Page 11 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

My stomach churned, remembering how natural Hunter had looked on the deck this morning like he belonged there. Like he’d always belonged there. “Michael—”

“Just watch yourself, okay? Don’t let your guard down around him. He has a habit of leaving collateral damage when he moves on to the next project.”

I watched through my window as Hunter charmed Mrs. Wilson, probably gathering more insight into our longtime guests’ needs. His smile—the same one that had dazzled at debate competitions, Taylor’s wedding, and countless family gatherings—made something twist in my chest. The same smile I’d been trying not to fall for since high school.

Michael’s warning rattled around in my head as I tried to focus on the stack of invoices cluttering my desk. Each time I glimpsed Hunter through my office window—consulting withstaff, making notes on his tablet, still charming Mrs. Wilson—my brother’s words echoed: “He has a habit of leaving collateral damage.”

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across my desk when Hunter knocked on my door frame. He’d loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, looking less like a CEO and more like the boy who sometimes used to help Grandpa with resort maintenance during summers. The sight made my heart do dangerous things.

“Got a minute?”

I nodded, though every instinct screamed to keep my distance. He sat across from me, looking more serious than usual. The stack of papers in his hand promised more changes I wasn’t sure Pine Haven—or my heart—could handle.

“I’ve been reviewing the staffing schedules,” he said, sliding a document across my desk. “We’re running too lean. One sick day shouldn’t throw the entire system into chaos.”

“We can’t afford more full-time staff,” I replied automatically, thinking of Monique training temporary workers this morning, the pride in her voice when explaining Pine Haven’s standards.

“Actually...” He pulled up something on his tablet, the blue light from the screen catching the determined set of his jaw. “If we adjust the rate structure for the premium rooms and implement dynamic pricing for peak seasons, we could cover three more full-time positions.”

I frowned at his calculations, trying to ignore how he’d already memorized our staffing patterns, peak periods, and needs. “These rates are too high. Our regular guests—”

“Would still get preferential pricing through a loyalty program,” he cut in, leaning forward with that familiar intensity that used to win debate tournaments. “I’m not suggesting we price out your core clientele. But tourists coming up from thecity for ski weekends? They’ll pay premium rates for the right experience.”

His logic was sound, which only irritated me more. As Michael had warned, every suggestion made perfect business sense—Hunter was good at what he did. Too good.

“And what happens when the novelty wears off?” I challenged, thinking of Pine Haven’s history of outlasting trends. “When the city folks find the next trendy mountain getaway?”

“That’s why we diversify.” He leaned forward, enthusiasm lighting his face—the same look he’d get before presenting a winning debate strategy. “Look, I’ve been talking to local artists about displaying their work in the lobby and partnering with that new craft brewery for tasting events. We make Pine Haven not just a resort but a destination.”

Through my window, I could see the Wilsons showing their grandchildren the spot where they’d first met fifty years ago. The joy on their faces contrasted with Hunter’s sleek proposals. “By turning us into some hipster mountain retreat?”

Hunter sat back, studying me with an intensity that made me want to look away. “What’s really bothering you, Amelia? Because this isn’t just about business models anymore.”

I stood, needing to move, to escape his too-perceptive gaze. “You don’t understand. Every change we make, every ‘improvement,’ pushes us further from what Pine Haven is supposed to be.”

“And what’s that? A museum piece? Frozen in time while your competitors evolve?”

“A home,” I snapped, turning to face him. The word echoed with memories—Mom’s laugh in the kitchen, Dad teaching ski lessons, Michael and me racing down the halls. “A place where families make memories, where traditions matter, where people feel like they belong. Not some Instagram-worthy backdrop for corporate retreats.”

Something softened in his expression. “Why can’t it be both?”

“Because—” I started, but a commotion outside interrupted me.

Sophie burst in, looking flustered. “Ms. Horton? The Harrison wedding party is here early. Their rooms aren’t ready because of the staff shortage, and Mrs. Harrison is... well...”

A shrill voice carried down the hallway: “This is completely unacceptable! Do you know how much we’re paying for this weekend?”

I squared my shoulders, ready to face another crisis, already calculating which rooms could be ready fastest. But Hunter stepped in front of me, his movement smooth and deliberate.

“Let me handle this,” he said quietly. His eyes met mine with a gentleness that made my defenses waver.

“Hunter—”

“Trust me.” The words carried weight beyond this moment. “I know you can handle it. But you don’t always have to.”

Before I could protest, he was gone, his voice carrying back as he greeted the angry mother of the bride with the same charm that had won debate championships. “Mrs. Harrison? I’m Hunter Miller. I understand today hasn’t started the way any of us hoped...”

Within minutes, the commotion died, replaced by what sounded suspiciously like laughter. Through my office window, I watched him leading the wedding party to the lounge, gesturing toward the mountain view as he spoke, making the entire situation seem like a planned exclusive experience rather than a crisis.

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