Not Husband Material (Billionaire's Contract Duet 1)

I should have known then it was dangerous to plot out my life so intricately, so confidently. Because the world doesn’t always follow plans, and fate twists and turns in unexpected ways.

I couldn’t sit in my office and do nothing.

I rushed to the elevator and rode it down to the lobby, my heart pounding. As soon as the silver doors dinged open, I hurried through the lobby to the front desk, where my favorite receptionist was sitting.

“Hey, Haley.” Kat smiled. It quickly faded when she saw the panicked look on my face. She leaned forward, concerned. “Oh no, what’s happened? Are you okay?”

“Has anyone checked in recently? Like, in the past hour or so?” I whispered. “Someone corporate-looking? Rich, expensive suit, perhaps?”

I didn’t want to stir panic in any of the employees. If they heard there was a buyer on-site, I couldn’t guarantee some wouldn’t quit immediately. I had to keep my inquiries low-key.

She bit her lip, which was a bad sign. I could tell she didn’t want to tell me anything. I swiveled around and searched the lobby for someone. I didn’t know who I was looking for. A tall dark stranger in a trench coat? A paunchy, smug businessman with a briefcase?

This person, this prospective buyer, was probably already inside my father’s resort. Sizing it up. Preparing to scoop it up and sell it for scraps like it was worth nothing at all. Like it wasn’t my home, my heart, the only hope I had left. I had to find that buyer and stop him, whatever it took.

“Maybe.”

“Kat, tell me. Who is it?”

“He’s in the restaurant.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

I knew exactly what I had to do.

I was twenty-one when my father died suddenly in a car accident. He had been driving his brand-new Cadillac, the one my mother called unnecessary. The snow was thick, the sky was a dark gray, and the roads were coated in a thick, slippery layer of black ice. Visibility was dangerously low, and some of the roads had been closed.

But my father never knew how to turn down a challenge. Once he had his mind set on something, there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. And that night, he wanted to drive into town and pick up the gift he had special-ordered from the jeweler for my mother. An anniversary gift, a white gold necklace with a locket engraved with their initials. There was a tiny photo of me as inside it.

That sounds sweet and romantic, but I couldn’t think about it without my throat tightening.

That night he drove down the mountainside, away from Peppertree. My father loved this place with every part of his heart that wasn’t already claimed for my mother and me. It was his pride and joy, the unmistakable evidence of his skill and hard work. Sometimes I thought that maybe that was why he spoiled us so much: he felt slightly guilty for throwing so much of his effort and time into the hotel.

My father never stopped trying to make up for what he assumed was lost time. And that was why he ventured out into the inclement weather that night to retrieve yet another gorgeous gift for Mom, a token to prove how much he loved her even though she already knew. And when he was very near to the base of the mountain, so close to safer roads, something terrible happened. A freak accident. Something none of us could have imagined.

A snow plow worked on the empty streets, clearing heaps of fresh crunchy snow. He tried to slow to give the plow plenty of room. He hit a patch of ice and his car skidded over the railing and over the last overpass into town.

That was five years ago. I was just twenty-one then and had graduated from college with a business degree and a minor in, of all things, philosophy.

After he died, the maintenance and survival of the resort fell to me. Mom was utterly broken by Dad’s death, especially because the whole reason he had been out in that awful weather was to collect her gift. She blamed herself, even though it was silly. She never asked him to go out in the snow storm, but she was drowning in guilt nonetheless. Besides, even if she had been able to rein in her grief, she never had the business mindset my father and I had. It simply wasn’t her world.

So here I was, five years after my father’s death, clinging to what little I had left: my mother, who was distant and quiet nowadays, and the Peppertree Resort, which was nothing like the booming success it had been when Dad was still alive. Mom tried her best to be there for me, but after my father died, the Peppertree no longer felt like home to her. She moved out and got a little cottage closer to town, where the memories didn’t rise up and hurt her so much. That left me here alone at the Peppertree, scrambling to keep my father’s dream-- and the only home I’d ever known-- afloat in spite of all the troubles.

3

Chase

It wasn’t often that my research into a resort proved me wrong, but this dinner was full of surprises for me.

The one part of the resort I hadn’t expected to have to change was the kitchen. From everything I had heard, there was a masterful French chef on staff who’d worked for the company for years. Supposedly, he hand-picked the kitchen staff and ran a very tight operation.

The menu didn’t look anything near that level of class.

“Pork tenderloin,” I murmured in disbelief as I browsed the menu. It wasn’t a bad menu, necessarily, but it wasn’t the caliber I was expecting, based on the place’s reputation. The look on my face must have made the server nervous, because when I noticed him finally approaching, he had an apologetic look on his face already.

“Good evening, sir,” he greeted me, “a pleasure to have you here.”

“What Scotch do you recommend?” I asked without missing a beat, peering up at him and setting the menu down. He looked like a deer in the headlights, obviously not prepared for the question.