Page 25 of Middle Ground
From the crowd, Pippa’s eyes find mine. She mouths,Everything okay?
I offer her a small nod. I had my momentof weakness, of breaking down, but now I’m here to do what I have to do. And that is surviving the next six months.
“Alright,” I say, and the group of employees grows quiet. “I have an announcement to make. I’m sure most of you have probably already heard, but I wanted to do this anyway.”
I take a deep breath as I let my gaze settle over my employees. Some of them are newer, but a lot of them, I grew up following around as they worked. They were loyal to my mother, and I hope they’ll remain loyal to me.
“I’d like to formally introduce you all to Jackson Vaughan, my…business partner,” I continue. “His grandmother, Cherie Cheval, was a silent partner when my mother ran Dog Days. Jackson has inherited her half of the business, and I have taken over my mother’s.”
My spine stiffens when I hear someone mutter under their breath, “And now we’re all doomed.”
Doomed.
I struggle to find words. I can feel Jackson looking at me, wondering why I stopped, but I can’t speak. He quickly takes a step forward, addressing the group in that smooth voice of his.
And I try to be present, to smile at the right moments, but all the while I keep wondering when my cake is going to deflate.
CHAPTER 10
JACKSON
Aftersigningthe papers and informing the staff of our official status as business partners, Meyer and I have fallen into something of a routine.
Since going home to pack enough clothes for my extended stay in Fraisier Creek and then arriving back in town, I’ve done little but gain my bearings. The first day, I moved into my room at the inn—the same one Meyer came to that night, banging on my door in her drunken passion. Then I took to acquainting myself with the rest of the building and the grounds.
The first couple days, every time I saw her, Meyer’s shoulders would crowd her ears. She tensed whenever we were in the vicinity of one another, like she thought I might do something to force a fight or flight reaction out of her.
When I didn’t do anything to overtly offend her, she almost got more suspicious. For the next few days, I could feel her eyes trailing me everywhere I went.
After that, she finally relaxed. I’m not sure what shethought I was doing, but whatever it was, she seemed happy I was steering clear of her and all inn business.
But that stops today.
Observation is my specialty, and while Meyer has been worried about my inaction where she’s concerned, I’ve been doing reconnaissance. Meyer has made me her enemy, and everyone knows you don’t walk into the territory of your foe without first making a plan.
The office door—the one I’d just shut when I heard Meyer making the first of her typical hourly rounds—bangs into the wall. Just as I predicted it would. TheDo Not Disturbsign I hastily put together earlier is crumpled in her fist.
“What the hell are you doing?”
There’s a spark of rage in her blue eyes, and seeing it pleases me. Is it messed up that I find joy in annoying the shit out of her? Yeah, probably. Is it even more messed up that I find the angry flush on her face incredibly attractive? Definitely.
“Ellison,” I say, tipping back in the wonky desk chair. It’s definitely going on my list of things that will need to be replaced. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”
“Itwas,” she says through gritted teeth. She holds a to-go cup from the same café I was patron to a few hours ago, and she brandishes it like a sword, ready to cut me down. “I repeat. What the hell are you doing inmyoffice?”
Trying to ignore the bags under my eyes from my restless night. That, and the tightness in my chest. The band of anxiety that held me captive as I tried to sleep. When all else fails, I turn to work.
So after a fitful night, I rose at five and got ready for the day. I drove to the café on Main and was this morning’s first customer. I was so early, I had to wait for the coffee machines to wake up. Not that I should be having much caffeine, especially with how I’m feeling, but I’d need to inject it intravenously if I wanted to be able to function properly.
By six o’clock, I had my ass in this lumpy chair, poring over paperwork. Whatever I could get my hands on, really—financial reports, supply orders, employee files. My hunger for data was insatiable. Looking at me then, you would think I was right back at my office in Toronto. Like I hadn’t even left, prioritizing work over my health.
I guess some things really don’t change.
“Hate to break it to you, but allthis,” I say, twirling a finger in the air, “belongs to me as much as it belongs to you.”
Catching Meyer’s glare with my own eyes is pointless when I canfeelit singeing my skin. Especially when her gaze rakes down my body. She takes in my suit jacket draped over the back of the chair, the sleeves of my shirt rolled to my forearms, the loosened knot of my tie. I look like a man who’s had a long day—not a man whose day is only just beginning.
Her eyes snap back to mine. “You look like shit.”
