teetered in stacks.
Phil took the chair next to Rory. Seeing what had her attention, she adjusted her overlarge glasses and leaned toward her.
“There was an article in the Seattle Washtub recently about how Cornelia helped a young entrepreneur get the break she needed with her business. Ever since then, requests have poured in by email and snail mail for her in care of the newspaper and the offices of HuntCom asking for her help from other young women. And for them. Like you,” she explained. “The reporter who wrote the article said she’s bringing another sackful over this afternoon.”
“A reporter is part of this?”
“Don’t worry,” Phil hastily assured. “Cornelia wants to stay under the radar with her project and she trusts Shea Weatherby to help her with that. As for anyone else we might need to talk with, we only identify our clients to those directly involved in her situation.”
The assertion was hugely reassuring to Rory. She’d already supplied enough fodder for gossip in certain social circles to last a lifetime. Nearly every member of those circles would have sold their summer homes to mingle with a Hunt, too. But all that mattered to her just then was that this meeting was confidential. Her relationship with her in-laws was strained enough without word getting out and embarrassing them because their son’s widow apparently needed to be bailed out by strangers. For Tyler’s sake, she needed to make as few waves with them as possible.
Thinking about her in-laws reminded her that she needed to call them about Christmas.
“The volume of requests Cornelia is receiving,” Phil continued, mercifully sidetracking her from the stomach-knotting thought, “is why she needed to hire help. I just love what she’s doing.”
“I really am at a loss here,” Rory admitted. “What is she doing?”
“She’s being what the first woman she helped called her,” her assistant replied. “A fairy godmother.”
She had a fairy godmother?
“On to the details.” Phil pushed a pale blue folder toward her, the snowflake polish on her nails glittering. “If these terms are agreeable to you, Cornelia will purchase the property you saw from the owners and you will purchase it from her for the amount stated on line one. To keep everything legal and as simple as possible, your down payment will be one dollar. Your balance will be interest-free with the first payment due September first. You’ll have had five months of cash flow by then.”
Disbelief held Rory’s tone to nearly a whisper. The number couldn’t possibly be right. “The property has to be worth three times this.”
“Oh, it is. And that’s what Cornelia will pay the owners for it. But that’s your price. Of course, there is more to the sale.”
Ah, yes, Rory thought, unable to understand why Cornelia would take such a loss for her. The strings.
“Cornelia has added a few perks,” Phil chose to call them. “She believes the best route to success is to have a good adviser. Since it’s understandable that you’d know little about this particular business and since the Sullivan’s grandson is reasonably acquainted with it, she arranged for Erik to be your mentor for the next six months. He’ll help you with your inventory, suppliers, getting part-time help and whatever else it will take to get your new venture up and running.
“The two of you can determine how often you need to meet, but there will be a status meeting here once a month. Of course, I’m available to both of you together or individually at any time. At the end of the six months, if you’re on track with your business plan, Erik will have fulfilled his mentor agreement, and you’ll be on your own. All we ask,” she concluded, as if she’d rather expected the stunned silence coming from beside her, “is for your discretion in discussing the work we do here.”
Phil sat back, smiling.
Rory couldn’t seem to move.
Poof. Just like that. The property her little boy had fallen in love with that morning—and the business that came with it—could be hers.
The reality of it didn’t want to sink in. Yet even in her disbelief what registered most was that her new life included a man who she strongly suspected didn’t want to work with her at all.
“This Erik,” she said, caution competing with amazement as Cornelia joined them with a tray of tall porcelain mugs. “May I ask the terms of his agreement with you?”
Taking the chair on the opposite side of her, Cornelia passed mugs to her and Phil. “It’s nothing complicated. I just requested that he help you with the business if I buy the property for the Sullivans’ asking price.”
“But why did he agree to that?”
“Because he wants a decent price for his grandparents and I offered him one. He’s been taking care of the property for them, so I also imagine he’d like to be free of that responsibility. I don’t think he begrudges his grandparents his time. He sounds quite fond of them,” she offered, approval in the soft lines of her face. “But he’s a busy man.”
Rory remembered his strong, workingman’s hands, the calluses she’d felt brush her palm. Right behind the thought came the disquieting memory of what his touch had elicited. “He said he builds boats.”
“Oh, they’re more than boats. He and his business partner build world-class sailing sloops. Their boatworks is down past the marina, but their sales and rental office is next door. J.T., one of my stepsons,” she said, identifying Harry’s second oldest, “commissioned one from him years back. He said Erik is the only man he’d ever do business with on a handshake. If you knew my stepson, you’d know that respect for someone’s character doesn’t get any greater than that.”
Her carefully penciled eyebrows arched as she offered cream and sugar. “Did you find him disagreeable?”
Disturbing, yes. Disagreeable? She couldn’t honestly say they’d disagreed about anything. “No.”
“Are you not wanting help?”
Rory shook her head. She’d be a fool to turn it down. “I’m sure he has far more information about how the market is run than anything I can even begin to find on my own.”
The unguarded admission brought Cornelia’s smile back. “Then it’s a win-win for everyone.”
Baffled by the woman, more uncertain than she wanted to admit about her mentor, Rory touched the handle of her mug. “Please don’t think I’m not beyond grateful, Mrs. Hunt—”
“It’s Cornelia,” the woman said graciously.
“Cornelia,” Rory corrected. “But I’m having a hard time making sense of all this. I understand from Phil that you helped someone else when she needed it. But why do you want to help me like this?”
“Because I can,” she said simply. “My Harry gave me a ridiculously large amount of money for a wedding gift. Since I have the means, I decided to make it my mission to offer deserving young women a hand up when the going gets rough for them, or when they just need the right break.
“In your case,” she admitted, “I know all too well what it’s like to be financially strapped and the only parent. My first husband was a dear, but
