Page 6 of Some Like It Hott

Franklin

Already on their way.

Good man. But by the time security gets here, it might be too late. Because Weggers, who is normally all about the pomp and circumstance, opens his mouth and dives straight in. “‘You’re a stubborn bastard, just like your granddad. But all work and no play makes Preston a dull boy, wouldn’t you agree?’”

There are snickers from David’s lackeys. My workaholic reputation has never been a secret.

“I will sue your ass if you read one more word from that letter.” But even as the words leave my mouth, I’m aware that in the last few minutes, I’ve gone from being a power broker to a heartsick kid fighting with a ghost. I hate this. I hate that my grandfather can reach out a bony finger from beyond the grave and erase all the years I spent proving myself.

“Go ahead,” Weggers says. “I’ll relish the fight.” He drops his gaze to the letter again:

“‘You have three months, starting with the reading of this letter?—’”

I lunge for him, but he’s surprisingly agile for an old guy and darts out of my way. Worse, David steps between me and Weggers. “Whoa. Whoa, man. I don’t think you want to get physical about this, do you? Wouldn’t look great when they’re trying to decide whether to install you or me in that big, cushy new office, would it?”

And fuck, he’s right. I glare but don’t come at him again.

“‘—to build an all-ages activity program at Hott Springs Eternal Resort.’” Weggers is breathless with excitement.

My chest deflates. My whole self deflates. Because let’s face it. Even if he doesn’t read another word, even if security drags him out of here right now and tosses him on the street, it’s over. The letter is served, the charge is read, the clock starts now, and if I don’t show up?

I’m the Hott brother who let our sister down.

That sucks.

Weggers, unaware that I’ve already ceded the victory, goes on. “‘The program must provide an assortment of weekly activities that cater to wedding parties and attendees—some for adults, some for children, and some for families—and be vetted in a booth at the Rush Creek Summer Festival. See below for more details on the variety and number of programs.

“‘You will live in Hott Springs Eternal housing starting no more than forty-eight hours from the reading of this letter until your task is complete.’”

David hoots. I didn’t even know he had that sound in him. I’ve never seen him this amused. He’s bent double, laughing.

“Or?” he says. “Or else? Or what?”

Weggers, delighted to have a new audience for his shenanigans, says, “Or the family business and the family land will belong to a mining company.”

“You’re not serious,” David says, sobering. “That’s tragic. What’s the family business? Oil? Steel? Ranching?”

I’ve always wondered what people mean when they say something feels like a slow-motion train wreck, but now I know.

“It’s a wedding and spa venue,” Weggers pronounces.

“A wedding and spa venue!” David echoes. “Oh, well, then. That’s definitely important enough to take a month off from work!”

I hate him so much.

“It’s my family’s land,” I say. “It’s my sister’s business.”

David’s eyebrows go way up. “Then you know what you have to do, don’t you?” he asks, barely able to get the words out through his laughter.

“What’s going on here?” a voice says behind me.

No.

It’s Anjali. Our group head. The big boss. The one whose vote weighs biggest in the decision about whether David or I sit in the managing director’s office starting next month.

Arthur Weggers looks from David to me to Anjali.

David grins.

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