are you doing?” he asked.
“Mmm, wonderful,” the woman said. “But I’ve been eating so much that I told Roger we had to walk it off rather than take a golf cart. Restaurants like your Sunfish Grotto ought to be against the law.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Zack replied; years of practice as a manager had taught him to show amiable hospitality to his guests, and nothing else. When people were on vacation they expected a world where difficulties just disappeared.
“We appreciate your chef’s candor about his ingredients,” Roger added. “With Suzy’s allergies, it makes things easier.”
“I’ll share your comments with the kitchen. Chef Gordon has a daughter with food sensitivities, so he understands.”
The investment in a top chef was paying off. None of the other chefs Zack had interviewed were willing to provide a list of ingredients for their special recipes. These days a lot of folks were concerned about their food. It fit the modern trend toward health awareness, so Zack had kept searching for someone who shared his vision. Oh, Lord.
Yesterday Gordon had mentioned that a produce stand was opening nearby. He wasn’t happy with their current supplier and hoped for a new source. It had to be Jamie Conroe’s trailer, and Zack could imagine how appalled his patrons might be if they discovered their fruits and vegetables were coming from that hideous place. Maybe he was overreacting, but you couldn’t predict what would alienate clients.
The Langianos continued to the course and Zack drove to the administrative parking lot. He got out, moving casually until he was beyond the view of guests. The management area was more austere than the rest of the facility; the luxurious ambience was saved for their clientele.
“Trudy,” he barked, “did you reach Kim?”
“Yep. She’s waiting for you.”
Zack tapped his fingers as Trudy put the call through to his office. The computer screen opened to Kim Wheeler. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, though at the moment he was interested only in her keen legal mind.
“There’s a woman, Jamie Conroe, squatting above the beach with a decrepit trailer. And the color it’s painted is downright offensive,” he said without preamble. “She’s planning to sell fruits and vegetables there and is claiming she inherited the land from her grandfather. Something has to be done. Now. Mar Vista golfers, and anyone going to the beach, might see it. Other guests going horseback riding and—”
“Good morning to you as well, Zack,” Kim interrupted. He reluctantly nodded a greeting. Kim rarely let him get away with anything. In college they’d lived together for several months until she had told him they weren’t suited for each other. Although they were no longer lovers, they’d stayed friends, and when she had gone into corporate law, he’d put her on retainer as his attorney.
“Sorry,” he apologized, “but this is important. This woman claims to own the first acre adjacent to the state beach on the northwest section. It’s where the public road ends at the water and a dirt road takes off at a right angle in the middle.”
Kim pulled up something on a second computer. “I see it on the map, a rectangular chunk along the waterfront. That’s some of the real estate you rushed to buy without checking with me, isn’t it?”
Ouch.
She’d ragged him unmercifully for failing to consult her on the transaction. There just hadn’t been enough time—old George Jenkins had insisted on closing the sale as fast as possible. Zack had also been distracted by his brother’s hospitalization and the construction commencing on the resort, but he wouldn’t make excuses.
“Yes,” he said shortly. “It’s one of the last parcels I bought.”
“I doubt we can resolve this today. Chances are we’ll need an official survey to settle the matter.”
“Can you get a court order to get her out in the meanwhile? I guarantee she’ll ignore any no-trespassing signs I post, and they wouldn’t look good to my guests anyhow. Oh, and get this—the county sheriff is a pal of Ms. Conroe’s. I probably can’t expect support from him or his deputies.”
Kim shook her head. “I don’t think a judge can issue an injunction unless there’s substantive evidence that it’s not her property.”
“Damn.”
“I’ll keep you updated on our progress. Just don’t purchase any more real estate without talking to me first.”
The screen went blank before Zack could devise a suitable retort. He sank back in his chair and gazed into space. Jamie Conroe’s fruit stand might not be so bad if it was charming or offbeat instead of just tacky. He could hide the more obvious signs of her presence with a tall hedge, but planting fully grown shrubbery was a costly remedy for a temporary condition.
And it shouldn’t be necessary. That was the galling part.
To think he’d congratulated himself on securing that particular piece of land, protecting his resort from this sort of thing.
Now?
He’d simply have to take care of it. Ms. Conroe would soon be investigating a different site for that shabby little trailer.
CHAPTER TWO
JAMIE OPENED BLEARY EYES, awakened by the persistent noise from her BlackBerry cell phone.
No one, repeat, no one had the right to call before eight in the morning, particularly when she’d spent most of the night doing her silver casting. Not that anyone else knew she was short on sleep. She focused on the caller ID to see if it was her ex-husband. Tim had begun phoning her last winter, though she’d changed her cell number twice to avoid him. It was jarring to know his voice was a single button away, so she’d stopped listening to messages and never answered unless she recognized the caller.
She switched the BlackBerry off without answering and dropped a pillow on top of the landline extension. Rolling onto her side, she fell asleep.
A heavy pounding on the front door woke her an hour later. Didn’t anybody respect a woman’s right to sleep in? Apparently not, since the pounding continued. She dragged herself out of bed and donned a clean bathrobe.
Swell. It was Zack Denning and a blonde woman in a business suit.
“Coming,” she yelled over the racket, waiting until it stopped before turning the knob.
The woman was finely coiffed and sculpted, a sharp contrast to Jamie’s faded pink terry wrap and messy morning hair. It probably accounted for why Denning was staring at her. Tough. She was done with trying to impress men with clothing and makeup.
She smiled sweetly. “Can I help you? The vegetable stand isn’t operating yet, but I can put you on a reservation list for strawberries. How many flats can you use?”
Denning’s lips thinned and she could have sworn she saw a vein throbbing in his forehead.
“Ms. Conroe?” the woman queried.
“That’s me, aside from the part I left in my bedroom.”
“Please
