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5

ERIC

The Alton Business Council’s annual dinner fills the Westmere ballroom with tuxedos, evening gowns, and polite smiles. White flowers cover the tables, a string quartet plays near the doors, and waiters move through the crowd with trays of champagne.

Daniel stands near the windows with a woman in a silver dress who has spent ten minutes trying to make him smile. She’s getting nowhere. Tom is at the bar with a woman on either side of him and looks perfectly happy with the arrangement.

Vanessa Kline has stayed close to me for the past twenty minutes. Her family owns three coastal resorts, and she’s as beautiful as she is poised. Her fingers brush my sleeve when she laughs. Each time someone looks our way, she moves a little closer.

“Eric?”

I turn to her. “Sorry?”

She smiles, more amused than offended. “I asked if you’re going to the dinner in New York next month.”

“I haven’t decided.”

“You should.” She takes a slow sip of champagne. “I’m staying through Sunday, and the dinner ends far too early to spend the rest of the night alone.”

The invitation couldn’t be clearer. This kind of attention is familiar. Vanessa wants me to know she’s interested, and she’s making it easy for me to act on it. I should be interested. Instead, I’m thinking about that damn service lane.

“If I built a Voss hotel beside one of your resorts, would you let me use its service lane?” I ask.

She smiles and places her hand on my arm. “For you? Of course.”

“You haven’t even seen the plans.”

“Does it matter?” Her fingers tighten slightly. “You can use anything you want.”

Vanessa isn’t making a real business promise. If I arrived tomorrow with plans, she’d hand them to her lawyers. But if I wanted her agreement, I have no doubt I could get it.

Earlier today I was just as certain I could change Rachel’s mind. I offered far more than the lane was worth and turned on enough charm to make my interest clear. She only became more annoyed each time I opened my mouth.

I can usually tell what a woman wants from me. With Rachel, I have no idea.

Vanessa is still talking, but I’ve stopped listening.

“I need to excuse myself,” I say.

Her hand falls from my arm. “Where are you going?”

“To solve a problem.”

I leave her in the ballroom and step into the quiet hall. The doors close behind me, cutting the music to a faint hum.

I find an empty chair near the windows at the end of the hall and pull out my phone. I don’t like that I can’t work Rachel out. Before I approach her again, I need to understand what matters to her.

I type Rachel Hartwell into the search bar.

I should’ve done this sooner. I studied the Hartwell’s finances, its property lines, and every old agreement tied to the service lane. I learned only enough about Rachel to recognize her at the hearing. I assumed money would take care of the rest.

That was careless.

Several articles appear. The first includes a photo of Rachel outside the Hartwell in a cream skirt suit, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. I look at her for a moment, then begin reading.

The article covers how long she has worked at the hotel, when she became CEO, and what her grandfather taught her. The next piece is about a charity dinner. Another covers renovations at the Hartwell.

I’m about to give up when a quote catches my attention.