Page 36 of Homecoming Heartbreaker

Jameson, bless him, was a brilliant host and exceptional at PR, but book work bored him. All his personal expenses were paid for by the business, and as long as there was a little money left in the bank account for some monogrammed shirts and fancy shoes, for him to buy an occasional antique or painting, and his damn Cuban cigars, he was happy.

Mack glared at the spreadsheet on his computer, conscious of the headache pounding behind his eyes, wishing he was looking at the color-coded, immaculate spreadsheets of his own business, able to pick up any information at a moment’s notice.

He liked neat, he liked tidy and he liked control.

None of which he’d found here at Moonlight Ridge.

The books were a mess, and so was his head. He was crazy in lust with his ex-girlfriend, his one-time best friend, but she started work at seven and finished after six, sometimes seven at night. He suspected that if he wasn’t in the picture, her working hours would be longer.

And that had to stop. Sure, he worked hard, but he made time for yoga, for exercise, for sex. His life, a long way from perfect, was a little more balanced than hers was.

Mack heard her door opening again, heard footsteps crossing the floor to her desk and heard low, rumbling masculine tones. It was the fourth time she’d been disturbed in twenty minutes and it was enough.

Mack understood that Molly adored Jameson, she felt guilty for stealing from him and was trying to redeem herself, but she was slowly, by degrees, killing herself.

That stopped. Right now.

Mack pushed back the leather chair, stood up and walked around his desk to the door connecting their offices. Not bothering to knock, he opened the door and two heads shot up to look at him. Molly frowned at him but Ross Barnes managed to flash him a smile. Mack replied to his greeting and walked to stand behind Molly, resting his shoulder against the wall.

He didn’t speak but kept his eyes on Barnes, knowing that silence was an excellent way to demand an explanation. And while he waited, he reviewed what he knew about Ross. In his midthirties, he was Moonlight Ridge’s catering and events manager and had years of experience in the field.

Since he’d heard his voice at least three times on separate occasions this morning, Mack had to wonder why, after years in the same position, he needed to speak to Molly so often.

He had many, many managers and he left them to get with their jobs and only interacted with them on a need-to-know basis.

“I was running some ideas by Molly for a fiftieth wedding anniversary party we are hosting in two weeks,” Ross explained.

Mack’s frown deepened. He’d seen the booking; it was a simple brunch for twenty people. Surely, someone with Ross’s experience could handle that without Molly’s input?

“You found it necessary to disturb Molly three times to discuss a minor event?” Mack asked, sounding skeptical.

“Uh—”

Molly turned around and nailed him with a hard look. “The mayor of Asheville will be attending. It might be a small brunch to you but it could lead to bigger functions.”

No, the more likely explanation was that Moonlight Ridge’s managers were, subtly and sneakily, delegating their work to Molly, using her loyalty and love of Jameson and the hotel to lighten their own loads.

Well, screw that. That stopped right now.

“I’ve been working next door and, by my account, Molly has had ten visitors in the last hour. She has her own work to do and every interruption adds ten or fifteen minutes to the end of her day. You all work seven-to eight-hour days. Molly works a lot longer than that. It stops right now.”

“Mack!”

Mack ignored Molly’s furious expression.

“I want a meeting with all the heads of departments this afternoon at three. I will tell them the same thing. I think it’s high time we instituted different protocols around here.”

Barnes’s mottled face reflected his anger and embarrassment. Mack didn’t give a rat’s ass; nobody was going to take advantage of Molly while he was around. And if he could reduce her stress and reduce her working hours, all the better.

“Jameson—”

Mack deepened his scowl and the rest of Barnes’s sentence died on his lips. Good to know he wasn’t losing his touch. He jerked his head toward the door and Barnes stood, rose and with a sour look at him, left Molly’s office.

Molly spun around in her seat and looked up at him with her beautiful, intense, amazing eyes. In those clear depths he saw frustration, anger, and, was he imagining this, a little relief? Because there was no way Molly would take his high-handedness lying down.

Mack folded his arms, feeling defensive. “Before you cut me off at the knees, nobody gets to take advantage of you, Mol. Not Jameson, not your family and definitely not the staff. They are paid good salaries, have the experience and should be working independently of you.”

Instead of lambasting him, as he expected, Molly just rested the back of her head on her leather chair and nodded. “I know. I should be tougher but I like being involved, I like knowing what’s going on, feeling useful and being Jameson’s eyes and ears.”

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