15. TROY

Chapter fifteen

TROY

It’s today.

That's all I can think of early in the morning as light filters through the curtains of my inn room, casting long shadows across my meticulously packed suitcase.

New York.

Corporate headquarters.

Reality.

The thought alone feels like a weight pressing against my chest.

I'm Troy Bellamy. CEO. Billionaire. Master of corporate strategy. And right now, I feel completely, utterly off-balance.

What if things go wrong ?

My fingers trace the outline of my phone, where a series of tense emails from my Board of directors await.

They have no idea how much has changed - how I've changed.

This tiny coastal town has infected my carefully constructed world with... something inconvenient. Humanity, maybe. Emotion.

Skye Martinez.

A woman who represents everything I typically used to despise - spontaneity, community, passion for something as mundane as a food truck.

And yet, she's managed to crack open something inside me I didn't know existed.

I adjust my designer watch - a $50,000 piece that suddenly feels grotesquely pretentious in this simple inn room. The tick-tock sounds like a countdown to leaving everything behind.

The goodbye with Skye is going to be complicated.

We're not a conventional couple. Hell, we're barely a couple at all.

We started as complete opposites - her, a passionate small-town food truck owner fighting corporate interests.

Me, the corporate shark ready to bulldoze her entire community for a profitable acquisition.

Now? Everything's different.

I've proposed becoming a silent partner to protect Seaside Cove. My sisters already think I've lost my mind even though they say they’re on my side.

The board will be furious. But for the first time in my life, I don't care about pleasing corporate expectations. In truth, my three siblings and I already have majority rule in our favor. Still, it’s just good business to have the other board members on our side.

A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.

Skye .

Her presence fills the room before she even enters - a whirlwind of cinnamon and ocean breeze.

She's wearing those worn jeans that somehow look more elegant on her than any designer outfit could.

"You're really leaving," she says. Not a question. A statement tinged with something between resignation and challenge.

I turn, drinking her in. Wild curls. Fierce eyes. A spirit that refuses to be contained. "I have to handle the remaining directors," I respond, my tone deliberately crisp. Professional.

Distant .

But we both know I'm not truly distant anymore.

My hand reaches for her almost involuntarily. A gesture that would have been impossible weeks ago.

She meets me halfway - our fingers intertwining with a familiarity that surprises us both.

"I'll call you," I say, the promise feeling both foreign and natural.

She raises an eyebrow.

Classic Skye. Always ready to challenge me. "Will you, Mr. Billionaire? Or will corporate meetings consume you?"

The old me would have bristled and snapped back with corporate arrogance.

Instead, I find myself fighting a smile. "I'll make time," I respond, and mean every word.

New York awaits. But for the first time, it feels less like home and more like... just another destination.

***

Hours later, the bustling city is all I can hear, like a cold, unforgiving tower of steel and corporate ambition.

I've spent my entire career building walls – between myself and emotion, between business and personal, between the sleek corporate world and places like Seaside Cove.

And now, those walls are crumbling faster than I can reconstruct them, even if I wanted to.

Now I’m in New York and I just don’t feel like I belong here anymore.

I stare at my reflection in my penthouse bathroom mirror, straightening my charcoal Armani suit and pulling down my silk shirt sleeves.

The fabric feels different somehow. Less armor, more... vulnerability.

My fingers trace a small sauce stain – a remnant from my ridiculous collision with Skye's food truck – that I can't seem to get out, no matter how many times I've had it dry-cleaned. But I wear it anyway, stain and all.

Skye .

A smile lifts my lips.

Just her name sends a complicated surge through my chest.

She's nothing like the polished, calculating women I'm used to.

She's fire. Passion. A whirlwind in cutoff jean shorts and a food truck that looks like it's been painted by a kindergarten art class after consuming too much sugar.

I shouldn't be this distracted.

I'm Troy Bellamy, CEO of Bellamy Hotels and Inns, a man who's negotiated and closed multimillion-dollar deals before breakfast.

I don't get " distracted " by small-town food truck owners with wild curls and even wilder spirits.

And yet.

My phone buzzes.

Emails pile up, each one a reminder of the massive buyout plan I'm about to completely upend.

Everyone will lose their minds.

They will have an absolute meltdown.

I'm proposing we preserve a town instead of exploiting it – a concept so foreign to our family's aggressive business model that it might as well be another language.

My phone buzzes again and I look down to see a message from my assistant. Are you ready sir? Meeting starts in twenty minutes.

I take a deep breath, my reflection showing a man caught between two worlds.

The polished corporate shark who once lived for the kill, and... whoever I'm becoming in Seaside Cove. Someone who sees value beyond spreadsheets and profit margins.

The thought should terrify me. And it does. But not as much as the idea of losing Skye.

What the heck is happening to me?

***

The gleaming glass doors of the corporate headquarters part like a judgment, and I step into the boardroom.

Nine pairs of eyes lock onto me—at least seven of them are vultures ready to pick apart my every word. The long mahogany table stretches before me like a battlefield, and I've never felt more like a lone soldier.

I adjust my suit and suppress a grimace.

Just days ago, I was in Seaside Cove, covered in Skye's spicy food truck sauce, feeling more alive than I'd felt in years.

Now, I'm back in this sterile world of glass and steel, where everything is calculated, measured, and brutally efficient.

My sisters, Mona and Lillian, sit at the far end. Mona, a crazy workaholic looks tired but supportive. Lillian just stares impassively.

Drew isn't here. He’s made it clear he wants no part of this corporate takedown, plus he’s not ready to leave his family to attend a meeting in New York.

"Mr. Bellamy," my father's old colleague, Robert Henderson, speaks first. His voice is a razor blade wrapped in silk. "We're eager to hear about the Seaside Cove acquisition."

Acquisition .

Such a sterile word for destroying a community's entire way of life.

I clear my throat, the sound echoing in the tomb-like silence. "Gentlemen, ladies. I'm here to propose something unconventional."

A ripple of murmurs. Unconventional is not a word they love.

"Instead of a full buyout, I suggest we become silent partners. Preserve the town's character, invest strategically, but allow local businesses to maintain their autonomy."

The room erupts. Not with agreement, but with a cacophony of objections.

"Inefficient!"

"Unprofitable!"

"This isn't how we do business, Troy!"

I stand my ground.

The same stubborn resolve that my father used to build this empire now defies its most sacred rules. I think of Skye—her passion, her food truck, her unwavering commitment to her community. Something shifts inside me.

"Our traditional models are outdated," I say, my voice cutting through the noise. "Small towns like Seaside Cove represent authenticity. Tourists are seeking experiences, not corporate replicas."

My mind drifts to the community art show, to the sunrise I watched with Skye, to the genuine connections I'd witnessed. This isn’t just about business anymore.

This is personal.

The board members exchange skeptical glances. I can almost hear their thoughts: Who is this Troy Bellamy, and what has he done with our ruthless corporate raider?

But I'm done explaining. I'm done apologizing for seeing value beyond spreadsheets and profit margins.

"We're doing this," I state, brooking no argument. "And I'll be managing these acquisitions directly from Seaside Cove."

I explain my exact plans.

"You want us to become a silent partner to prevent a buyout?" Henderson’s voice rises, a pitch of disbelief cutting through the room. "Troy, that goes against everything our company stands for."

I resist the urge to run a hand through my hair. Instead, I maintain my stoic CEO posture, feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind my back.

"Seaside Cove isn't just another acquisition," I explain, my tone clipped and professional. "It's a community with potential. Our traditional approach would destroy its economic ecosystem."

He scrolls through some financial projections and hears several voices. "How can we approve this? We're talking about restructuring our entire small-town acquisition strategy for... what? Less profit than we’re used to?”

Mona sighs, “We will have to vote, Troy can you please leave the room while we discuss and get back?”

***

Hours later, I'm pacing in my minimalist New York apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the city's skyline - a world away from Seaside Cove's quaint charm. My phone sits on the marble kitchen counter, waiting.

The silence is deafening.

I replay our last conversations, Skye's defiant stance, her unwavering commitment to her community. She'd challenged everything I thought I knew about business, about success. A small-town woman who saw value beyond profit margins.

Ridiculous , I tell myself. She's just a distraction.

But even my internal monologue sounds unconvincing.

My phone vibrates. Mona’s name flashes on the screen, and I pick up.

"They're in," she says without preamble. "The board agreed to your proposal."

For a moment, I'm stunned into silence. Then professional satisfaction kicks in. "Excellent. I'll draft the formal documents …"

"Troy," Mona interrupts, "this isn't just about documents. This is about you. About what you want."

This is not Mona the board member. This is Mona, my sister.

What I want.

The phrase hangs between us, loaded with implication.

What do I want?