do you know they’re not turning the Beary Quaint into Marine World? Hell, that damned dump is already the equivalent of Country Bear Jamboree. Do they have a permit for a theme park?”
Dink got to his feet. “All right, boy, you’ve made your point. We miss that sister of yours. When is she coming back?”
Not soon enough to suit Nate. “A couple of months,” he said.
“How’s that nice redhead working out?”
After last night, the jury was out on that one. “Great.” Especially when she was climbing him like a tree for more kisses.
Before Dink could ask any more of his annoying questions, Rhys filled Nate’s doorway.
“Hey there, Mr. Mayor,” Rhys said, turning on his bullshit Texas charm. “How y’all doing?”
“Real fine, Chief. But maybe you ought to tell your brother-in-law here to take a chill pill.” With that, Dink sauntered out of the inn.
“A chill pill?” Rhys cocked a brow. “What was that about?”
“The Addisons are complaining that we’re running an underground restaurant.”
Rhys chuckled. “See what Maddy has to put up with when you’re not around? I’ve got some good news for you, though. The chef checks out. Nothing negative I could find.”
“What’s this rumor about him being on that
Top Chef
show? That’s what the Addisons told Dink.”
“It didn’t come up in any of the searches I ran,” Rhys said. “Does it matter?”
Nate hitched his shoulders. “It might drum up a little publicity for the inn.”
“Then why don’t you just ask him? Hey, Maddy and I want to give Clay and Emily a weekend getaway for their wedding gift. They’re not taking a honeymoon until winter, when the kids are back in school. Maddy suggested the Theodore.”
“You want me to hook you up?” Nate asked.
“Yep. We want all the bells and whistles. Will a thousand cover it?”
Rhys had to be kidding. “Consider it taken care of.”
“Maddy said you’d say that. Look, it wouldn’t be much of a gift if we didn’t pay for it.”
“Whatever happened to ‘it’s the thought that counts’?” Nate asked.
“Buy ’em dinner and a show. That’ll set you back. In the meantime, I’ll reserve a suite for them in your name and have a complimentary VIP basket sent up. The works.”
“Aw, that’s great. Thanks, Nate.”
“Not a problem.”
“You bringing anyone to the wedding?” Rhys asked.
“I hadn’t really thought about it. Probably not.”
“What about the redhead?”
Nate pinned his brother-in-law with a glare. “Maddy put you up to this, didn’t she? Tell her I’m perfectly capable of finding my own dates.”
Rhys’s top lip quirked. Other than that he wasn’t giving anything away. “I heard she’s done a hell of a job helping Emily put that reception together. Clay’s invited near half the county.”
“She’s good at planning parties,” Nate said. “She’s had a lot of practice.”
“She’s also good-looking. Anything there?” Rhys arched his brows in question.
“Don’t you have a town to keep safe?”
One thing about his brother-in-law, he could take a hint. He got up. “I guess that’s my cue to leave. See you around.”
“Thanks for checking out Brady.”
“When does he start?”
“As soon as he can find a living situation. Which reminds me, you still have a vacancy in the duplex?”
“Both sides are vacant,” Rhys said. “He can have his choice. Rent’s six hundred a month with a twelve hundred dollar deposit. If that’s a problem, I’m sure we can swing something.”
“Great. I’ll let him know.”
After Rhys left, Nate could no longer put off the inevitable and called Tracy.
She picked up on the third ring and said, “It’s about time.”
“Nice to talk to you too. How’s it going on the gala?”
“That’s why I’ve been trying to call you,” Tracy said, and Nate checked his cell, which he’d inadvertently turned to silent. Four messages. “Nut Ball, queen of the bitches, has now decided that she will accept the Theodore’s chef as long as he does Thomas Keller’s menu, which our chef says is plagiarism. Richard said, and I quote,
‘I’d rather drain my own veins before I cook someone else’s dishes.’
These people are driving me crazy, Nate.”
“All right, I’ll talk to Richard. We’ll work something out. Stay calm. You ready for the bridal expo next weekend?”
“Oh God, you’re not making me do that again, are you? Send Lisa or Randall.”
“Tracy, you’re head of event planning for Breyer Hotels—a vice president in the company. Why would I send anyone other than you?”
“Because my time is too valuable to be selling stupid wedding packages, especially when I can be snagging the big fish, like tech conferences and corporate events.”
Yeah, because you did so well with Landon Lowery
. “Wedding packages are our bread and butter, Tracy. So this is nonnegotiable. See you in a few days.” He hung up.
One temperamental female down, another to go. Nate headed to Sam’s office and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” she called, and he went inside and shut the door behind him. “What do you think of these wine glasses?” She turned her computer monitor toward him so he could get a view of the stemware.
“They’re fine,” he said. “What are they for?”
“Your house.” She flipped to another picture of goblets. “Or we could go with these.”
“Sam . . . Sam. Look at me, Sam.” She finally pulled her head away from the computer. “I’m sorry. I screwed up last night.
Again
. You think we could—”
“Forget it?” she said, cutting him off.
That wasn’t what he was going to say, but—
“Okay, let’s forget it,” she continued. “In fact, let’s pretend it never happened and move on. No more after-work visits. No neighborly chats on the deck. From now on, we’ll keep everything strictly professional. So if that’s all, I’m really busy.”
“Fine,” he said, duly chastised, and started to walk out the door.
“Which glasses did you want?”
“Uh, the first ones looked good. But whatever you think.”
“Fine,” she said as she clicked away on her computer.
“Sam?”
“What?”
“Uh, thanks for doing that.” He pointed to the wineglass website, then left with his tail between his legs.
The next couple of days passed in telephone back-and-forths between him and Richard and Tracy, highlighting all the reasons why he needed to be in San Francisco and not Nugget. The truth was the Lumber Baron was in good hands. Sam, who rarely talked to him anymore, had conquered the place. Loved by the guests, more organized than anyone he knew and a multitasker by nature, she had no problem running the Lumber Baron in his absence.
What she had was a problem with him. He suspected that she hadn’t taken well to his comment about her being his physical type but that he didn’t like anything else about her. It was akin to saying,
I’d like to do you as long as you leave after I’m finished, because you bug the crap out of me.
And then, to make matters worse, he’d grabbed her ass and given her a tonsillectomy with his tongue.
Nate would never win awards for being the most sensitive man, but even he knew that he’d done irreparable harm to their relationship, such as it was. It was for the best, he kept telling himself. They’d been getting too friendly, reminding him all too well of how it had been with Kayla in the beginning. Back when she’d hung on his every word and then abruptly lost interest the night before four hundred of their best friends and family were due to attend their wedding. He certainly didn’t need a repeat performance of that disaster.
He and Kayla had met at a Harvard mixer. Out of a roomful of brash MBAs, all tussling to appear smarter and more aggressive than the next, she’d chosen him to spill her drink on. Later, she confessed to doing it on purpose.
But that night, her cheeks pinked prettily and she apologized profusely, whipping off her Hermès scarf and patting him dry.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, taking her in from head to toe.
Her blond hair had been swept back in a sleek ponytail, showing off high cheekbones, a prominent nose, a slightly too-wide mouth and pale blue eyes that danced when she talked. She wasn’t textbook beautiful, but she had that extra, undefinable something that turned heads. And his was spinning.
Two hours later he took her home, took off her clothes, and took her to bed. And when they woke up the next morning, he didn’t want her to leave. Ever. And that had never happened to him before.
“What is it about you?” he teased.
Naked, she propped herself up on the bed and said, “I’m your It Girl.”
He didn’t even know what that meant, but he liked the sound of it, so from then on he called her his It Girl. That first month they were stuck like glue, attending parties at her society friends’ homes, visiting Cambridge and Boston museums, and eating takeout on the floor of his apartment.
The next month she took him home to meet her parents. He had known that Kayla was a Cumberland, but not until they visited the estate did he fully understand what being part of one of America’s most moneyed families entailed. First off, her family home was entrenched in history, from the portraits on the walls to the antique patina on the furniture. Second, there seemed to be an endless supply of relatives who lived there. Some, apparently, had never left the estate.
And as nice and down-to-earth as her parents seemed, they’d run a background check on him. They knew that his parents owned and operated hotels, his grandparents were Wisconsin dairy farmers, where he’d gone to high school (Kayla didn’t even know that), and his GPA as an undergrad.
“You’re one of those smart fuckers,” her father announced. No one seemed shocked that Milton Cumberland, one of the richest men on earth, cursed like a truck driver.
At one point, sometime between dessert and cognac, Milton took him aside and said, “You seem good for our girl.”
By the time they left, Nate felt like he’d passed the test. “I think that went well,” he told Kayla.
“It went fabulous, darling,” she said in a voice she reserved for self-deprecation. Kayla liked mocking her wealthy culture. It made her feel one with the people.
In their second month together, Kayla dropped out of Harvard law. She came to Nate’s apartment after taking a torts exam and announced that she’d had an epiphany.
“The world is full of lawyers, people who make sense of civilization by twisting and manipulating the facts to serve their own ends. It’s disgusting.”
He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her on the forehead. “You blew the test, didn’t you?”
“I most certainly did not.” She pulled away. “If you must know, I aced it. Of course I won’t get my grade for another week or two, but I knew every answer. The test was tedious, a lot of memorization of useless facts. I’m done with law school, Nate. I’ve decided that if I want to make a difference in the future of this great world, I have to study the past.”
A few weeks later, she enrolled in archaeology classes in Harvard’s Department of Anthropology. If Nate had been on his game and not crazy in love, he might’ve seen her impulsiveness as a red flag. Instead, he saw her newly found obsession with human bones and fossils charming. She was so different from him. He chose a course and stuck to it, no deviations, no last-minute lightning bolts, no newfound passions that would highjack his old ones. From childhood, Nate wanted to own and operate hotels. Even when the goal seemed unattainable, like during the 2008 recession, when obtaining bank loans and private venture capital seemed as likely as winning the lottery, Nate kept his nose to the grindstone.