“Sir, Miss Hartwell is not receiving visitors today.” The concierge got off the phone.
Standing in Devlin’s Grand Hotel, Vaughn used his famed icy cool to deal with the concierge. Outwardly he had managed to find the control he had always maintained even around Bailey, before he got a taste of her. Inside he was a riot of fury that these people would dare to hurt someone he loved; that Bailey’s own sister would dare to do this to her.
He slipped the man a hundred-dollar bill. “Call her back and tell her that Mr. Tremaine would like to discuss a competitive offer.”
The man called Vanessa’s room again.
At first Vaughn was angry and, yes, admittedly hurt that Bailey refused his help. She hadn’t done it in an ungrateful way, but in a way that suggested she didn’t even think about asking for his help. That was almost worse.
For a moment he considered moping like a child about it, and then he got his balls back and decided he would help his woman out, even if she were too dense to see he was her best chance. After searching Vanessa’s known haunts, he had concluded the woman would be hiding out until the deed was done.
However, as he started to think about it, it occurred to him that Vanessa Hartwell was smarter than he’d first realized.
There was no reason to tell Bailey about the dinner meeting with the Devlins until after the deed was done, so why give Bailey a heads-up?
Why give her time to attempt to stop the transaction?
Because this was what she wanted.
Vaughn, exactly where he was right then.
She wanted a counteroffer from Bailey’s wealthy boyfriend.
The thought of giving in to the little conniving snake chafed at him . . . Another sister playing him, not caring if she hurt her own family to get what she wanted.
But this was about the inn. It was about Bailey. And he’d sacrifice his pride, his wallet, and whatever else it would take to ensure his woman’s happiness.
His phone rang just as the concierge got a response from Vanessa. It was Dahlia McGuire, so he picked up. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is that I hope you have a plan B, Vaughn,” Dahlia whispered down the phone. “Right now Bailey is in the office on conference call with her family trying to calm her parents and brother down because the lawyer told them there is nothing to be done, and Vanessa won’t pick up her phone.”
“You’re to go straight up, Mr. Tremaine,” the concierge informed him. “Room 228.”
He gave the man a clipped nod and strode toward the elevator. “I’m dealing with Vanessa.”
“What? What are you up to?”
“Plan B, Miss McGuire. Plan B.” He hung up on her and called his lawyer. “I need you on hand. We’re drawing up a contract today.”
Vanessa Hartwell opened the door to her suite and Vaughn was pleased to find her fully dressed. In fact she was the most conservatively dressed he’d ever seen her, wearing a crew-neck T-shirt and skinny jeans. Her makeup was pared back and her hair was tied up in a knot. She looked younger, fresher, and the res
emblance to her sister was more apparent.
The thought sent another rush of anger through Vaughn but he kept a tight leash on it as he walked into the sitting room. “I see the Devlins are taking good care of you.”
She flashed him a mischievous smile as she sat down on the sofa. “Once I told Jack I was thinking of selling my share in the inn I found myself upgraded.”
“Imagine that,” he murmured, sitting opposite her.
“Yes, imagine that. So . . . what are you doing here, Mr. Tremaine? I hope you’ve not come to plead on my sister’s behalf.”
“No, I haven’t. But I am here to save her inn.”
She narrowed her eyes and sat forward, studying his face closely. “What is it about her? Why do you love her?”
Hearing the bitterness in her voice, seeing the jealousy buried deep in the depths of her gaze, Vaughn replied, “Why do you hate her?”
The question surprised her. Vanessa sat back against the couch. “I don’t hate my sister.”