*
* *
Sunday morning Trace was sitting on the family's dock, his
feet dangling in the water, when Laila appeared. In her short shorts, halter
top and with her long blond hair caught up in a careless ponytail, she looked
about sixteen, not twenty-nine.
She handed him an icy can of soda. "How's the prodigal son?" she
inquired, kicking off her flip-flops and dropping down beside him on the smooth
wood that had been warmed by the sun. Overhead, an eagle swooped through the
air, then settled high in an old oak tree to watch over the scene from his
lofty perch.
"Chomping at the bit to get back to New York," he responded.
"Which I could do if you weren't so obstinate."
She nudged him with her elbow. "Come on, admit it. You like being
here."
"For a visit," he insisted. "I've never wanted any part of the
bank. That was your dream, not mine."
"Unfortunately, Daddy doesn't see it that way. In his male-dominated
world, the family estate must go to the eldest son. Daughters get whatever's
left over."
He frowned at her. "Not the way I heard it. Dad said he offered you a
position at the bank."
"Did he happen to mention what that position was?"
"The same one I'm in, I assume."
"Well, you assume wrong. He expected me to work as Raymond's assistant,
which, in case you haven't figured out the pecking order there yet, amounts to
a clerical job that any high school kid could do."
Trace winced. "That was not the impression he gave me."
"Ask him, if you don't believe me."
Unfortunately, Trace believed her. It would be just like his father to dangle a
job in front of Laila, knowing that it was beneath her and that she'd turn it
down. Then he could claim—as he had to Trace—that he'd given her a chance.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She shrugged, pretending it didn't matter, but Trace knew better.
"Don't be sorry," she claimed anyway. "It was just Dad being his
usual sexist self. I'm used to it by now."
"I don't know if it helps, but I've told him you're the one he should be
grooming to take over."
"Oddly enough, it does help."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, before she glanced his way. "Abby's
in town. Did you know that?"
"I'd heard she might be coming for a visit," he replied neutrally.
"Have you seen her?"
He shook his head. "But I imagine we'll cross paths before she
leaves."
"How do you feel about that?"
"We're adults," he said with a touch of impatience. "It's been a
long time. I'm sure we'll manage to be civil, Laila."
"I didn't ask how you expected to behave. I asked how you feel about
seeing her again. We both know she was the love of your life and you've never
gotten over her."
He regarded her wryly. "Oh, we both know that, do we?"
"Well,
I
know it," she said, giving him a crooked smile.
"You, however, may be too stupid and stubborn to admit it. You are a guy,
after all."
"I'm not discussing Abby with you."
Laila wasn't easy to deter once she'd gotten her teeth into a subject.
"Come on, Trace. Admit it. It just about killed you when she left town. I
was here. I saw what it did to you."
"Then why would you want to remind me of all that now?"
"Because this could be your chance to find out what happened."
"I know what happened. Abby made a decision to cut me out of her life. End
of story."
"That's not the end of the story," his sister contradicted.
"It's only the part of the story you know. Find out the rest. Maybe it
will put an end to that whole episode once and for all, so you can move on."
"I moved on years ago," he claimed.
"Baloney!"
He stared at her, his lips twitching. "What are we, five?"
"I'm not, but that seems to be your maturity level when it comes to this
one thing. Adults face each other and deal with their issues."
"I'm not the one who left. Have you had this conversation with Abby?"
"I did ten years ago," Laila admitted.
Trace flinched. "Really? And what did Abby reveal to you that she didn't
bother telling me?"
"She told me to butt out, as a matter of fact."
He laughed, but there was little humor in the sound. "Seems like good
advice to me."
He was struck by the same nagging thought that had come to him at the bank on
his first day there. "You haven't shared any of this with Dad, have
you?"
"About you and Abby? No, why?"
He studied her face, trying to decide if he could trust what she was saying.
"It just seems awfully convenient that Dad decides to push this whole idea
of getting me to work at the bank right when there's going to be a battle with
the O'Briens that was bound to bring Abby back to town."
"You mean that possible foreclosure at the inn?" she asked
innocently. "Do you think that's why Abby's here?"
"Don't you?"
"I suppose that makes sense," she conceded. "Abby's always been
smart about business, and she's always been the first one Jess turns to."
"And none of that crossed your mind when you heard about the bank
foreclosing on Jess's property? Or when you heard that Dad was dragging me back
here?"
"Believe it or not, I don't spend a lot of my spare time coming up with
conspiracies with Dad. And if it had been up to me, you'd still be in New York,
and I'd be in that big corner office at the bank dealing with Jess."
"Okay, then," Trace said, deciding he might as well take her at her
word. He was probably imagining a conspiracy where none existed. After all,
Abby was here and he was just about one hundred percent certain to see her. How
that inevitable confrontation had been set into motion hardly mattered. He just
had to brace himself for it, so he didn't make a complete fool of himself when
they crossed paths. Throwing her across his desk and kissing her was probably a
bad idea. And actually he hoped he wouldn't want to.
*
* *
Gram fixed a Sunday dinner that could have fed an army and
insisted that all of them sit down at the table together, including Caitlyn and
Carrie, whose table manners left a lot to be desired. Still, Abby thought they
provided an excellent buffer between her sister and her father. Jess was
shooting distrustful glances at Mick, to which he seemed to be oblivious. He
kept asking questions about the inn that were supposedly innocent. Under the
circumstances, though, they were as highly charged as an entire crate of
explosives.
"No business at the table," Gram finally said when Jess looked as if
she was about to throw down her napkin and bolt. "I'm sure we can think of
other things to talk about. After all, when was the last time we had a chance
to be together under this roof? Let's make this meal as special as the occasion
calls for."
"How are Uncle Jeff and Uncle Tom?" Abby asked, seizing on the first
thing that came to mind.
"How would I know?" Mick responded bitterly. The implication in his
tone was that he didn't much care, either. Obviously neither time nor Gram had
mellowed his mood when it came to his brothers.
The breakup of the business partnership had taken a personal toll. It had
exposed all of the philosophical and environmental differences of the brothers.
Since like all O'Briens, none of them were willing to back down from a stance,
working together had been a really bad idea from the beginning. That they'd
actually completed Chesapeake Shores at all had been a miracle.
Gram scowled at Mick, then turned to Abby. "They're fine. Tom's working on
legislation to protect the bay and trying to get funding to clean up the waters
of both the bay and its tributaries. Jeff's running the management company that
handles the leases on the shops downtown. His daughter, Susie, is working for
him."
"Gosh, I haven't seen Susie in ages," Abby said. "She was still
a kid when I left for New York."
"She graduated from college last year," Jess said. "Magna cum
laude, right, Gram?"
Gram ignored the hint of sarcasm in Jess's voice and said evenly, "I
believe that's right. Jeff was real proud of her."
"How's your mother, Abby?" Mick suddenly blurted. "You see her,
don't you?"
Abby saw the deep hurt in his eyes and felt the same pity she always did when
her mother plied her with questions about the rest of the family. "We get
together for lunch every couple of weeks and she spends time with the girls on
Saturdays when she can. She's doing well. She loves living in the city."
"I'm sure she does," Mick said with undisguised bitterness, clamping
his mouth shut when Abby pointedly nodded toward the girls to remind him that
they didn't need to hear so much as a whisper spoken against their grandmother.
"Grandma Megan's beautiful," Caitlyn said, then looked at Mick with
confusion. "Do you know her?"
Abby realized that since her kids had never seen Mick and Megan together, they
couldn't possibly understand the complexities of the relationship.
The shadows in Mick's eyes deepened as he responded to his granddaughter.
"I used to," he said softly.
"Grandma Megan used to be married to Grandpa Mick," Abby explained.
That stirred a spark of interest in Carrie's eyes. "Did you get a 'vorce
like Mommy and Daddy?"
Mick nodded. "We did."
"Did you still love your kids?" Caitlyn asked worriedly. "Mommy
and Daddy say they'll love us forever and ever, even if they don't love each
other anymore."
"Moms and dads never stop loving their children," Mick assured her.
His solemn gaze flicked to Jess when he said it, as if trying to communicate
that message to her. She resolutely turned away, focusing her attention on
cutting the meat on her plate into tiny pieces which she then shoved aside and
left uneaten.
Sensing that this topic was no safer than business, Abby stood up. "Girls,
why don't I get you some ice cream and we can eat it outside? You'll excuse us,
won't you?" She was already rising when she asked and didn't wait for a
reply.
Carrie and Caitlyn scrambled down from their chairs with a shout and raced for
the kitchen, Abby on their heels. It wasn't until she was safely away from the
tension in the dining room that she sighed with relief. Okay, she'd just thrown
Jess to the wolves in there, but right this second it felt like every woman
needed to fend for herself.
"What kind of ice cream can we have, Mommy?" Carrie asked, tugging on
her slacks.
"Let's see what Gram has in the freezer," she said, though she knew
the answer. There had never been a time when the freezer wasn't stocked with
strawberry, Gram's favorite, and with chocolate, which had always been Mick's,
hers and her brothers' first choice. Jess's had always been vanilla fudge
ripple, so that was bound to be there, too.
She gave the girls their choices—they agreed on strawberry, for once—then
dished up a scoop for each one. "Outside," she said as she handed
them the plastic bowls and spoons. "I'll be right behind you."
She gave herself a double scoop of chocolate, then covered it with hot fudge
sauce for good measure. The way this day was going she was going to need every
bit of chocolate decadence she could find to get through it.
4
A
bby
was glad she'd flown home still dressed in the black power suit she'd worn to
work on Friday morning. She pressed it before putting it on Monday morning,
then drove over to pick up Jess. When Abby arrived, Jess was still wearing
paint-splattered shorts and a faded T-shirt. Abby barely held in a sigh. It
looked as if Jess had gotten distracted by one of her decorating projects.
"Sorry," Jess said, her expression flustered. "I lost track of
the time. I couldn't sleep, so I started painting at the crack of dawn, then
someone called in a reservation—"
Abby cut her off. "Jess, we don't have time for this. You can't go to the
bank like that," she said, trying not to lose patience. Jess was obviously
tense enough without Abby yelling at her. "You know how important this
meeting is. It's critical that we handle it as professionally as possible.
Change, and do it fast, please."
"Five minutes, I promise. You go on ahead. I'll meet you there."
Abby nodded and drove off, relieved in some ways that she was going in alone.
She could say things then that she wouldn't want to say in front of her sister,
admit to Jess's failings but stress that her sister had backup now and that
things would be on track from here on out.
When they opened the door at Chesapeake Shores Community Bank, she walked in as
if she owned the place and headed straight for Lawrence Riley's office. She
beamed at Mariah Walsh, who'd been working there as far back as she could
recall.
"Abby, what on earth are you doing back in town?" Mariah asked.
"Visiting family," she said. "How've you been?"
"Same as always. Just a few more years on me."
Abby nodded toward Mr. Riley's office. "Is he in?" she asked. "I
need to speak to him."
"What's it about?" Mariah asked, already picking up the phone.
"Jess's loans on the inn."
Mariah frowned and hung up. "Then you'll need to speak to Trace."
Abby felt her heart lurch at the mention of Trace Riley. It had been years
since they'd seen each other, and it was ridiculous that hearing his name was
enough to make her falter. But in that instant, she realized exactly what Jess
had been keeping from her. Jess had known that Trace was involved in this
situation and that Abby would have to deal with him and not his father.
Trying to recover her equilibrium before Mariah could see how thrown she'd
been, she said, "Trace is working here? I'm surprised." He'd always
sworn that hell would freeze over before he'd work in a bank, much less for his
father.
Mariah grinned. "Hell's sure enough frozen over, huh? He just started last
week and he says it's just temporary. His father's hoping that'll change. In
the meantime, though, he's in charge of the loan department."
Damn, Abby thought. Maybe that could work in her favor, but she doubted it. The
last time they'd seen each other, she'd slept with him, told him she was in
love with him and then she'd taken off for New York without another word.
Over the months and years that followed, she'd convinced herself that she'd had
no choice, that Trace was a distraction she couldn't afford. In fact, she'd had
a whole litany of reasons that had made perfect sense to her at the time. She'd
even told herself she was cutting things off for him as much as for herself.
Of course, she should have had the guts to tell him that in person, though.
Instead, she'd taken the coward's way out, because he tempted her in ways she'd
found all but impossible to resist. Had she seen him one more time there was no
telling what might have happened to her resolve to go to New York and start a
career on Wall Street. She might even have been persuaded to stay with him
right here. He'd obviously caved in to parental pressure, just as she'd always
feared he might. That fear had made it impossible to trust all the pretty words
he'd said, all the promises he'd made about their future.
Mariah gave her a knowing look. "His office is down the hall on the left.
Want me to call and tell him you're on your way in?"
"I think I'd better surprise him," Abby replied, then stiffened her
spine and headed for his office. She'd had enough uncomfortable meetings to
steel her resolve for this one. She tapped on the door, then walked in without
waiting for a reply.
Trace was on the phone, his gaze directed out the window. Distractedly, he
waved her toward a seat without even turning around. She breathed a sigh of
relief at the reprieve. It gave her time to study him.
He looked good. Really good. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing
tanned forearms. The laugh lines that fanned out from his eyes were carved a
little deeper now. His hair, thick and dark brown with golden highlights from
the sun, was a little long and windblown. She grinned. She'd bet anything he'd
ridden to work on his Harley. That bike had been his first major rebellion way
back in high school, and the possibility that he'd never given it up gave her
an unexpected sense of hope. That was the Trace she remembered, not a man who'd
turned into a by-the-book banker like his dad. She could deal with that man,
challenge him to bend the rules.
When he finished the call, he swiveled around and caught sight of her for the
first time. Something dark and dangerous flashed in his eyes, but he kept his
expression neutral. "Well, look who the cat dragged in."
"Hello, Trace."
"I'll bet you didn't expect to find me here," he said.
"It was a pleasant surprise, all right."
"Pleasant?" he inquired doubtfully.
"For me, yes. We were friends, Trace. Why wouldn't I be glad to see you
again?" she asked, though she knew the answer. She'd just hoped to finesse
her way past the awkwardness. The simmering anger in his eyes suggested that
wasn't likely.
"Friends?" he echoed with a lift of one brow. "That's not
exactly the way I remember it. Maybe my memory's faulty, but I thought we were
more than that."
Heat stained Abby's cheeks. "It was a long time ago, Trace. A lifetime, in
fact."
He hesitated for what seemed like an eternity, his gaze level, then finally he
looked away and reached for a folder with an ominous red sticker on the front.
"I imagine you're here about this," he said, his tone suddenly abrupt
and very businesslike. "Jess has gotten herself into quite a mess."
Taking her cue from him, Abby opened her briefcase. "We're aware of that,
and we're prepared to give the bank every reassurance that things will change
from here on out."
"You'll have to do quite a bit of tap-dancing to pull that off," he
said. "She doesn't have any management skills. I think that's plain. I
have no idea why the bank approved these loans in the first place. I imagine
they did it as a courtesy to your father."
Just then the door to his office opened again, and Jess stepped in. She frowned
at his words. "You couldn't be more wrong, Trace. They did it because it
was a sound investment. That's exactly what your father said when he called me
to tell me the mortgage and the loan had been approved." She regarded
Trace unflinchingly and added, "It still is."
"Not according to these papers I have in front of me," Trace
countered. "It's time to cut our losses, and that's exactly what I intend
to recommend to the board tomorrow."
"No," Abby said fiercely. "Not until you've heard us out."
She tried not to notice the alarm on Jess's face or the brick-red color that
flamed in Trace's cheeks. Instead, she plunged on, throwing diplomacy to the
wind. "If you have even an ounce of business savvy in that rock-hard head
of yours, you'll see that this plan makes sense."
"Why should I believe anything you tell me?" he asked.
Abby swallowed hard. This was all going to blow up just because she and Trace
had a history. Why hadn't Jess warned her? If she had, Abby would have stayed
far, far away from the bank. But since she was in the thick of it now, she
refused to let him goad her into backing down.
"Don't make this about us, Trace," she said quietly. "It doesn't
reflect well on you or the bank."
Trace scowled at her. "Well, aren't you full of yourself? Trust me, you
had nothing to do with my decision. It's all right here in black and white.
People might lie, but numbers don't."
Abby knew he was right about that, but she wasn't giving up without a fight.
She'd seen the flicker of guilt in his eyes when she'd accused him of letting
his feelings for her get into the equation. She intended to use that to force
his hand and make him reconsider.
She tempered her tone. "Will you at least hear me out? You owe us that
much."
"Really?" he said quizzically. "How do you figure that?"
"You want to prove that you're making a totally unbiased decision, don't
you? Then you have to consider all the facts. Otherwise I'll have to insist on
meeting the board myself, and you'll wind up with egg on your face after barely
a week on the job."
Again, he gestured toward the file. "The facts are in here."
"Not all of them," she insisted. She handed him a set of the papers
she'd spent all Sunday afternoon preparing, partly because she'd wanted them to
be strong enough to make her case and partly as a way to steer clear of Mick.
"Take a look. As you'll see, there's a new investment partner. Jess has
more than enough cash now to make good on the loan payments and to capitalize
the running of the inn for the first six months, longer if she's careful.
There's a solid business plan on pages two and three. And on page four there's
a plan for refinancing that egregious interest-only mortgage that should never
have been offered in the first place. I think we could make a case that the
bank was hoping she'd get herself into financial trouble just so they could
foreclose and lay claim to the inn once she'd poured a lot of money into
renovations."
Trace stared at her incredulously. "You can't be serious. You think this
was the bank's fault?"
She smiled. "I do."
"You're crazy!"
"Want to test my theory in court? I think people are furious over the kind
of lending practices that turned the whole industry upside down. I think we
could make Jess into a very sympathetic victim."
Trace regarded her with a glimmer of new respect. "Not bad. You almost had
me going there for a minute."
"I wasn't joking," Abby assured him. "My next stop will be a
lawyer's office unless I can make you see reason."
He looked taken aback. "I'll have to take this proposal of yours to the
board," he said eventually.
"Of course. They meet tomorrow?"
"At ten o'clock," he told her.
"Then you should have an answer by noon?"
He nodded. "I'll meet you at the yacht club at twelve-fifteen and fill you
in over lunch."
Abby hesitated. She could stay, had planned to stay, in fact, but with Trace
involved it was too complicated. "Jess will be there, but I can't be. I
have to get back to New York tonight."
His gaze clashed with hers. "You'll be there if you expect this to be
approved."
"Why? This is Jess's business, not mine."
"You'll be there because I intend to recommend that the board approve this
on one condition only."
Jess sat up a little straighter. "What condition?" she asked
suspiciously.
Trace looked at her as if he'd forgotten she was even in the room. "That
your sister take over as manager of the project."
"No!" Abby and Jess said at once.
"It's my inn," Jess protested. "You have no right to dictate who
manages it."
"I do when this bank's money is involved and you have a history of failing
to make your payments," he said, his gaze unrelenting. "Abby stays or
it's a deal-breaker."
"But the plan," Abby began.
"Isn't worth the paper it's written on unless you remain involved,"
he said. "There's no assurance it won't be frittered away on who knows
what before the next payment's due."
"Come on, Trace, be reasonable," Abby pleaded. "I need to get
back to New York. I have a job. Jess knows what has to be done. I trust
her."
"You're her sister. I'm her banker," he said. "Unless you agree
to my terms, we'll proceed with the foreclosure."
He looked from Abby to Jess, then back again. "Well, what's it going to
be? Will I see you tomorrow?"
Abby bit back the sharp retort on the tip of her tongue and nodded slowly,
afraid of what she might say if she spoke. She held her breath, praying that
Jess would be as diplomatic. When she glanced at her sister, she discovered
Jess looked furious, but at least she remained silent.
For the moment, he had them both over a barrel and they all knew it. Once the
board went along with this insane plan of his, though, Abby was convinced he'd
be satisfied with the victory. After that, she could make him see reason. She
was sure of it.
Then again, she'd learned a long time ago that a man whose pride had been
damaged could turn into a fierce and stubborn adversary. For now, anyway, Trace
Riley held all the cards, so she and Jess were going to have to play the game
his way…at least until she could come up with a new set of rules, and then make
him believe that he'd come up with them all on his own.