A Suite Deal (Suite Love Series Book 1) Page 10

  The all-too-familiar cold weight of guilt filled his gut as he recalled the unadulterated respect shining from Lily's eyes when he'd told her of his childhood promise to Emma.

  "Book me a car please, Callie," he said through gritted teeth, "I'll call Emma from the plane"

  Ethan's stride devoured the dim hallways of Weatherall's London office. A quick glance to his wristwatch confirmed his punctuality.

  Nothing annoyed Roland Weatherall more than a tardy arrival. Even when it was his own son.

  At the end of the hall the polished oak door of the conference room stood ajar, and he heard his father's booming voice mixing it up with the restrained rumblings of his British counterparts.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Burton," Ethan said, extending his hand.

  "Father," he acknowledged his parent with a discreet nod.

  "Ethan, right on time," the elder Weatherall noted pleasantly without actually meeting his son's eyes. "Just add your signature to the bottom of pages two through seven and we're in business."

  A trio of his father's blue-suited yes-men stepped back to reveal the much-anticipated contract.

  "Of course" He accepted the pen and bent to the task. Good flight, thanks. Emma? She's doing great.

  On the plane he'd downloaded the document and needed only to skim the heavy manila pages placed sequentially on the table.

  "Dinner at the club, gentlemen?" Roland Weatherall inquired, raising his bushy eyebrows as he surveyed the somber group. A round of polite declines, peppered with "old boy" and "jolly good of you to ask" platitudes quickly circled the room.

  Ethan swallowed a smile. Apparently they don't want to eat with him either

  Mr. Burton hurried toward the open door, already pressing a sleek cell phone to his ear. With a dismissive wave, Roland sent his assistants scurrying to their cubicles.

  "I guess it's just you and me then," Ethan said, unable to come up with a reasonable excuse to eat Chinese take-out in his hotel room.

  "Excellent, son. Over dinner you can bring me up to speed on the Nirvana project"

  A deft handoff to the exclusive club's maitre d' parlayed into preferential seating adjacent to a massive stone fireplace. Father and son studied their menus intently, oblivious to the scrutiny of their fellow diners. The confident demeanor of the similar featured men had commandeered attention the moment they'd entered the room.

  Ethan waved off the hovering waiter and closed his menu.

  He was ready to make his announcement. "Father, clear your schedule for the twenty-seventh. That's the day I reveal the most exciting thing to happen to the hotel industry in years. Big-city ambience meets rejuvenating rural escapism," he said, borrowing the quote from his media release. "The Nirvana opens to the public."

  Heads twisted in their direction.

  His father smiled broadly and stretched his hand across the table. "The first of many, son. You've got your old man's drive, all right. Let nothing get in the way of success, and you'll make it to the finish line every time." He signaled for the waiter. "A bottle of champagne please."

  "There's more." He knew his father's admiration would fade with his next sentence and for a second he debated the wisdom of continuing on. "I'm relocating the helipad site to the local airport."

  On the flight over, he'd opened his laptop and checked his land acquisition notes. He'd brought up his proposed alternative to buying Osprey Islandthe golf course concept utilizing the land just behind the hotel. A few bumps to work out, but definitely doable.

  "Too late, Ethan. You know that. Plus, I stand firm in my opinion that affluent travelers like to see all the bells and whistles-privileges, if you will-that accumulate with wealth. Like helicopters bringing them to their retreat. Trust me on this, I know what works. I've been at it a lot longer than you," he said dismissively.

  Ethan ignored the comments and forged on, "The scrub land just back from the Nirvana is owned by the Greensly family too, but they can't access it by road. A right-of-way to the hotel is possible. Legal's working on replacing the island offer as we speak"

  Color rushed from his father's collar to his forehead and he settled his menu on the damask cloth with a foreboding calmness.

  "Continue. I'm intrigued."

  "Your idea of the helipad out front would have worked fifteen, even ten years ago-maybe. But things have changed. People care about the environment and quality of life now. If our clientele are coming all the way out to Loon Lake for a holiday, then the last thing they expect hear and see when they look out their window is a smelly, noisy helicopter." Ethan leaned across the dinner table and looked directly into his father's steely gaze. He spoke slowly and deliberately. "I am the demographic, so trust me on this. We want to escape our crazy lifestyles with a slower, quieter pace for a few days or weeks. Golf is clean, green, and relaxing. That's it. I'm not backing down."

  His father's left eyebrow lifted.

  The two men held eye contact as the waiter popped the cork and filled their glasses with foaming champagne.

  When the senior Weatherall lifted his gaze, pride rather than defiance shone in his eyes. "Two questions, son"

  "Shoot"

  "Does the change of location affect the bottom line?"

  "I estimate we will come in approximately nine percent under original budget" Roland Weatherall raised two fingers to his forehead in a subtle salute.

  "And just exactly what happened to you out there in no-man's-land? All this stuff about escaping the rat race"

  Was it that obvious? "I've met someone."

  Ethan scrutinized his father's face. Decades of fourteen-hour days had etched a network of lines and creases into his skin. Empire-building was a tough business. Anyone who knew R.W. understood work came first.

  No wonder mother left; no woman could compete with a mistress like that. An iota of sympathy for his mother nudged into years of banked resentment.

  "You're not talking about that fired-up environmentalist the Toronto paper caught you schmoozing with?"

  "Yes, I am," Ethan snapped, annoyed the newspaper's take on his relationship with Lily had stayed in his father's mind. "I'm surprised you of all people would fall for that media garbage. Lily Greensly is passionate, smart, determined..

  "And let me guess, a gorgeous young woman" A barely concealed smirk crossed his father's face.

  Ethan's hands tightened into fists under the overhanging tablecloth, and he fought the urge to dump the fully loaded table into his father's lap.

  "Yes, she's beautiful," he said, measuring his words and lowering his tone in deference to the posh restaurant. "But you're dead wrong. I've dated beautiful women before, you know that, everyone knows that. Lily Greensly is different. "She's . . " The words that would do Lily justice eluded him and he settled on, "Real."

  "You're serious about this one?

  "I love Lily." With the words out of his mouth, he suddenly felt invincible.

  A flash of raw emotion lit his father's dark eyes, and then was gone just as quickly.

  "Does she feel the same?"

  "I sure hope so" He recalled their picnic on the island and the way Lily had returned his kisses.

  Roland Weatherall's eyebrows shot up as he reached for his champagne. "I see" He carefully replaced the drained flute on the table. "And what happens to Emma if this little scenario plays out to the happy ending you no doubt envision?"

  Ethan swallowed hard. I don't need this. He stood and shoved back his chair. He wouldn't sink so low as to answer the offensive question or comment on his father's sudden concern for Emma. "I've lost my appetite. I'm leaving. It's been a long day"

  He tossed his napkin to the table and spun to leave.

  "Wait."

  His feet mired in the plush carpet. He wanted to keep going but something odd in the older man's tone stopped him.

  His back was to his father when he heard the words. "I loved Abby ... the way you love Lily."

  What? Had he heard right? Thirty-two years and it was the first time
his father had said his mother's given name.

  "Please. Sit down" The color had seeped from his father's face, leaving it drawn, older. "I know you wouldn't desert Emma. It was just a stupid gamble to get you to rethink your relationship with this girl."

  Why does he care who I date, Ethan wondered. "I don't need to rethink anything."

  "I thought Abby and I would be together forever. But life comes along and changes things."

  "Doesn't mean that will happen to me."

  "Just hear me out son," the older man demanded quietly. "We had nothing in common, nothing to keep us together when things got rough"

  Nothing but two kids. Bile climbed into his throat. He turned to go.

  "She was miserable in my world, and I was too stubborn to change. She gave up her art for me. It turned out to be too big of a sacrifice."

  Why is he telling me this? "Lily and I could make it work. Commute. Make use of the darned helicopter over at the airstrip. She wouldn't need to give up anything."

  The image of Callie waving his summons to England the second he'd stepped foot in his office this morning cut into his thoughts. And Emma's crestfallen expression when he'd canceled their dinner date again.

  There was no such thing as a routine day in his world. The staff might be able to handle the inhouse stuff. But running a business was like steering a ship; they ran aground when nobody was at the helm.

  His father was still talking, as if now that he'd opened his Pandora's box, he was determined to empty it.

  "Abby said she couldn't paint anymore. Had nothing left to give to me or you kids. All artsyfartsy talk. I paid no attention. I figured she'd find something else to occupy her time eventually." He paused. "And then she was gone."

  A cold lump rose in Ethan's throat as he faced his demons. What if Lily grew to resent him and the endless, frivolous society events that were an integral part of his lifestyle? Events that would pull her away from her work and the lake? Would Lily become disillusioned, ache for the peace of Greensly Bay?

  What if love wasn't enough to make a relationship work? It wasn't enough for his mother or father and they had been married with two children.

  He dropped back into his seat and reluctantly forced his gaze to meet his father's.

  The corporate magnate sat slumped in his chair, twisting the thin stem of his champagne glass between his fingers. His expression held regret, sadness.

  "I'm sorry I messed things up for you and Emma, son," he said hoarsely, "but men like us can't change-not for anybody."

  Ethan looked away and stared unseeingly into the crowded restaurant. This time, for once, he believed his father meant every word.

  A maple log crackled in the fireplace as the flames licked hungrily at its edges. R.W. spread his hands on the table and pushed himself upright. He extracted a sleek wallet from his breast pocket and dropped a hundred-dollar bill on the table before raising his head to speak.

  The pain revealed in his father's eyes was undeniable, too tough to look at bald-faced. Ethan turned his head again and the beginnings of forgiveness crept in.

  "Marrying Abby," his father said, each word laden with self-loathing, "was a selfish mistake. I hurt the best thing that ever happened to me."

  "That's it. A bit more on the right one, I think," Delaney said, peering over Lily's shoulder and into the bedroom mirror. She nodded her head proudly. "You look like a movie star. Who knew!"

  Lily giggled good-naturedly at the jab and leaned in to smooth on another layer of green eyeshadow, taking care to blend it with the darker shade of eyeliner.

  For years Delaney had begged her to wear makeup. Said if she had Lily's gorgeous eyes she'd make the most of them.

  "Perfect," her friend declared. "Now just wait until you see the total effect. Add the dress and The Friends of Loon Lake won't even recognize their fearless leader."

  Delaney reached into her friend's closet and produced the swishy aquamarine halter dress they had simultaneously shrieked and grabbed for when they'd spied it wedged into the sale rack in Tay Valley's trendiest clothing store. Delaney stroked the folds of the delicate fabric. "The piece de resistance."

  Just for tonight Lily intended to be happy, pushing her regrets about selling Osprey Island to the back of her mind.

  Anyway, happiness doesn't come from lakes or trees-it comes from the heart, she reminded herself. A tingle raced up her spine. She glanced at her bedside clock and sighed. Two whole hours until Ethan-time.

  "So, when is Ethan supposed to pick you up?"

  "Well, he knows the dance starts at eight, so I presume around seven thirty."

  "You presume?" Delaney's eyebrows shot up.

  "Before he left he told me his schedule was crazy. He's a real hands-on kind of CEO, you know. A detail man, I guess you'd call it. He'd have called if anything had changed" She quickly squashed a wave of insecurity before it could erode her newfound happiness. "He'll make it back in time," she added as she tightened the mascara cap.

  Delaney draped the dress across the bed's handblocked quilt and hugged her friend. "I'm so happy for you," she whispered into Lily's hair.

  "I know you are."

  Delaney stepped back and smiled at her protegee. "I'm taking off. Gotta get ready for the dance too. See you there," she trilled as she headed for the back stairs.

  Lily plopped onto her bed and stared up at the oak beams.

  Selling my island was the right thing to do. It'd been hard, the last couple of days, keeping the secret from her father. But she knew he would have tried to talk her out of selling to the Weatherall chain. Pretend again that he was okay with moving to Buttermilk Falls.

  The sudden burr of the phone jolted her back to reality. Seconds later her mother's voice reached the second floor, "Lily, telephone."

  Ethan! Still prone, she reached for her bedside extension. "I've got it," she informed her mother and listened for the click. "Hello?"

  "Lily, hi." A female voice she recognized, but couldn't immediately place, spoke pleasantly in her ear. "It's Callie. Look, Ethan just called from England."

  "England?" He can't be in England. The dance starts at eight.

  "He sends his regrets but there's no way he'll make it home in time for the dance. He's swamped with work."

  Callie chattered on about all the extra work and inconvenience of faxing over his correspondence and rescheduling appointments.

  "Callie?"

  "Yes, Lily?"

  She strove for nonchalance. "When is he coming back?"

  The line hummed for a second and she heard Callie shuffling through papers. "He didn't say. I can ask and get back to you"

  "No, no, that's all right. I'm sure I'll hear from him soon" The lump in her stomach grew heavier as she fumbled to return the receiver to its cradle.

  For a millisecond she hated Ethan's assistant. Callie's lighthearted delivery of the news was like a slap in the face. In a few pithy sentences Callie had destroyed what had been, up until now, one of the most exciting days of her life.

  Lily rolled into the bank of pillows flanking the far side of the bed and ran the message over again in her head.

  Had Ethan ever mentioned a trip to England? She reviewed their recent conversations. He did say something once about his father living in Lon don. It's probably got something to do with his father, she decided and flopped to her back.

  Should I call him? A tiny voice in her head warned her off: he hadn't called her, after all.

  Hadn't Callie said something about faxing over his reports and correspondence?

  Her pulse quickened. Then he'd probably read his mail ... from her too? Opened the thick package from the Hideaway, marked Private.

  Her hands moved to cover her ears as if muffling the throbbing beat of her heart would make the ugly facts go away.

  No. I'm being ridiculous, she told herself sternly, drawing air deeply into her lungs.

  She fought for composure and pulled herself upright to confront her rising fear. Slowly and deliberat
ely, she began to tick off a litany of days leading to this moment.

  Ethan had booked her, under somewhat false pretenses, to take him fishing. He'd wowed her with a fancy suite in his Toronto hotel and had offered to buy Osprey Island. She'd refused. Then he'd shown up unexpectedly at a Friends of Loon Lake meeting and provided fund-raising advice. Next, he wooed her with a moonlight ride in his limo, followed by a cozy breakfast. He'd won her heart over with confidences about Emma.

  Her hands balled into fists and pressed into her newly made up eyelids and against the threatening tears.

  He'd kissed her like she'd never been kissed before. Made her fall in love.

  Mascara-blackened tears spilled over and soaked the pillowcase clutched in her fingers as a final domino, the last in a line of indisputable facts, tipped over: She had signed the offer and he'd bolted across the ocean and from her life, the deed to Osprey Island firmly grasped in his hand.

  "Ethan, what's wrong? Your face is sad."

  He dragged his thoughts from the files piled on the coffee table and redirected them toward his sister sitting cross-legged in front of the television.

  "I'm fine, Emma. Jet-lagged, I guess" The thirty-six-hour roundtrip to England had done nothing to improve his black mood. "Not ready to dive into this stuff" He poked the stack with his foot and slumped into the soft leather couch.

  If he was honest, his thoughts weren't really on work. He'd tried. But when he'd read the file on tanning rooms all he could think about was Lily's face, freckled from the sun. And when he looked over a voice-mail proposal he remembered how Lily usually sounded out of breath when she picked up the Hideaway's phone, as if she had just dashed in from the docks.

  What was she thinking now? he wondered. He pictured Lily, her expression changing from anticipation to disappointment as Callie's words would have hit home. She would have realized then it was over between them.

  He shook his head. I had no choice. Lily deserves so much more.

  In the long run a clean break was best, he assured himself. Painful, but she would move on more quickly that way. Meet some other guy.