Page 4 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

“Thank you, Sophie.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “I’ll be right there.”

Through the window, Richardson’s BMW sat next to Hunter’s Mercedes like old money sizing up new success. My stomach churned at the sight.

“I’ll come with you,” Hunter said, reaching for his jacket.

“No!” The word echoed against the wooden walls. At his raised eyebrow, I softened my tone. “I need to handle this myself.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright. But Amelia?” His fingers caught my wrist as I passed, sendingwarmth shooting up my arm. “Remember, you’re not alone in this anymore.”

The walk to the conference room felt endless. Every step past familiar photos and smiling guests reminded me exactly what hung in the balance. The room seemed to shrink as I entered Richardson’s presence, filling it with unspoken judgment.

He sat in his usual spot, steel-gray hair perfectly combed, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose—the same position he’d held through every meeting since I was a child, watching Mom handle these discussions with a grace I desperately wished I’d inherited.

“Mr. Richardson.” I channeled Mom’s strength into my voice. “Thank you for coming out personally.”

He nodded curtly, already flipping through our files. The wall clock’s ticking filled the silence, each second stretching like taffy. Through the window, I could see the ski slopes where his children had learned to snowboard, where he’d helped Dad install the first chairlift, where Pine Haven had been more than just another account in his portfolio.

“Ms. Horton.” He finally looked up, disappointment heavy behind those familiar glasses—the same ones he’d worn to my high school graduation. “These figures are... concerning.”

I clasped my hands in my lap to hide their trembling. “We’ve had a difficult quarter, yes, but we’re implementing new strategies—”

“With all due respect,” he interrupted, tapping the stack of late payment notices with one manicured finger, “that’s what you said three months ago.” The leather of his briefcase creaked as he pulled out a fresh document, the bank’s letterhead stark against the mahogany table where Mom used to serve him coffee. “Pine Haven’s loan payments have been late twice now. The board is questioning the resort’s viability.”

“The winter season hit us hard,” I admitted, memories of Hunter’s earlier observations about our equipment stinging fresh. “Equipment failures, unexpected maintenance costs. But our summer bookings are already fifteen percent higher than last year. The Henderson family reunion alone—”

“Amelia.” The use of my first name made me flinch. Richardson removed his glasses, polishing them with the handkerchief Mom had embroidered for him years ago. “I’ve known your family for thirty years. Watched you chase your brother through these halls in pigtails. Remember teaching you to ride that old lift?” He gestured toward the window, toward a childhood when Pine Haven’s future had seemed as solid as the mountains themselves. “But business is business. The bank needs more than promises and potential.”

A fresh document slid across the table’s worn surface. The words blurred before my eyes. “Thirty days?”

“To present a detailed recovery plan.” He replaced his glasses, still avoiding my gaze. “The board meets next month to review all high-risk accounts. Without concrete evidence that Pine Haven can turn around...” His voice trailed off, but the threat hung in the air like approaching storm clouds.

I forced my spine straighter. “What exactly do you need?”

“Projected revenue streams. Cost-cutting measures. A concrete debt repayment schedule.” He gathered his papers with practiced efficiency, then hesitated. “And Amelia? Make it good. There are... interests... who would love to see Pine Haven fail.”

Each step back to the lobby felt heavier than the last. Every family photo on the walls, every worn spot in the carpet where guests had created decades of memories, reminded me exactly what was at stake. Richardson paused at the entrance, his gaze lingering on the spot where his daughter had announced her engagement during last year’s Christmas festival.

“Your mother,” he said softly, “she always found a way. I hope you do, too.”

I maintained my professional smile until his car disappeared down the winding drive. Only then did I let the facade crack, tears burning as I stumbled back toward my office.

“Amelia?” Hunter’s voice, warm with concern, nearly undid me. He stood by my desk, looking unfairly composed while my world crumbled. “What happened?”

I tried to straighten, to be the strong resort manager everyone needed, but one look at his worried face shattered my remaining control. A sob caught in my throat as the morning’s events crashed over me—the devastating financials, his unexpected arrival, Richardson’s ultimatum.

I swiped at my eyes, but Hunter crossed the room in three long strides, crouching beside my chair. “Talk to me.”

“They’re giving us thirty days,” I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue. “Thirty days to prove we can turn things around, or they’ll...” My gaze drifted to the window where Mrs. Henderson still chatted with that young family, where Jorge finally had the heat working, where all the pieces of my heart were scattered across Pine Haven’s grounds.

“Hey.” Hunter’s hand found mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Look at me.”

I met his eyes reluctantly, finding none of his usual confidence—just genuine concern that made my heart twist.

“Thirty days is plenty of time,” he said with quiet conviction. “Especially since you’ve got me now.”

A watery laugh escaped me. “Always so sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“No.” His thumb traced small circles on my palm, each touch sending sparks up my arm. “But I am sure about you. And about this place.”

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