Page 8 of Between the Lines

Luca might have laughed at Wishart’s awkwardness if he hadn’t felt so crushed. “Mom, please don’t.”

Jude’s hand tightened on his, eyes very bright. “Do you have a better idea, Luca?” He couldn’t hold her sharp, knowing gaze and looked away. After a beat she carried on, “Theo, what do you say? Let us get to know you. Get to knowus. After that, we’ll talk.”

Wishart swallowed so hard Luca saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “I’m afraid I need to press you for an answer today because—”

“Then you can have it right now.” Jude stood, dropping Luca’s hand. “You probably won’t like it.”

Luca held his breath, silently willing Wishart to call her bluff.

He didn’t.

* * *

It was a bloody disaster.

Theo glared at the door through which the others had disappeared, allowing him privacy to call his father and consult on Jude’s ridiculous proposal. Didn’t she realize he had work to do? Other sales to close, other projects to manage? Important as the New Milton project was, he couldn’t afford to spend two weeks away from the office to babysit the sale.

On the other hand, could he afford not to? Securing the Majestic was non-negotiable. Ifhedidn’t do it, someone else would and that was unacceptable. This was Theo’s project, his shot at partnership, and his reputation on the line.

He started pacing. Moretti was the real problem and in more ways than one. Bloody hell, why did it have to behimTheo had blundered into in town? He’d screwed up their relationship before it had begun. And Moretti had influence over his mother—she’d watched him throughout Theo’s presentation, monitoring his reaction, looking for his approval. Yes, it was clear Moretti was the key: convince him, convince Jude.

But Moretti thought he was a prick, he’d made that plain, so how the hell would Theo convince him of anything?

From behind the door came the muffled sounds of angry voices and Theo’s hackles rose. It wasn’t a good sign. He needed everyone on board to secure this sale, everyone feeling they’d get something they wanted. But Moretti’s issue appeared to be naïve nostalgia, and that left Theo at sea. Facts and figures were his forte, not hearts and minds.

He paced to the French doors, considering what to tell his father. He wasn’t relishing the conversation; Eddie Wishart respected results not excuses. The gauzy curtain stirred, a faint sea breeze drifting in, cool against Theo’s overheated skin. The promise of fresh air proved irresistible, and with a glance at the empty room behind him, he stepped out onto the porch.

A large swing hung from the roof, scattered with sun-bleached cushions. It swung lazily in the breeze, creaking softly. Terribly inviting, but when Theo imagined sitting on it all he saw was himself face-planting onto the floor, so he walked to the rail instead and dialed his father’s number. From this vantage point he could look out over the Majestic’s unkempt gardens toward the ocean. Once, the gardens must have been pristine, with neatly edged borders and deep, shady arbors in which to doze or read, but like the rest of the hotel the gardens had sunk into genteel neglect and now ran rather wild. He could make out a path, though, cutting through the tangle of trees at the side of the garden and disappearing onto the clifftop. Beyond it, the sun glittered high above the ocean. Sunrise, Theo imagined, must be spectacular...

“Theodore.” Eddie Wishart’s south London rasp, unsoftened by thirty years in the States, snapped him out of his thoughts. “Is it done?”

“There’s a problem.” Keeping the details pertinent, he briefed his father on Jude’s concerns and her offer.

Predictably, Eddie was unimpressed. “What the bloody hell is she thinking? She won’t get a better offer.”

“I know, but money isn’t the issue.” He watched the trees sway, listened to the breeze carry children’s laughter up from the beach. “She wants to believe we’ll protect the, uh, specialness of the place.”

“Bollocks. Offer her another ten grand.”

“It won’t help.”

A breathy huff drifted down the line. “Fine. I’ll send Daly up to sort it out. Smarmy git, he’ll have her eating out of his hand in no time.”

“No!” Fuck, no. Not Grant Daly. Not the bastard who’d seduced him, humiliated him—almost broken him. “Not Grant.”

“Theodore...”

“It’s not necessary.” He fought to get his flash of temper under control. “Give me the time Jude wants and I’ll handle it myself.”

A long pause, then, “Canyou, though? You ain’t exactly Prince Charming, sunshine.”

Turning away from the gardens, Theo caught sight of his reflection in the French doors and straightened up as if his father were watching. “Dad, trust me. I can close the sale myself.” He’d need to handle Moretti, but Theo didn’t want to discusshimwith his father. He knew what Eddie would say and wasn’t in the mood for his off-color jokes. “Sending someone else will only make us look more corporate and Jude wants to feel like she’s selling to a friend—someone who understands the place. Better we only show one face at this point.”

Silence crackled in his ear, his father’s doubt loud enough to smother the cry of the gulls and the happy sounds from the beach. But at last he said, “Alright. Keep me posted. We can’t afford a cockup, Theodore.” He laughed his coarse laugh. “Of any kind, eh?”

Theo’s cheeks heated. “There won’t be any mistakes. I know what I’m doing.”

“You’d better.”

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