allow her to take time off and leave you high and dry during what could be a busy couple of months for you? Doesn’t seem very responsible to me.”
He couldn’t have sounded any more judgmental if he’d banged a gavel on the sink. Life happened. And sometimes it had a cruel sense of timing. “Tell you what. If you’re here when Matilda returns, feel free to let her know her annual long-distance breast cancer awareness fund-raising walk isn’t smart business sense.” So much for holding her tongue. “In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your stay. The diner opens every morning at six and what stores there are on Monarch Lane will open between nine and ten. If you have any questions or need assistance, let Lori know. She’s more than up to the task, I’m sure.”
Either he missed her sarcasm or he didn’t care.
“Are the grounds around the inn open to guests?”
“Yes. There’s a path down to the beach off the front parking lot. And if you give the Butterfly Diner a call ahead of time, Holly can make a nice lunch for you to pick up. Thank you again,” she added before she pushed open the door. “I’m sorry your first few minutes at the Flutterby were distressing.”
“Interesting, though.” Jay gave her what could have been interpreted as a smile. Such a shift from his earlier manner confounded Abby. “Have a good day, Miss Manning.”
“Abby,” she responded automatically, then, before she started to think better of him, headed off to collect Gran.
“WELL?” GARY CUNNINGHAM’S aged New York voice echoed through the Bluetooth as Jason hefted his suitcase and garment bag out of the trunk of the rented sports car. “Do I know how to find you the perfect hideaway or what?”
“It’s definitely something.” He’d spend some time later appreciating the lush landscaping that included thick, healthy red geraniums interspersed with critter-repelling oleander. He could hear the surf crashing against the shore and cliff line on the far edge of the property and smell that telltale Pacific Ocean combination of brine and open air. Nothing like an old three-story Victorian with beacon-bright yellow paint and peeling white trim to cut through the intricate groves of redwoods, cypress and eucalyptus trees. If the rest of the world ran out of oxygen, he knew where they could find some. “Hang on a second?”
The porch stairs creaked in welcome as he pushed through the etched glass front doors and gave Lori a quick wave of acknowledgment. He walked across hardwood floors in need of a polish, passing crisp white batten-board walls that displayed photographs of the inn throughout its extensive history. They provided a welcome distraction from the faded, out-of-date wallpaper.
At least he hadn’t been inundated with the town’s fluttering namesake. Not that he had anything against butterflies, but they did lend themselves toward a feminine aspect he didn’t relate to. The creatures were so dainty, so delicate, like those lacy pastry swans he’d never mastered in culinary school, but at the same time butterflies were known to weather the most violent of hurricanes.
Reminded him of his current hostess, Abby Manning. He certainly wouldn’t want to be a smoke detector in her presence. He tried to remember the last time anyone had surprised him. He unlocked his door.
Speaking of surprises...
The room was larger than he’d anticipated. He set his bags down on the feather duvet–covered California king situated amid a dresser, nightstands and a sizable flat-screen TV. The decor wasn’t fancy but lent itself to practicality while skirting the far edge of stylish. The ceiling angled up from the walls into a point that he identified as the side tower that had poked into the horizon as he’d crossed into town.
“Okay,” he said and heard the familiar rustle of papers and files as he spoke to his family’s longtime lawyer and his personal confidant. Part mentor, part father figure, it was Gary he’d turned to over the years when it became clear his own father would remain emotionally unavailable. “So why did you pick this place?”
“Figured you had to be tired of four-star hotels and room service,” Gary chuckled. “And the fresh air is a bonus.”
“It seems Butterfly Harbor has plenty of that.” Definitely not four star. He fingered the clean yet old-fashioned curtains draping the French doors to a small terrace. Three stars, maybe.
Pushing open the French doors, he stared out into the vastness of the Pacific crashing against the shoreline below. Even in mid-July, a chill coated the morning air, but that was the California coast for you: unpredictable yet peacefully welcoming.
The deep ocean breath he took eroded some of the tension in his body. He should have come here straight from New York. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could almost forget...
“Do you think you were followed this time?” Gary asked in that borderline boisterous tone a 1920s gangster might have used.
“No.” He’d left Los Angeles in the dead of night. He’d have noticed if he’d been tailed. Besides, there hadn’t been a car in sight for the mile and a half after he’d taken the Butterfly Harbor turnoff. “No sign of any reporters or cameras. I might finally be in the clear now that I stopped using my credit cards. Thanks for getting me in here so quickly.” Not that booking a reservation would have been a problem.
“You call, I answer. Keeping you off the radar until you’re ready to come back is what’s important,” Gary said. “So are you going to ask?”
“About Corwin Brothers?” Jason’s stomach tightened into familiar knots as they fell into the months-old conversation about his family business. His former family business. “I don’t know how many ways I can say it. I’m done with all of it. The board of directors made that perfectly clear when they ousted me as chairman.” And that was after the National Cooking Network pulled his show off the air, the restaurant chain deal went into the toilet and his publisher decided to “wait awhile” on a new cookbook offer. The fact he’d lost all passion for the business, for the kitchen, for anything, really, since his brother, David, had died only added to his surrender.
“They ousted you because your father took advantage of your grief. He sold the board on the idea of a discount frozen food line when they couldn’t think straight, and now it’s tanking the company. This can’t sit right with you, Jason. Your father’s lack of understanding for what your grandfather wanted to build is the reason he left the company to you in the first place, and now what? You’re going to let Edward swoop in and kill what’s left?”
“You’re forgetting that it was my mistake that started this slide to begin with.” No, he didn’t like the idea his father was in charge. Edward Corwin was a cold, calculating and profit-driven man—he always had been. And he’d never forgiven the fact he’d been ignored in his father’s will. Jason leaned his arms on the railing and ducked his head. Frozen food. Discounted frozen food. Made with the cheapest ingredients from who knew what sources. Gary was right. It was a slap in the face to everything he and David had stood for, everything their grandfather had begun.
But Jason had sabotaged any hope of fighting his father and his arrogance and lack of sense. He didn’t have any fight left in him. His brother’s death had left him struggling. Depressed. Empty.
These days, Jason wasn’t even sure if he was trying to escape the mess he’d made of his life...or himself.
“Sometimes I can’t breathe,
