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  Denny nodded.

  Justin rearranged his silverware, his mind spinning to form a strategy.

  Tara could see that he knew what was happening. He could upset Muffy and Denny and lose the deal in a matter of minutes. She watched him carefully, knowing he’d have to keep Muffy’s attention on the resort, and at the same time, appeal to Denny’s practical side, to tap back into the big money man he’d dealt with when his wife wasn’t present.

  Justin leaned forward and made his move. “I agree ma’am, a retreat should be just that, a place to get away from the stress of the city. The resorts I build are designed with every modern convenience and luxury.” He angled himself more toward Muffy, gesturing with his hands. “My goal is to achieve a spa setting, where the second you enter, your breathing slows, and the stress of the trip melts away.” His voice dissolved dramatically into the room.

  Tara recognized a sales pitch when she heard one, and this one probably appealed to high-dollar clients. From the look of things, Muffy visualized something as she gazed at Justin, but it wasn’t necessarily a spa.

  Denny agreed with a nod. “I was damn impressed when I saw the place you built for Reggie outside of Philly. It was as sleek as could be. Very impressive.”

  Desperate to turn the conversation back her way, Tara spoke up. “DC is all about impressions, for sure! That is what makes it so stressful to me.” She glanced back and forth between Denny and Muffy, offering a hopeful smile. “I think most people relax when the setting is softer. My vintage design reflects the comforts of a lost time, the warmth and slower pace of life in the country.”

  Muffy touched the hair near her ear, giving the impression of being deep in thought. “I certainly get tired of the pretense. That’s why I love the country so.” Her gaze slid languidly to Justin. “Some people understand a woman’s needs, the pretty little details a lady requires to rest and unwind.”

  Tara and Justin glanced at each other, both withholding a snort of disgust at the woman’s appalling flirting and right in front of her husband. This meeting was going nowhere fast, and they both knew it.

  Tara’s head swam. At this point she wasn’t sure which Muffy wanted more, Justin, or the shabby chic design.

  Justin regrouped and tried again, this time aiming at Denny. “Of course, security, technology, and comfort are a top priority for a retreat. Most of your guests will not want to lose any connectivity with the city while they are away. High-speed wireless Internet, huge televisions, 400 cable channels, tablets available with both Dish television and Internet access available in every setting, and cable sports packages. I’ve planned for couples’ massage spa, as well as facials and manicures – full- service spa amenities. All rooms will have built-in wall safes and remote controls for everything in the room-- temperature control, room service, the television, the sound system, even the ceiling fans and drapes.”

  Denny’s eyes lit up imagining how impressed his clients would be with such a resort.

  Muffy sighed noisily as she clinked her teaspoon in her cup and leaned back in her chair. The back of her hand touched her chin, then her cheek.

  Denny was immediately irritated with her. “What is it now, dear?”

  Tara noticed that none of the older woman’s distress smudged her perfect makeup.

  Muffy turned toward her husband and smiled feebly. “Nothing, dear, you know how tedious I find business talk. It’s more than my poor little brain can manage.” She cast her eyes downward to her lap, creating a defeated appearance.

  A scowl darkened Denny’s face. “He has a point, Muffy.”

  Justin’s mouth dropped open and he snapped it closed. Tara glanced at him apologetically – for all womankind.

  Muffy watched both Tara and Justin from the corner of her eye as she turned and smiled at Denny, who settled back into his chair, a puff of breath escaping his pursed lips.

  Silence settled over the table, and Tara observed Denny as he tipped his chair back on two legs and sipped his Perrier. Dealing with his wife undoubtedly drained him.

  Muffy leaned forward, stirring her tea noisily. Firmly back in control of the conversation, she continued. “What are some of your plans for the resort, Tara?”

  Shifting in her seat, Tara cleared her throat. “Well – as I said, I believe a rustic feel would relax your guests. The minute they climb from their cars, all pretense will melt away. An almost childish feeling of freedom will permeate the resort, allowing your clients and friends to leave the hassle of the city far behind. Nothing is more relaxing than a hearty, home-cooked meal surrounded by friends, followed by fireflies, homemade ice cream, crickets chirping, and a star- filled night.”

  Justin scoffed; his frustration with the meeting in general, and his opinion that Tara didn’t know anything about city people was obvious on his face. He leaned forward, interrupting Tara and startling the approaching waitress. “Come on, Denny,” he said, waving his hand in irritation. “Do you really expect your clients to instantly drop their cell phones and join a hoedown?” He leaned back and tossed his napkin from his lap onto the table. “Their wives and girlfriends don’t even eat real food!”

  Denny sulked and glanced between Justin and Muffy. “Well, shoot.”

  Tara frowned at Justin.

  Muffy scowled down at the table momentarily, then regrouped. She lifted her teacup almost to her lips, then set it back down. Her hand snaked to her husband’s. “Dear, you know that Reggie and his friends are terrible stuffed shirts.”

  The older man paused, then nodded. “You’re right, but most of the people we’ll invite have never experienced Grandpa’s farm, and they don’t relax.”

  Muffy tried to hide a grimace. She struggled silently for a split second to regain her composure, looking to Tara for backup. “What do you think, dear?”

  Tara was out of her element. She didn’t know or like these people. She had never catered to money, and she found she had surprisingly little inclination to start now. And she was completely unsure what Muffy wanted. Only stubborn pride pushed her to continue. “I’m certain we could find a style that would appeal to your clients. Maybe more of a cottage appeal than French country.” She was on a roll now. “And of course, I don’t intend for anyone to use an outhouse!” she added, glaring at Justin.

  The conversation lulled.

  Even through her frustration, Tara saw that Muffy clearly enjoyed the tension radiating between Justin and her. Muffy must be one of those people who fed on conflict, using it as entertainment. But Tara was shocked when she realized that Muffy probably cared far less about a decorating style than she did about the drama playing out at their table.

  Muffy squirmed in her chair to catch Denny’s attention; he loosened his tie, twirled his empty water bottle on the tablecloth, and then glanced at his watch. “I still think Justin has a valid point,” he finally said. “Our guests will expect convenience and connectivity.” His demeanor clearly showed he was tiring of the entire conflict.

  Tara and Justin could both see that what little influence Muffy had over her husband was wearing thin.

  The older woman looked as if she chose her words carefully. “You are absolutely right, darling, you always are.” Her hand stroked Denny’s jacket lapel. “I’m sure these two fine young people will build you the perfect resort.” As her sentence died off, she turned toward Justin and Tara, a smirk stretching her red lips.

  Justin and Tara glanced anxiously at each other and back to the wealthy couple. Muffy basked in their astonishment.

  Tara clearly understood that the older woman had nothing better to do than to throw herself at younger men who were under the influence of her husband, toss in another woman as competition, then watch the fireworks.

  Denny scooted back his chair with a bump. Tara and Justin both jumped and the waitress, who had been approaching the table, nearly dropped her order pad.

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Denny said, now ready to leave. “But I don’t know, they seem to be on opposite sides.�
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  Muffy waved her hand dismissively and collected her purse. Smiling widely, she gushed on, “I’m sure my daddy’s company will have the finest country resort ever, and I’m sure you will see to that.” She squeezed his arm. Her wicked gaze slid to Justin and Tara. “Let’s meet again in two weeks and see what Tara and Justin can put together, shall we?” Her painted eyebrows rose as she waited for their reply.

  Denny stood, relieved to have the conversation over, regardless of the outcome. “You’re right, of course.” He took his wife’s elbow and glanced back to Tara and Justin. “So, we’ll meet in two weeks in the city to sign contracts and see the plans?”

  Denny’s comment had been phrased as a question, but Tara and Justin knew their only option was to agree. Both nodded silently.

  “Call my man then and set it up. I’ll send the plane for you.”

  Tara and Justin pitched into standing position, immobile with shock, and shook hands across the table with the couple. Muffy threw a contented glance over her shoulder at Justin as she slithered away.

  Chapter Seven

  Tara plopped limply back into her chair. “I didn’t even open my portfolio.” She leaned her elbow on the table and dropped her forehead into her palm.

  Justin adjusted his chair and sat glumly, waving over the waitress to refill his water glass. He turned to Tara, watching her lament. “Oh, come on, neither one of us was in charge of that train wreck.”

  Tara straightened and collected her forgotten menu. Glancing at it half-heartedly, she tossed it back on the table. The waitress gave her a questioning look, but Tara only sighed. “I’ll need a minute.”

  The waitress turned to Justin. “Sorry. Give us a few minutes to regroup,” he said. She glanced at them pitifully and left.

  Silence settled over the table. Justin noticed that several other diners had entered and been seated in the back of the restaurant. The clock over the potted palm ticked loudly as the other diners clinked silverware with plates.

  Tara gazed distractedly through the glass window to the kitchen where the chef tossed a pizza crust. There was her life, suspended and spinning in mid-air.

  Justin cleared his throat and tipped his head to gaze at her. “So, I take it you didn’t see that coming from Muffy.”

  She huffed out a breath. “Uh – no.” Her upper lip curled in disdain. She turned to Justin. “I had no idea we were pawns in a bored socialite’s game. I thought she was going to take a bite out of you, right there in front of Denny.”

  “I heard she was a piece of work, but I had no idea. I do see this kind of thing too much. It doesn’t mean anything.” He gulped down his water and retrieved his menu. “Why are you so caught up in this anyway? They obviously aren’t your type and you already own half the county.”

  She bristled. “You don’t understand how it is.” She turned to glare past the other diners, out the window.

  “Then tell me how it is.” She didn’t respond, but he waited until she turned back, her eye meeting his. He wanted to understand why Tara was so odd.

  She shrugged. “The community depends on me. I—they—oh, it’s a long story. I don’t want to get into it.”

  “Okay then, I’ll start.” He leaned back in his chair. “Long ago in a land far, far away…”

  Tara interrupted him with a snort, but a tiny smile crept up one side of her mouth.

  “Oh, come on!” Justin pushed her shoulder. “Seriously. I’ve been saving for a long time to buy a house out here and start building a community. I have a lot more riding on this than you do. Lighten up!”

  “Build a community? As if there isn’t already one?”

  “You know what I mean. I’m talking about money flowing into local businesses, like your boutique.”

  The notion gave her a moment’s pause. Justin really believes he will be helping Smithville? She tossed off the idea. “Well, money isn’t everything.”

  He turned back to his menu and scoffed. “Well, it sure as hell helps when you start with nothing.”

  Tara was shaken again at the idea of Justin being a self-made man. Somehow, in her mind, he’d popped up in his shiny truck to bother her, like a fly. You never consider where they came from – you just wanted them gone.

  She pulled her hair over one shoulder and twisted it into a rope. “Are you from DC?”

  “Yes.” He waved for the waitress to return. He ordered toast and coffee and then turned to Tara. “What’ll it be?”

  She released her hair and glanced toward the discarded menu. Her eyes rose to the waitress. “Do you have yogurt? And maybe some fruit?”

  The waitress nodded and left.

  Tara watched Justin as he arranged his napkin on his lap. “There are some lovely historic places in DC.”

  He scoffed at the comment. “Well, I’m not from one of them.”

  She shrugged, more than a little confused by his closed demeanor. “So, do you still have family there, in DC I mean?”

  He looked away. “No.”

  She got the distinct impression he wasn’t willing to talk about his family life or his hometown.

  He caught a drop of condensation as it ran down his water glass, all the while watching her from the corner of his eye. “Back to the resort. Why is it such a big deal to you?”

  She went still and contemplated her hands. “I can’t— you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  She shook out her napkin and spread it across her lap. “It’s just that— I don’t want to— I’m not like other people.”

  Justin watched her smooth the napkin across her legs, pushing at the wrinkles over and over. “You seem like other people to me.” He waited for her to look up.

  When she did, she grimaced. “Really?”

  He pushed back into his chair and laughed. “Well, no.” He saw a moment of pain in her eyes, so he leaned forward and placed his hand palm up on the table near her. “But I’d like to understand you. We’re business partners now.”

  She stared at his hand for a long second, massaged her temple, and massaged her forehead. “I don’t— I don’t work with people very well.” Her voice was small, and Justin was surprised that she’d allowed her vulnerability to show.

  He pulled his hand back. “Fine then, I’ll run the project.” His try at humor to lighten the mood failed and when she appeared to be even more upset, he faltered. “Sorry.”

  She felt bad for stomping on his effort. “I’ll try to make this work.” She couldn’t bring herself to glance at him in case he was offended, so she stared toward the kitchen. The chef was tossing another crust. It spun toward the ceiling and landed on his fingertips, stretching wider and larger, but not breaking. Her forehead wrinkled in thought.

  He followed her gaze, then turned back to her. “Whatever your reasons are Tara, if we just talk things out, we can make this work. I have too much to lose to give up now.” Silence stretched between them. “Why don’t you show me your portfolio?”

  She turned back and searched his eyes. Truth and a willingness to communicate filled his demeanor. “I guess it can’t hurt now. I figured you’d see it today anyway.”

  The waitress brought their food, and Tara opened and adjusted her portfolio for Justin to see. He added cream and sugar to his coffee, giving her time.

  She pointed toward the first photo. “This is the community hall I built in the Billing’s barn. It’s an anniversary party.” She sat back, waiting for Justin to look over the photo.

  He turned the portfolio toward him, tilting it in the light. His finger touched the picture. “That’s a tractor.” He looked up at her. “There’s a tractor in their party.”

  “I know.”

  “But…why is there a tractor? I mean, I know it’s a barn, but I thought you made it into a community center. Why wouldn’t you take out the tractor?”

  She sighed and dipped her spoon into her yogurt.

  Justin turned the page to the next photo. “Is that a crystal chandelier? In the barn? With
the tractor?”

  She didn’t answer, apparently intent on her yogurt.

  He flipped to the next page and perused it quietly, turning the portfolio to the left, then to the right. “This light is made from a spiral roof vent.” He looked up at Tara, waiting for her to explain. She stirred her yogurt.

  “So, you wired a light bulb into a rusty roof vent…”

  She dropped her spoon and grabbed the portfolio. “Give me that! And just shut up, okay?”

  He jumped at her response. “Tara, I’m not trying to be mean, I really don’t get it!”

  She was too busy shoving her portfolio back into her bag to answer him.

  “Look, let me show you my ideas, okay?” He waited for her to meet his eye.

  Finally, she shrugged. “Whatever.”

  He placed his portfolio on the table and opened it to a photo showing a stark room with dark shining floors and sleek modern furniture. It looked like every other room in every other resort. She glanced at it, then returned to eating her yogurt. “Nice.”

  His lips tightened into a frown. He flipped to the next page, then turned it back toward her. “This is the site plan, miniaturized of course.”

  She paused and lowered her spoon. Her mouth fell open as she picked up the portfolio for a closer look. Her eyes met his and heat simmered behind her lashes. “You plan to demolish all the buildings? Every single one?” her question hung in the air, sounding far more like an accusation.

  “Well, yeah.”

  Her eyes shot hot sparks.

  “Hey, they’re too small, and too old. It would take far more time and money to remodel them than to tear them down and start from scratch.”

  She dropped his portfolio on the table with a thump and pinched the bridge of her nose. Finally, she looked up. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?”

  “Never mind.” She reached for her bag and dug through it for money for the tab.