Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

REMINGTON

The town hall smells like old wood, dust, and bad decisions waiting to be made. The meeting room buzzes with overlapping conversations, each voice staking a claim on today’s agenda. I grip the strap of my leather tote a little tighter and plaster on a polite smile for the familiar faces scattered around the room.

This is it. This meeting could decide whether the Caldwell Inn—my inn—has a future or if it’ll be swept away by some deep-pocketed developer eager to throw up another bland resort.

I have a loan approval in hand. It’s not enough to restore the whole inn, but it’ll cover the backed-up mortgage and buy me time to put off foreclosure—if I can get the council and the bank to agree to a few changes that might attract more tourists.

I’ve prepped for this moment all week. Facts, figures, sentimental stories about the inn’s history—I’ve lined them all up, ready to pitch my plan and convince the council that this place is worth saving. Maybe we can even push for historical building status. Anything to block that billionaire businessman from swooping in.

I smooth my skirt with a quick swipe of my hand, willing myself to stay calm. Today is about being professional. No distractions. No excuses. Just focus on the goal.

But then I scan the room, and the air slips right out of my lungs.

Sitting at the far end of the table, looking infuriatingly at ease, is the man I swore I’d never see again.

What the fuck?

For a moment, I just stand there, frozen. There’s no mistaking him—same dark brown hair curling slightly at the ends, same sculpted jawline dusted with stubble, and the same lazy, self-assured grin that pulled me under last night like the tide.

Except now, he’s traded in the Henley and jeans for a perfectly tailored gray suit that probably costs more than my entire mortgage.

Of course, he’s here. Because why wouldn’t the universe drop that man— the man—into the most important meeting of my year? Probably of my life?

His eyes flick to mine, and there it is—the flicker of recognition, followed by a slow, devilish smile that sends a flush crawling up my neck. He looks far too pleased to see me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath, gripping my tote like it’s a life raft.

“Ms. Caldwell.” One of the council members waves me over to an empty seat.

My legs move, though it feels more like a stumble than a graceful step. I take the chair directly across from him, forcing my expression into something neutral while my heart hammers against my ribs.

His gaze fixes on me with a hint of amusement. His posture, relaxed and assured, only adds to my irritation. “Fancy seeing you here,” he murmurs, his voice smooth, pitched low enough that only I can hear.

I narrow my eyes at him, heat creeping up my neck and settling in my cheeks. “I thought you were just passing through.”

“Business,” he says, as if that explains everything. He leans back slightly, too comfortable for my liking. “And you? Ms. Caldwell, is it?”

My jaw tightens. “I’m here to save my family’s inn. What are you here for? This isn’t a tourist attraction.”

That grin—the one that probably gets him everything he wants without breaking a sweat—curves across his face. “Turns out, I’m the buyer for the Caldwell Inn.”

The air rushes out of my lungs, leaving me momentarily stunned. “It’s not for sale.”

“The bank would like to defer.” He gives a casual shrug, like this is just a minor detail.

The chair beneath me creaks as I shift, trying to wrap my head around this sudden turn of events. “Wait. You’re—” I lower my voice, glancing around the room. “You’re the one trying to turn the inn into some . . . luxury hotel?”

“Boutique hotel, technically,” he corrects smoothly, like it matters. “High-end, low-impact. It’ll attract the right kind of guests—people with money to spend in town. It’s a win-win.”

I grip the edge of the table to keep from launching my notebook—or possibly myself—at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s your big plan? Pave over the history of the place for a bunch of rich tourists?”

His brow arches, clearly entertained by my outrage. “I prefer the term ‘revitalize.’ But sure, if you want to be dramatic about it.”

“Dramatic?” My glare could cut glass, but it only seems to amuse him more. “This isn’t just some run-down building. It’s been in my family for generations. It’s part of this town’s history. You can’t just”—I wave my hand in frustration—“buy it out from under us like some . . . corporate overlord.”

He smirks, tilting his head as if I’ve just proven his point. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

I open my mouth to fire back, but the sharp crack of a gavel cuts through the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s get started,” the council chair announces, oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside of me. “Today, we’ll be hearing two proposals regarding the future of the Caldwell Inn.” His gaze bounces between me and Mr. Smug. “Ms. Caldwell, Mr. Wells—whichever of you would like to begin.”

I take a deep breath, forcing a polite smile even though my pulse is hammering in my throat. I fold my hands in my lap, gripping them tight to keep from reaching across the table and throttling the man sitting entirely too.