Christmas Sugar (Insta-Spark)

“A feeling?”

“You have to go to the East Coast and meet with Mr. Walsh. Tell him your plans. He wants to know the real person he’s selling his property to. Those are his demands. Otherwise, he’ll sell to someone else.” She studied me seriously. “You have to do this, Dylan.”

I looked out the window at the gray, overcast sky. Winter was thick in the air, Christmas a mere few weeks away. The East Coast would be cold and snowy—far more than here. But I wouldn’t be outside much. I had no reason not to go, other than not being comfortable with his demands. I was private and didn’t understand his desire to know me before he sold the land. It was just land.

As much as I didn’t want to go, I had no family to keep me here, no commitments, no big plans to prepare for—it wasn’t as if Christmas was a big deal to me. Usually, I spent it wandering my condo, wishing the day were over so I could get back to work. Plus, thanks to Mrs. Carson’s scheduling, I had the time. So, I had no excuse.

My head fell back against the plush leather of my chair. “I want that land. The plans I have for developing it will make me a very rich man.”

“You’re already a ‘very rich man,’ Dylan.”

“Richer, then. I want this deal. I need this deal.”

“Then I guess you’re staying at the Sleepy Moose Inn and spending some of that time with Mr. Walsh.”

Fuck.

“Make sure there’s a bottle or two of Courvoisier in my room. The good stuff. I think I might need it.”

She was laughing as she walked to the door. “Yeah, I’ll get Amy on that right away.” She paused, her hand on the handle. “Dylan . . .” she called.

I looked up, curious.

“There are many ways to be rich in this world. Not all of them involve money. Remember that.” She smiled and walked out the door.

I stared after her retreating figure, wondering what crazy thoughts she was rambling on about.

I GLANCED AROUND, INTRIGUED AND amused. I’d never been to an airport as minute as the one I was standing in. The plane was much smaller than what I normally traveled on as well; even the first-class section didn’t meet my standards. Wearily, I rubbed my hand over my face. It had been a long, trying day, one meeting after another, and a delayed flight to top it all off. Instead of arriving midafternoon, it was early evening and darkness had settled. I hadn’t eaten on the plane, and I hoped the inn had a decent restaurant—or preferably, room service.

That bottle of Courvoisier had better be waiting. I needed it.

I walked over to the luggage carousel, irritated I had to carry my own bags, and went toward the front, expecting to find my limo driver waiting. Instead, I encountered an almost deserted terminal, with only a few people milling around. There was one young man sitting, texting furiously on his phone, glancing up on occasion. He was tall and thin with messy, light-brown hair and blue eyes. A heavy parka was tossed on the seat beside him. When he met my gaze, a wide grin split across his face, and he jumped to his feet, grabbed his parka, and hurried toward me.

“Mr. Maxwell?”

I nodded.

“I’m your ride,” he exclaimed, wide grin still in place.

“P-Pardon?” I sputtered.

My ride?

“Yeah, I’m Seth. Alex sent me to pick you up. Flight delayed, eh?”

“Yes, there was a mechanical issue.”

“Well, better you than me, man. Alex would tan my hide if I was the late one.”

I arched my eyebrow at him. I had no idea who the “Alex” person was or exactly what “tan my hide,” meant, although I had an inkling.

“Is the car out front?” I asked pointedly.

“Nah.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I had to park it since you were late.”

I sucked in a long, calming breath, reminding myself I wasn’t in Toronto anymore. Obviously, they did things differently in Nova Scotia.

“Shall we go, then?”