His Proposal, Their Forever. Melissa McClone

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СКАЧАТЬ way would he let this woman manipulate him. Time to send overwrought clown lady on her way. He handed her his business card.

      “Talk to Floyd. Call my office for his contact information.” Justin’s voice sounded distant, unemotional, as intended. “You need to leave now so we can get back to work.”

      She grabbed the porch rail, gave him a this-isn’t-over look, then sat. “I’m not going anywhere.”

      Of course not.

      Justin should have known she wouldn’t make this easy, but a one-person sit-in? “We have a schedule to keep. It’s time for you to go.”

      “You can rephrase your request over and over again, but my answer will be the same. I’m not letting you touch the inn, let alone destroy the second-oldest building in Haley’s Bay.”

      Attitude poured from the woman as easy as milk from a carton. Too bad hers was sour. “I’ve called the police.”

      Neither her gaze nor her facial expression wavered. If he wasn’t on the receiving end of her stare, he might have been impressed by her backbone.

      “Good.” That attitude of hers wasn’t letting up. “Because you’re stealing.”

      Justin laughed. The woman had nerve. He had to give her that. “I have a contract.”

      “So do I. You may have bought the inn, but not the rest.”

      “Okay, I’ll bite.”

      “The artwork doesn’t belong to Floyd or the inn. He sold the pieces on consignment for local artists like me.”

      “The inn’s contents belong to us per the deal—”

      “The artists had contracts. Nontransferrable contracts.”

      She talked faster as if her nerves were getting to her, and her words were making him wonder what the hell was going on here.

      “I see the Oregon plates on your equipment. I hope whatever truck you were loading earlier isn’t headed across the bridge toward Astoria.” She leveled him with a stare. “Given the value of the artwork, the theft qualifies as a class-B felony. But I’m sure the police can place blame where it’s due and make the necessary arrests.”

      The woman could be telling the truth or she might be delusional. Could this be nothing more than a ruse to stop the demolition? “Floyd never mentioned the art didn’t belong to the inn.”

      “Due diligence, Mr....?”

      “Justin McMillian.” Her vocabulary told him she knew something about business. Her know-it-all manner annoyed him like the sound of nails on concrete, but her point made his hope sink. Had Paige cut corners in a rush to get the deal closed? Their parents had put so much pressure on them it was...possible. He held out his arm to shake hands. “McMillian Resorts. And you are?”

      The woman pursed her lips, making her look haughty and naughty, a dangerous combination. This one was trouble.

      After leaving him hanging a moment too long, she shook his hand. “Bailey Cole.”

      Warm, rough skin. Not unexpected, given that she worked with chemicals. Up close, she was kind of pretty with her pink cheeks and full lips. She might look halfway decent cleaned up.

      Bailey removed the bag from her shoulder. “I’m happy to provide copies of the contracts to prove rightful ownership of the art. I have the information right here.”

      Paperwork? Crap. So much for her being delusional. The foundation mess in Seaside wasn’t looking so bad now. At least they’d finally completed that project and had a viable hotel in a desirable market. But if what she said was true, he and his sisters were in trouble. His parents would never let them run the company. Hell, his mom and dad would probably refuse to pay bail.

      Time to regroup. Get Greg back with the truck. Call Paige to find out if this Cole woman’s story checked out. Justin glanced around but didn’t see any of the crew. He texted Wyatt.

      “I’ll call the artists to pick up—”

      Justin cut Bailey off. “The artwork will be back shortly.”

      Her jaw jutted forward, hard as granite. “You do know that transporting stolen property across state lines carries additional charges.”

      She might be an artist and the poster child for What Not to Wear, but this woman was no delicate flower swaying in the wind. She was a tree, solid and unmoving, firmly rooted in the earth, a sequoia. A good thing they had chain saws in the truck.

      “The artwork is in Washington.” He hoped.

      Sirens sounded. Blue and red lights flashed.

      Good. The police would get her off the property—no chain saws needed—and his team could get back on schedule.

      A young, tall uniformed officer got out of his police car and straightened his hat. He took long, purposeful strides toward them.

      Justin smiled at the guy who would save his day.

      The officer stopped on the walkway in front of the porch. His attention, including a narrowed gaze, focused solely on Bailey Cole. The woman must be a known troublemaker in town to receive such scrutiny from a cop.

      “What the hell are you doing, Bailey? And what’s wrong with your foot?”

      Justin noticed her knee was bent so her foot didn’t touch the porch. No wonder she’d wanted him to go after the dog.

      “You’re not here to give me a hard time.” She stood. A grimace flashed across her face. “I’m not the one who called you. This guy did, even though he stole the artwork from the inn.”

      The officer looked at Justin. “Is this true?”

      Justin’s smile hardened at the edges. He should’ve known she’d try to pin this on him, but he needed to keep his voice respectful. “My company, McMillian Resorts, bought the inn from Floyd Jeffries. The contents of the inn were included in the property’s purchase. She’s trespassing.”

      “What part of consignment don’t you understand?” Bailey’s hands returned to her hips, elbows pointed out. “The artists retain ownership and Floyd only received a commission if a piece sold. The artwork wasn’t his, so it couldn’t be included in the sale. Thus, it’s been stolen.”

      The pursed lips returned, distracting Justin from her accusation. He needed to focus. She hadn’t called him a thief exactly, but she was walking the line. She was still on his property. Her violation was clear. They needed to move this along.

      He glanced at the officer whose face looked skeptical. Strange, but the guy had similar coloring to Bailey. Dark hair and green eyes.

      On the lawn, Justin’s crew gathered within listening distance. No sign of the dog. The donut or sandwich must have worked. Progress. Time for more.

      “We can discuss the return of the art—if necessary—once she’s escorted off my property.” Justin might not know the whole story behind the gallery, but he trusted his sister to have СКАЧАТЬ