It might take more than that. But Sandy kept the thought to herself as she ushered her son out. When he was gone, she paced a few restless laps in her office. Needing to move, she grabbed her phone and her purse and stepped out into the outer office. “Avery, I’m going for a quick walk. Can you forward my calls, please?”
“Sure thing, Sandra.”
She headed down the stairs, her sensible heels echoing off the walls. With a smile and a nod for old Jerry Noble, the security guard manning the front desk, Sandy stepped out of City Hall. She paused for a moment on the steps, soaking in the sight and sound of the town she loved. Courtesy of her future daughter-in-law, Wishful was enjoying its first economic growth in decades. The facelift Norah had arranged to give downtown was in evidence everywhere Sandy looked. Pedestrians strolled the sidewalks and cars lined the streets on all sides of the town green. Her town was not only still alive, it was thriving.
Looking both ways, Sandy crossed Main Street to the town green. Her destination lay at the far end. Fed by nearby Hope Springs, the fountain dated back to just after the Civil War. And according to local legend, it granted wishes. Norah had rebranded the entire town around it. Banners with their slogan hung from every street lamp that marched the length of Main Street. Welcome to Wishful, Where Hope Springs Eternal. She wasn’t sure if she really believed. It had been years since she’d made a wish herself and that one hadn’t panned out. But because they desperately needed some of that hope if they were going to save Cam and Norah’s wedding, Sandy strode purposefully to the fountain.
The happy burble of water was soothing and nice to hear after years of nothing. The temperamental old fountain hadn’t run properly since Cam was little, but over the past couple of years, it had slowly been coming back to life. Digging a quarter out of her purse, Sandy held it tight. I wish for a miracle to save Cam and Norah’s wedding.
She tossed it in, listening to the thunk as it hit the water.
Well, that was that. Maybe she should run by Brides and Belles and talk to Babette Wofford. She might have some ideas for alternative, last-minute venues. As she hit the far side of the green and prepared to cross over Spring Street, her phone rang.
“What is it, Avery?” Sandy prayed it wasn’t another disaster from the storm.
“You’ve got a call from Louis Harker over at The Babylon.”
She’d seen the name often enough over the past year and a half as the city had begun doing more business with Peyton Consolidated, but generally Norah handled all the liaising. Then again, Norah was supposed to be out for meetings with the Chamber of Commerce this afternoon. “Patch him through.”
A moment later, the call connected.
“This is Sandra.”
“Mayor Crawford, this is Louis Harker. I’m Gerald Peyton’s executive assistant. I’m calling to inquire whether you’d be free for dinner this evening.”
It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “I beg your pardon?”
“With Mr. Peyton,” he added. “He has some business he’d like to discuss with you.”
Sandy’s curiosity piqued. Her town had been doing business with Peyton Consolidated for eighteen months, but she’d never actually met the mysterious Gerald Peyton, III. He was rarely in town, and when he was, he tended to keep to his hotel. According to the local gossip mill, he worked long hours, usually ordering in meals, and rarely actually leaving his offices at The Babylon. All his direct interactions with the city had been handled through Norah, as she was the one who’d convinced him to invest.
“Does Norah need to be in attendance as well?”
“No ma’am. Mr. Peyton was clear this was a meeting specifically for you. Are you available?”
Curiouser and curiouser. “I can be. What time?”
“Seven o’clock. The Spring House.”
“I’ll be there.”
She hung up and her imagination fired. What on Earth could Gerald Peyton want to discuss with her over an after-hours dinner meeting? Especially one without Norah. Did he have some problem with her future daughter-in-law? Was he going to try to hire her away again? Sandy had no idea. But as she prepared for her next meeting, her brain turned to a far more important question.
What did one wear to a business dinner with a billionaire?
Chapter 2
Trey arrived at The Spring House early. He told himself it was because he wanted to get out of his office or because he wanted a chance to set the stage, so he’d have the upper hand at this meeting. But he was kidding himself. Nothing about the private little solarium overlooking Hope Springs said business meeting. The wine, the candles, the view. They were all trappings of a date. Having Louis set everything up had been yet another delaying tactic, the latest in a long line of them he’d employed in an effort to avoid coming face-to-face with Sandra Crawford since he’d started doing business in her town.
The God’s honest truth was that he was nervous for the first time in decades. Peytons didn’t get nervous. They made others nervous with their wealth, their prestige, their control. But he’d never been in control when it came to Sandy Crawford.
He had no idea how this dinner would go. He’d spent the past year and a half watching, listening, gathering information on Wishful’s two-term mayor. Like him, she was divorced and single. By all accounts, she’d stayed that way since her deadbeat ex-husband had walked out on her and their eleven-year-old son nearly twenty years before. She was tightly enmeshed with her family—what a concept—and the townspeople loved her.
Trey had loved her once.
He’d spent the last eighteen months trying to figure out if he truly still did.
He fidgeted, starting to reach for his phone, then stopping himself. What was the point of having people if he didn’t trust them to do their jobs? He employed thousands across the globe. They could get on with running his business without him for one night. But that left his hands empty and his mind too full of questions and possibilities. Maybe he should go find the waitress and order a scotch.