people from the city. Nina had worked there each summer, beginning when she was thirteen. The work was not glamorous, but she’d been fascinated by the operation of the hotel, the array of guests from all over. Later, as a young mother, she’d moved up from housekeeper to desk clerk, bookkeeper and assistant manager, learning every aspect of the business. Even dealing with plumbing woes and cranky guests hadn’t discouraged her. After Mr. Weller died, Mrs. Weller carried on, but never with the same spirit she had when he was alive. When she passed away, she left the place—along with its mortgage—to her only living relative, a nephew in Atlantic City. He entrusted its management to a contract firm that let everyone go and sent in their own staff. Nina went to work as the mayor’s assistant while she finished her education. The experience had led to her being appointed to office when the mayor had been incapacitated by illness. Her friends and family thought her head would be turned by city politics, but she always came back to the idea of the Inn at Willow Lake.
Due to neglect and mismanagement, the inn went into foreclosure. It seemed a perfect opportunity for her, a time to take a risk, to start something new.
Her first step had been to approach Mr. Bailey, the bank’s asset manager, and propose to him that she reopen the inn, managing it on behalf of the bank while she applied for a small-business loan. It seemed like the perfect arrangement.
Now she stood dripping on the faded cabbage-rose carpet in the salon and stared at Greg Bellamy, the new owner of the inn.
Funny, he didn’t look like the kind of guy who stomped people’s dreams into the ground. He looked—God—like Mr. Nice Guy. Like Mr. Nice Guy with an incredible body and killer smile and hair that was great even when it was wet.
Still, she had no trouble hating him as he hurried to a supply closet and grabbed some towels and a spa robe and slippers. “You can dry off and put these on while I throw our stuff in the dryer,” he said.
The man was clueless, she thought, grabbing the bundle and heading into the closest guest room. The Laurel Room, it used to be called. Oh, she remembered this place, with its beautiful woodwork and lofty ceilings, the white porcelain sink set into an antique washstand. Apparently, Greg had wasted no time fixing the place up. The walls bore a fresh coat of sky-blue paint and a new light fixture hung from the ceiling. From the window, she could see Max out on the dock, casting with a fishing rod.
She tried to numb herself to all feeling as she peeled off her cold, clammy things and put on the robe. The thick terry cloth fabric felt wonderful against her chilled skin, but she was in no mood to feel wonderful. Bitterness and resentment filled her up like poison, and it was hard not to feel utterly persecuted by fate. It seemed that every time her turn came up, something happened to snatch it away.
All her life, she had made every choice for practical reasons, governed by what was best for Sonnet. Finally she had reached a point where she could take a risk. If not the inn, then something else. It was true that because of area covenants, there could never be another inn on the lake, but there were other options. She could become a painter, a bookseller, she could train for a triathlon, open a dog-grooming parlor, drive a bus … a thousand possibilities lay before her.
The trouble was, she wanted this. The Inn at Willow Lake. Nothing else would do. Only she wanted it on her terms, not Greg Bellamy’s.
Snap out of it, she scolded herself, cinching the robe’s belt snugly around her waist. She had a great kid, a loving family, the chance to serve as mayor. She ought to be counting her blessings, not tallying up her losses.
Yet when she marched back to the lobby with her clothes in a squishy bundle, she was far from calm. She was still a seething ball of fury.
Greg had managed to scrounge up a pair of painter’s pants and had paired them with a slightly-too-tight T-shirt. His hair was attractively mussed. The fact that he looked completely hot only made her madder. The friendly, warm gas fire he’d ignited in the salon’s fireplace made her madder still.
“I’m glad I ran in to you,” he said. “I’d heard you were back from your trip. Is Sonnet okay?”
“She’s fine.” All right, so he was being nice, asking about her daughter. Of course, he could afford to be. He already had what he wanted.
“I wanted to set up a meeting this week. We have a lot to talk about.”
Hugging the oversize robe around her, she went to the settee in front of the annoyingly cheerful fire. “I don’t think there’s anything to say.”
He smiled. Smiled. “This is an opportunity for both of us. I’m going to need a general manager, and the bank already had a deal with you. Now, about your contract—”
“The contract.” She rubbed her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “It was supposed to be so simple. How did this happen?”
“It is simple. Bailey retired from the bank and Brooke took over the asset management. She sold me the inn.”
Nina glared at him. “What did you do, sleep with her to get a good deal on the place?”
He glared back. “That’s none of your business.”
All right, Nina thought, that was probably a low blow, but she didn’t care. “I don’t get it. What on earth do you want with this place?”
“It’s exactly what I’ve been hoping to find. A business that keeps me close to home for my kids, something I like doing. And I know you’re the ideal manager. You’ve got a history with the place, experience running it. You’re perfect.”
This was so classic. The Bellamys were a favored family. It seemed to Nina that every last one of them had been born with a silver spoon in their mouth. It seemed that fortune denied them nothing. While ordinary people like the Romanos struggled for everything they had, the Bellamys swept in and helped themselves.
For Nina, even traveling was bad luck. “The deal’s off,” she said tightly.
“Are you always this angry, or is this something special, just for me?”
“I had plans,” she snapped. “I know that doesn’t matter to you, but—”
“Come on, Nina. At least hear me out.”
“Why should I?”
He didn’t react to her challenging tone. Instead, he said simply, “No reason. We barely know each other. For what it’s worth, I had plans, too.”
Plans. “You probably want to turn this place into some kind of overpriced corporate retreat,” she said. “And wouldn’t that be just charming.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“I’ve seen the numbers. It’s the best way to turn a profit.”
“And that’s what I’m all about. Turning a profit.”
To be honest, she didn’t know what he was about. She didn’t know much about him at all. That hadn’t stopped her from jumping to conclusions about him. She took her fury down a notch.
“So tell me. I really want to know.”
He studied her, and there was something in his gaze, some level of trust and confidence. “All my life, I’ve done what I thought I was supposed to do.
