Page 6 of Between the Lines

Luca saw the exact moment Wishart recognized him because he came to a stumbling halt, catching himself on the open car door. Luca smiled as the guy looked away, muttering something to the driver. She glanced over her shoulder at Luca, eyes widening, while Wishart reached into the car to retrieve a messenger bag. When he stood up again, he appeared more collected and crunched over the gravel to the porch. The driver stayed with the car, but Luca felt her gaze on him and wondered what Wishart had said.

Jude crossed to the top of the porch steps. “Mr. Wishart?”

“Yes.” He climbed the stairs with an odd, deliberate focus and offered his hand to shake. “Mrs. Brennan?”

“Call me Jude.” They shook hands. “This is my husband, Don, and this—” she indicated Luca “—is my son, Luca Moretti.”

As before, Wishart’s eyes didn’t even come close to meeting Luca’s. “Uh, yes. Hello.”

“Again,” Luca said, holding out his hand. After a brief hesitation, Wishart took it, his fingers slender but his grip very strong. Too strong. Was he making a dumbass point? Luca squeezed back, even harder, and had the satisfaction of seeing the other man wince.

“Again?” Don interrupted. “Luca, I didn’t know you’d been in touch with Lux Properties.”

“Relax,” Luca said, dropping Wishart’s hand, feeling like he’d scored a point. “This is the guy I, uh, ran into in town.”

Don’s face went a satisfying shade of cerise and his mom’s eyebrows rose. Wishart seemed to be studying something behind her head, but there was a delicate blush along his fine cheekbones that Luca wished he hadn’t noticed.

“I see.” Jude glanced between them. “Well. Shall we go inside, Mr. Wishart? It’s a little warm to talk out here.”

“Of course,” he said. “And, please, call me Theo.”

Slick bastard. Way too put together for Luca’s taste, with his glossy hair and smart blazer, snooty British accent and dark, averted gaze. Gay, too. Luca could feel the zing of mutual awareness push-pull between them, no doubt equally unwelcome on both sides.

Setting that aside, he followed the others into the empty dining room where Jude had laid out tea, coffee, and homemade ginger cookies. All of which Wishart ignored in favor of setting up his laptop. “Fantastic,” Luca said, snagging a cookie, “death by PowerPoint.”

Wishart stilled. “I do have a number of slides Jude and Don should see.” His gaze hovered shy of Luca’s, his stiff expression difficult to read. “But ifyou’drather not see them, Mr. Moretti...?”

“Oh no.” He smiled broadly. “I’m good.”

Jude tutted. “For heaven’s sake, Luca, sit down. You promised you’d listen.”

Wishart’s attention returned to his laptop, but Luca could see his ears twitching. Interested in any conflict, no doubt, and looking for divisions to exploit. Luca sat down and clamped his jaw shut: he wasn’t giving Wishart anything.

Thirty long minutes later the presentation was drawing to a close and Luca wasn’t bothering to hide his yawns. Not that Wishart didn’t have his sales pitch polished, it was the most polished pile of bullshit Luca had ever heard. But it was still bullshit. Jude’s expression tightened the longer Wishart banged on about their branding strategy, new business models, and market positioning. When he revealed an architectural sketch of the characterless new hotel, Luca knew he’d won and was all but crowing by the time Wishart concluded the whole shebang with: “And we’ll leverage the Callaghan bump to build New Milton’s brand as an aspirational vacation destination, resulting in an economic uplift for the whole area.”

“Well.” Don perched on the edge of his seat, practically salivating. “It all sounds very... What do you think, Jude? It all sounds very impressive to me.”

“Sounds like bull to me,” Luca said.

Wishart’s eyes flashed in irritation. “I can assure you it’s accurate.”

“Oh, c’mon, it’s speculation. First—” He held up a hand to stop the guy from interrupting. “You said the resort would have a private beach, but this beach isn’t private. Second, the crap about the ‘Callaghan bump’ only shows how much youdon’tknow about New Milton. Finn Callaghan doesn’t even live here and his fans are teenage girls. They aren’t going to be staying at your fancy golf resort. Third, what makes the Majestic special is that it’s timeless. It doesn’t need all the BS you’re selling. Right, Mom?” He looked to Jude for confirmation. “People don’t want Wi-Fi and a private beach. They don’t want spa days and conference facilities. They don’t come to the Majestic for any of that crap.”

“They don’t come to the Majestic at all,” Wishart observed. “Which is rather the point.”

Silence swelled in the wake of that incontrovertible truth. Jude pressed her lips tight, Don frowned, and Luca kicked himself for giving the guy an opening.

After a pause, Wishart carried on. “With regard to the private beach, I can assure you that the Majestic’s boundary extends to the foreshore. It’s already a private beach.”

“It’snot. Mom—”

“No, he’s right, honey. Back in the thirties they operated it as a private beach, but it’s been open to the public for decades. I can’t say I’m keen on keeping our neighbors off our section of the beach, Mr. Wishart.”

“Theo,” he corrected mildly. “And I’m sure an exemption could be agreed for local people—especially in the off-season.”

“The off-season,” Luca scoffed. “Right. When there’s no one in town anyway.”

“Once the new resort opens, Mr. Moretti, there’ll be reason to visit New Milton all year. That’s why the whole town will benefit from the development.”

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