“This is none of your business, Travis,” Bella said, looking straight into his eyes, as if she could see right through him. As if he was made out of cellophane.
“None of my business? I just spent the better half of two months repairing this place. Not to mention the effort my entire family made to decorate the inn for this holiday, and my sister-in-law Maggie launched a huge ad campaign to drum up business. The place is booked solid for the next two months and you think it’s none of my business? I think I have a right to know what’s going on and if this ‘sale’ you two are talking about is true.”
“Tell him, Dad,” Bella said turning to Nick who sat forward on the sofa as if it were his launching pad and he was about to take off.
“It’s true. I agreed to sell the inn.” His voice squeaked like an old rusty door hinge. Travis had a sinking feeling even Nick didn’t quite believe his own words.
No one spoke while Travis attempted to absorb the full effect of what was now finally sinking in as real.
“Wow. I never saw this train coming. And to think I was excited about your visit.” He slid his hat back on his head then moved it forward again, something he seemed to do whenever he found himself staring down a problem of major proportions. This here certainly constituted one of those moments.
“Can’t imagine why you would be,” she added, sounding as if his feelings didn’t matter.
The statement lay on him like a wet blanket on a cold morning.
He faced Bella. “A lot has changed since the last time I saw you.”
“We grew up.”
“Is that what you think this is?”
“Some of us matured, like fine wine.”
“Never could see all the fuss. I’m more of a beer man, myself.”
She looked him over and he felt a bit naked. “It shows.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You’re twisting my words.”
“You’re twisting my heart.”
“That would mean you still have one.”
“Darlin’, the lack of a heart seems to be your affliction, not mine.”
“There are no emotions in good business. It’s all about the bottom line.”
He stared at her pretty face—those smoky eyes, those full lips—and realized she had not only grown up but she had turned into someone he no longer recognized or wanted to know.
“You’re right,” he said, convinced now there was little hope of trying to understand the situation. “This is none of my business and I’ll be leaving you two to it.”
He turned to leave.
“Wait! Travis, don’t go,” Nick called after him, but Travis no longer wanted to play their game. She’d won this round and he simply had to learn how to cope with the facts. There would be no Christmas at Dream Weaver Inn this year.
Travis headed straight for the front door, opened it and walked outside into the cold, gently closing the door behind him.
* * *
NICK STOOD. A look of anger crossed his face. Bella was prepared for anything he wanted to throw at her. She hadn’t flown all the way out here to be rolled over by her dad and Travis Granger. This was the biggest and most lucrative deal she’d ever put together. There were eight inns across the country involved in this sale, and TransGlobal intended to add five more in the near future. She had the paperwork for the first seven signed by the owners and ready to go. Her father’s signature was all that stood between her and the final sale. It meant everything to her—not only the promotion, but it also affected her credibility in the eyes of high-end clients. Then there was the commission. It was enough to move her into a penthouse on the Golden Mile in Chicago, something she had worked hard to achieve. Something her mom would have been proud of and something her dad obviously did not completely appreciate...yet.
She was sure he’d come around once she had time to show him all this deal would mean both financially and emotionally to both of them.
She’d have to educate him on the finer elements of business, something her dad had never been very good at.
“Now maybe we can get these papers signed.”
She deliberately sat down across from him on one of the well-worn leather club chairs, and straightened out the documents he needed to approve, then she pulled out her Princess Grace De Monaco Mont Blanc pen. It was a pricey present to herself for putting this deal together.
The scent of pine from the blue spruce tree mixed with the aroma of the logs burning in the hearth exploded a memory that stopped her cold.
She couldn’t have been more than four or five years old. It was Christmas morning and she, her mom and dad had walked into their living quarters up on the third floor to open presents. It was the year she’d gotten her first grown-up doll, one all dressed up in a black business suit, high heels and carrying a briefcase. She remembered how disappointed she’d been when she opened the box and how excited her mom seemed to be about the doll. Bella had wanted a grown-up doll dressed like a cowgirl, with tiny cowgirl boots, a cowgirl hat, carrying a lariat. She’d specifically asked Santa for that doll, and had cried for days over not getting it.
That was the Christmas she’d stopped believing in Santa.
“I’m not going to sign anything I haven’t read first.”
Her father used his stern, unwavering voice, but it didn’t scare Bella. When she was a kid, that voice had always struck a chord of fear inside her and she’d instantly relent to his demands.
But she wasn’t a kid anymore.
“Don’t be silly. I have your best interest in mind.”
“That’s your mama talking.”
“She was right. You should have sold the inn years ago. It’s been nothing but a money drain. Because of this deal, you’re getting more than market value. You stand to make a very nice profit.”
She placed her pen down in front of him. The tiny pink topaz stone on the clip caught the light from the fireplace and she thought about what a good purchase that pen had been, that she’d deserved to have something this pretty after all the long hours and hard work she’d put in. At least she’d learned perseverance from him, and for that she would always be grateful.
“That may be true, but it’s my offer to read before I sign.”
Agitation clawed at Bella’s stomach as a clock tick-ticked in the background, a truly annoying sound. “I don’t have time for this, Dad. We need to be on our way out of here in less than two hours.”
“And who’s going to run my inn when I go running off to Orlando?”
“Tampa.”
“Whatever.”
“You should have closed it weeks ago like I asked you to.”
“I couldn’t. I have guests booked who are looking forward to their stay.”
“That’s not your problem.”
Her dad shook his head. “It’s Christmas, Bella. I can’t do that.”
“Surely there’s someone on your staff who can take charge.”
“Wouldn’t be fair to my employees. What you’re asking me to do is impossible. I can leave for one or two nights,