Kayla lifts her head, giving me the puppy eyes. Ah, hell. I can never deny the puppy eyes. “Can I stay with you for a bit? I just need a change of scenery.”
She’s living at home while finishing her master’s thesis in biostatistics. Snoozefest to me, but I hear there’s good prospects for her future career.
I gesture around us. “I didn’t buy furniture yet except for the kitchen. All I have is one bed.” And that’s where I sleep. I left my stuff in storage while renovating. I need to get more furniture too since this house is so much bigger than my previous penthouse apartment.
She looks down at Snowball, as if she might have the right answer, and then lifts her gaze to me. “Please. I’ll sleep on the floor. Mom will fuss too much over me, and I just need a break from everything that reminds me of…” She catches herself, keeping the loser’s name to herself. I’ll find out.
Still, she came to me. Not our sisters or her best friend. She needs me.
I cave. Not that I ever seriously considered turning her away. I only mentioned it’s mostly empty to warn her it’s not going to be luxurious like my apartment in the city. “You can have my room. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” There’s a sofa in my empty dining room. It’s where I spend most of my time.
“Thank you! You’re the best brother in the world!” She kisses my cheek and gives me a squeeze.
“Yeah, yeah.”
She lets go of me and rushes from the room. Snowball trots after her, tail wagging for the fun race.
I scoop the dog up as Kayla opens the front door and heads toward her Jeep. I watch for a moment as she opens the back and hauls out two huge suitcases. Looks like we both knew there was never a question of her staying here.
I set Snowball down, grab my boots, and order her to stay, shutting the door behind me. I meet Kayla in the driveway, taking the suitcases from her.
“Thanks,” she says.
I grunt and head back in the house, ordering Snowball to back away from the door. Last thing I need is to lose Snowball in a snowdrift. Ha. Kayla follows me upstairs to my room, where there’s just my duffel bags and a queen-sized bed on the metal frame it came with. This will eventually be a guest room.
She sits on the edge of the unmade bed, and I shoo her off. “You can have half the closet.” I strip the bed and remake it with fresh sheets while she hangs up clothes in the closet.
After I finish making the bed, I grab one of the pillows for myself. I’m six feet two, so I doubt I’ll fit comfortably on the sofa, but it’s just until she’s on her feet again. She needs a safe retreat to heal.
“I’m going to take a nap,” she says, already getting into bed. “I only slept two hours last night.”
I turn back, smooth her hair from her temple, and kiss the spot. “Sleep well, runt. I want a name when you wake up.” I’ve had enough sisterly experience to know it’s better to be up front with what needs to happen than try stuff behind their back. The scream of a banshee comes to mind. Though, sometimes, you just have to endure the wrath when shit needs to get done. I’m a fixer. It’s what I do.
“Stop,” she mumbles, curling up on her side.
I leave, shutting the door quietly behind me. Snowball’s sitting there in the hallway, looking up at me expectantly. “I’ll get your bed after she’s done her nap. And don’t even think of taking my pillow.”
I exhale sharply. That guy took advantage of a trusting young woman, and when I find out who it is, he will pay.
4
Sydney
I shut my laptop and pace the hallway of my apartment, agitated by the truth of my financial situation. Last night’s fundraiser only gave me enough to make this month’s debt payment for the restaurant. It put off foreclosure, which I desperately needed, but I’d hoped for at least two months’ worth of payments for some breathing room. I’ll still have the same problem next month and the month after that, on and on. The hard truth is, it was a patch job for what will take a long time to fix.
When I first took over the restaurant, I managed to consolidate my father’s debt into one loan. But I missed the last three payments, and if I miss any more, they’ll start the foreclosure process. The threat of foreclosure keeps me up at night. I’ll not only lose my family’s legacy, I’ll be homeless. I live in an apartment above the restaurant. Desperation claws at me, and I fight to keep a level head. I can’t let that cloud my thinking.
I have only a few options—declare bankruptcy and shut the place down, sell it, or ask Harper or Wyatt for a loan. I can’t bear to shut it down. I’m the fourth generation of proud Robinsons running the place. It can’t die on my watch.
It’s my own fault for taking on what Drew told me was a losing proposition. He wanted to sell; I wanted to hold on to our family’s legacy. The whole town’s legacy, really. If I sell, it could be demolished and turned into a parking lot or a bank or a gas station. Something shitty like that. If I could even find a buyer in the dead of winter. Real estate’s gone up around here, but that’s mostly housing. This place is old and not zoned residential. It would be a long shot.
Harper’s offered to give me a loan, but here’s the thing. Ever since she became a famous actress, people have been taking advantage of her sweet, generous nature. She complains bitterly about it. I never want her to think of me like that. Plus, she’s pregnant, getting married, and just bought an expensive house. And she spends generously to take care of her elderly grandmother, who lives alone. It feels wrong to add to Harper’s burden, and I don’t want to risk our friendship.
I stop pacing, look to the ceiling, and blow out a breath. Wyatt. He’s got loads of money, knows my place is in trouble, and has taken an interest in it. Not the good kind of interest, more like the critical kind. I press my lips together. I need to put my irritation aside and approach him in a calm, cool, professional manner.
Can I do it? Can I deal with his smirks and criticisms, put all that aside, and work with him?
Or will I end up throttling him?
I may need serious stress therapy after this. Not that I don’t already have a ton of stress. I should research more about him and his business dealings. See what I’m dealing with here. I loosen my clenched jaw. Harper likes him. I cling to that thought. He can’t be one hundred percent awful, right?
The man’s been invading my dreams for weeks, those whisky eyes smoldering at me. It’s so embarrassing. How can I be both irritated and attracted at the same time? It’s messing with my head. I need to chill if I want to have a chance of working with him professionally. No more dirty dreams, no more temper.
I’m saved from further angst by a text from Jenna. My friends are here. I head downstairs to let them in the front door of the restaurant. It’s closed for New Year’s Day, but we’re getting together at the bar for our last Thursday Night Wine Club just the three of us since next Thursday starts ladies’ night.
Once we’re settled at the bar with our wine, I lift my glass of merlot and clink it against Jenna’s and Audrey’s. “To the Thursday Night Wine Club.”
Audrey purses her lips, looking very much the prim librarian. She’s not prim, exactly, but she is a librarian. Her black floral blouse with a white Peter Pan collar combined with her bun held together by a couple of pencils adds to the effect. She spent today restoring order to the Summerdale Library’s shelves. On her day off. “It was supposed to be a book club,” she says in an aggrieved tone, holding up a book written by some guy I never heard of. “Thursday Night Book Club.”