Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

He loved Bailey Hartwell, and it was time to decide whether he could push past his own fears and take what he wanted, or finally let go.

Sitting with her Vaughn had hoped the answer would come to him, but she’d only confused and stirred him even more.

He needed time.

But he knew whatever he decided, one of them might end up getting hurt.

And that’s why he was taking all the time in the world.

NINETEEN

Bailey

Almost two weeks later I woke up in my bed at the inn. I had kept myself busy at work, staying late every night. Aydan had more time with Angela as I buried myself in the needs of our guests to avoid matters of the heart. Like I had for the past few nights I decided to crash at my room at the inn instead of going home to my house that no longer felt like my home with Vanessa’s crap strewn all over it.

It wasn’t my alarm that woke me, however. It was the crashing sound coming from the front of the building.

Fear flooded me.

Another break-in.

I froze for a moment, remembering the last time. The sound of a louder scuffle had me reaching for my phone and dashing out of bed at the same time.

As soon as I opened the bedroom door I heard my sister’s voice. “Be careful!”

Holy hell.

I relaxed marginally but hurried down the corridor past my office anyway. Standing in the split reception area, my stomach dropped to my feet at the sight of an obnoxiously modern reception counter sitting waiting to replace my beautiful, hand-carved walnut one.

Confronted by glass and black glossy wood I shook my head, struggling to contain my roar of frustration.

“Oh, Bailey, just in time. I ordered this new counter as a starting-off point for redecoration.”

She’d brought up the idea of redecoration a number of times and I’d made my opinion on that clear. It was a big fat no. Apparently nothing I had said to her had penetrated.

“No,” I hissed out. “No!”

Vanessa’s eyes flared. “What do you mean, no? I have men waiting to install it and remove the old ugly one.” She gestured to two beleaguered men who were glaring at her.

“First of all, it is six o’clock in the morning and I have guests who are trying to sleep. Second of all”—I stepped right into her space, getting in her face so she finally understood I meant business—“I said no to the redecoration.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And I didn’t agree with it.”

Then something occurred to me. “Where did you get the money to pay for this?”

God, please say, “My own savings.”

“Your credit card.”

My tether ended with that. In fact my tether was a dot in the very far distance.

I pushed my sleepy face into hers so she had nowhere else to look, and her eyes flared like Bambi’s when the hunter shot his mother. “Return that piece of modern catastrophe, give me back my credit card, and stay the hell out of my business, or I swear to God, V, I will make your life a living goddamn hell.”

“I’m going to tell Mom and Dad,” she snapped.

“Do what you want, just get that ugly counter out of my inn.”

She studied me, trying to measure my resolve. Finally she got it, sniffed in upset, and turned to the delivery guys. “It appears I need to return it.”