One Bossy Offer (14)

She shouldn’t have.

My stomach sinks.

I wish I’d been out here more often, at least enough to know what was going on. If it hadn’t been for that mess with my bestie and the boss and that creeper trying to sabotage the entire company, I would’ve stayed longer on my last trip.

But woulda, coulda, shoulda were curse words to Gram.

If she were standing here, she’d drag me into a bear hug and tell me not to bother looking back.

“So, how close to the top of the list should piping be?”

Ace scratches the back of his neck. “If the water stays clear, you can wait a little while. If it rusts up again like a murder scene, I’d call a plumber ASAP. I can try to clean it out for you again and do any drywall torn out by the plumbing fix, but I can’t promise how long it’ll last.”

His smile is very good at softening the blow.

For the briefest second, I’m able to push Miles Cromwell and his diabolically handsome crankyface out of mind.

“Thank you for taking care of my grandmother and putting up with her quirks,” I say. “She could be crazy stubborn.”

“It was only right. Miss Lottie took care of the whole town. I still dream about her apple squares. They were missed almost as much as her at the fair last month.”

I smile at him. In those silly movies, this is where the leading man graciously offers to help with the repairs, for free, just because he has a sweet spot for the hapless granddaughter.

In real life, big nope.

When Mr. Fix-It leaves, I pour myself a tall glass of wine and start hatching a plan.

There’s no way around this financial crunch.

I need income, and that means I need more clients now if I want to avoid more debt, or I need to start renting the place out.

That’s risky, though.

I shudder to think how many state regulations I’d violate with this place in the shape it’s in for long-term tenants. Plus, it would make it that much harder to keep it as a bed and breakfast.

As much as I love striking out for myself, I miss that steady paycheck from my corporate gig.

But if keeping Bee Harbor for Gram was never easy, why should it be for me?

And why should I flippantly shut down a business offer without at least hearing it out?

Yes, even from a man who’s allergic to crosses and garlic.

There’s the tiniest chance he could be genuinely interested in my services and not just strong-arming me out of this house.





I’m flopped down on the couch with a glass of wine, texting Pippa, when a painting over the fireplace catches my attention.

I’ve noticed it before, but in my grief fog I haven’t stopped to admire it until now.

It’s the spitting image of the rose garden in its prime in front of the cottage, all vibrant reds and greens and purples before it blurs into wildflowers cheerfully crowding a familiar old stone wall.

“Wow,” I whisper.

She must’ve had it commissioned. But Gram was always so pragmatic with her money, I wonder why she bothered when the house needs so much work.

Another text from Pippa comes through. So when are you coming back to civilization? I miss you.

Jenn: The goal was never, but at this rate, it might be soon-ish.

Pippa: What’s wrong?

I finish my wine and set the glass on the coffee table so I can type a reply.

The house needs major work. When everything is said and done, the renovations will probably run into six figures. You know, more than I have.

I wince. These are the times when I wish I had a hot billionaire husband like her.

Pippa: Just sell and come home! You can work with me again.

She sends a grinning emoji.

Jenn: You only love it because your boy toy is there.

Pippa: Still. Your apartment didn’t stress you like this.

Jenn: No, but it didn’t come with a letter from Gram giving me her most precious thing in the world.

I frown.

This whole conversation reminds me why I need to consider Dracula’s offer. I hate giving in, but I’m in no position to return this place to its original glory without a leg up.

I open his contact, where I’d started typing a reply before Ace showed up. Maybe that was a sign from the universe that I shouldn’t burn any bridges.

My phone buzzes again.

Pippa: You know, if you’re hard up and hell-bent on staying, we’d be happy to front you a small loan. Zero interest. Brock wouldn’t even bat an eye.

Jenn: Thanks, but no.

I swallow thickly.

If I were a better person, I might just take her up on that offer, knowing $100K is pocket change for the Winthropes.

But maybe Gram was right and we’re more alike than I thought. We’re both too damn proud to take anyone else’s money.

Let’s find you a rich boy then. It would brighten your mood. Pippa’s latest text flashes across the top of my screen.

I immediately reply.

Nah, no time for drama. I really don’t want to sell this place, Pippa. It’s bad enough I’m dealing with the vampire man next door. He’s rude, pushy, and spoiled rotten.

It should be against the law for a jerk like that to be so flipping hot, I add, huffing with annoyance as I swipe away another annoying notification from some app.

I regret that last sentence.

Now, I’ll never live it down.