Page 9 of So Close

She raised an eyebrow. “So Brynn said.”

“He’s come to sell Beachcrest.”

Very carefully, she said, “You want to sell?”

Carl drew a deep breath. “I’ve always thought—known—that when it was time, I would sell to you. But—” He closed his eyes, and Auburn’s stomach plunged. “Shit,” Carl said. “Shit, shit,shit.”

Don’t freak out, she told herself. She opened her eyes to find that there were tears in his, and she started to panic in spite of herself.

“I’m so sorry, Auburn. I should have told you. I tried to tell you.”

“Tell mewhat?” she whispered.

“Not long after Sheila died, I got into financial trouble. Bad real estate investments. I couldn’t get back on my feet again. While you were in New York—the shit really hit the fan. I was going to lose everything, even Beachcrest.”

She’d been with Patrick in New York, half living, when Carl’s wife had died. Auburn had come home for the funeral, of course, but then Patrick had laid a trip on her about how much he needed her, and she’d boomeranged back to the city after just a few days. Not long enough to make sure Carl was really doing okay.

Apparently, he hadn’t been.

Yet another way Patrick had cost her what mattered.

As if he could see the struggle going on inside her, he shook his head. “It wouldn’t have changed anything if you’d been here. No one knew. Brynn only caught on because I needed her signature on an account that had once held her college money—there were a few hundred dollars left in it. That’s how bad it was. Anyway, Brynn got her brother—my grandson—involved, and he bailed me out. Took over the mortgage, though he wasn’t pleased about it, and he didn’t trust me not to fuck it up again. He insisted his name be on the title. So we’re—we’re co-owners. Officially.”

It took a minute for his words to penetrate. Beachcrest didn’t belong to Carl. Which meant it wasn’t his to give or sell or partially finance or whatever arrangement he’d had in mind all the times he’d said it would be hers one day.

“I meant to tell you right way. I should have told you right away.” He was clearly distraught, a few fine beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Quickly she said, “Carl, don’t get yourself upset, okay? None of this is worth your health. You’re still recovering.”

“I am upset, Auburn. I’m upset with myself for not telling you right away, for letting you continue to think that Beachcrest could be yours one day—”

She squeezed his hand between both of hers. “Please don’t stress yourself out over this. We can solve this.”

Her mind was racing, trying to figure out the implications. Carl’s grandson—maybe he would respect his granddad’s wishes. Maybe he would hire her to run it. Maybe he would give her time to figure out how to buy it. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

But Carl was shaking his head, even though she hadn’t said any of it out loud. “He’s selling it to a developer. I don’t know what the rush is, but he says the purchase and sale has to be inked by right after the 4th of July.”

“Developer.” Auburn’s voice sounded strangely flat, even to her. Raze Beachcrest? The thought made her ache all over. The inn where she’d worked all through high school and college—where she’d found terra firma when everything else had slid out from under her feet. The place she’d imagined she’d one day own and build a future on. And he, this absentee grandson, wanted to build some impersonal hotel or ugly condos? It was bad enough that she might lose Beachcrest, but that it would go away for good, forever? She couldn’t—

She couldn’t breathe.

“Auburn,” Carl said. His eyes met hers, matching pain. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Maybe you could—maybe you could convince your grandson to see it your way?”

“You don’t understand, Auburn. He’s not that kind of guy.” Carl closed his eyes. “He was the sweetest little boy. Biggest heart. Warmest smile.” Grief crossed his face. “He loved everyone. And he loved Beachcrest. But when—when his mother died … he got tough. Hard. And now he’s—it’s like he’s made of money. I blame myself.”

She shook her head, but he brushed off her reassurance. “No. If I could have helped out with things, made life easier for his parents, then maybe he wouldn’t be so bitter.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.

“I’m the one who set him on the business path, too. He used to say he wanted to be a businessman like me when he grew up, so I did his first lemonade stand with him, and then—well, he caught the bug. But I had no idea what he’d turn into. Now he’s this Silicon Valley tycoon: all work, no play. When his wife left him, I’m not sure if he even noticed. It’s all about more, bigger, power, control. I don’t think he cares what the business is, just how much he can sell it for. He’s going to sell this one for more than half a billion next month.”

“That’s what this is about for him? Getting even richer?”

Auburn could hear the distress ricocheting in her own words, but something had distracted Carl, drawing his attention toward the door of the room.

“Well, well, well,” said a familiar voice, low and cultured. “We meet again.”

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