“Do you have the travel arrangements I asked you to make?”
She nodded and thrust a file folder at me. “All done, sir. I’ll be at my desk.” She scampered off, shutting the door behind her. I arched an eyebrow at Mrs. C, who was watching me with an amused expression on her face. I flipped open the file and scanned the contents.
First-class flight to Halifax. A car would be waiting. A suite at the . . .
I blinked. Then I read tha
t line again.
An all-inclusive room at the . . . Sleepy Moose Inn?
What the fuck?
I slammed the file on my desk, roaring out in my anger.
“Amy!”
Mrs. C stood, shaking her head. “She’s not at her desk.”
“Why the fuck not? She needs to fix this, and then she’s fired!”
“No, she’s not. She simply did what I instructed her to do. The same way I told her to give you the file and go to lunch.” She sighed. “I knew there’d be more yelling. You’re always yelling, Dylan.”
Ignoring her rebuke, I shook the file. “The Sleepy Moose Inn? What the fuck is that?”
“That”—she smirked—“is where you’re staying.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. It’s part of the Ocean Bluff Resort you’re planning to buy.”
I vaguely recalled that detail. I remembered snickering over the name, thinking that would be the first thing I changed.
“Are you telling me there isn’t a Ritz within driving distance? Or a fucking Hilton? I’ll stay in Halifax if I have to!”
Mrs. Carson’s voice was stern. “Dylan.”
“What?” I muttered.
“You’re flying to the East Coast to meet with Mr. Walsh.”
“I know that.”
She held up her hand. “He’s agreeing to listen to your proposal on the condition you meet with him personally and spend some time there, at the resort.”
I snorted. “He’s not in any position to make demands. He’s going to lose it all.”
“Not quite yet, Dylan. He wants to meet you face-to-face, and you agreed to it.”
“I did?”
“I did on your behalf.”
I shot her a look that would have had Amy on the floor. Arlene barely blinked.
“Why, exactly?” I asked from between gritted teeth.
“I have a feeling.”