His Proposal, Their Forever. Melissa Mcclone

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      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 negotiated a legally binding contract on the building and its contents.

      “Not yet,” Bailey said. “I’m here to protect my property and the inn, Grady. His construction permit did not go through the historical society’s approval process.”

      She knew this how? Justin looked from Bailey to the cop, noticed the “Cole” name tag on the officer’s chest.

      “I’m Grady Cole. Bailey’s my sister. She knows more about the approval process than anybody in town except Floyd Jeffries.”

      Siblings. This was not Justin’s day. No matter. This project was not going to hell on his watch.

      The crew moved closer, cutting the distance in half from where they’d stood before. He couldn’t show any weakness or worry. Not in front of his guys.

      “No problem.” Justin removed the paperwork from his back pocket. “I have a permit.”

      “We’ll see.” Grady flipped through the forms, not once, but twice before frowning. “This permit is from Long Beach. The approvals, too.”

      “Yes, that’s where I was told to go.” Justin’s headache throbbed. Holding back sarcasm was becoming harder. How long was this going to freaking take?

      Bailey’s smile widened. If she’d been a cat, canary feathers would be hanging from the corners of her mouth.

      A knot formed in Justin’s stomach. Crap. She knew something he didn’t. “I checked the paperwork myself. We’re good.”

      “You used the Long Beach zip code, not the one for Haley’s Bay.” Grady returned the papers. “This permit isn’t valid. The town’s municipal office must be used for projects within the city limits. You’re also missing an approval stamp from the historical committee, since this property is on its registry.”

      The knot wrapped around the donut Justin had eaten for breakfast. “No problem. Floyd told me to go to Long Beach to get the permit. I’ll head over to your town hall and get that and approvals right now.”

      “I’m sorry, but it’s not that simple,” Grady said.

      Warning lights flashed. A cement roller pressed against Justin’s chest. A vise squeezed his brain.

      Bailey opened her mouth as if to speak.

      He raised his hand, cutting her off. He didn’t want Miss Know-It-All telling him why his must-succeed project was grounded. He wanted her gone; more than that, he wanted her to tell him this was a giant misunderstanding and they could work it out in the next two hours. And then smile.

      Not gonna happen. “Once I have the permits, I’ll be free to work on my property.”

      “Not exactly, Mr. McMillian.” Her gaze remained on his, unwavering. More sure of herself with every passing minute, but maybe—if he wasn’t stretching it—she was sympathetic, too. “Broughton Inn is on the Federal Register of Historic Places.”

      “I know. I also know private owners are not bound by any restrictions if they want to improve the property.”

      “Not bound by restrictions only if federal money—grants—haven’t been attached to their property.” The confidence in her words matched the determined set of her chin.

      The knot-entangled donut in his stomach turned to stone. He had spoken to the former inn owner, taken notes, confirmed each detail about what being on the historical register meant for improvements and teardowns. The ticking-clock time frame of Floyd Jeffries wanting to close the deal was looking suspect. “We were assured—”

      “Floyd lied. You got taken, Mr. McMillian.” Bailey pulled out files from her bag and handed one to Justin. “If you don’t believe me, check these papers. They’ll prove federal and state monies are attached to the Broughton Inn. Some are old, before Floyd’s time as owner.”

      Justin noticed his crew creeping closer to the porch. The men had cut the distance in half twice, no doubt curious. He didn’t blame them. This was their livelihood, too. He wouldn’t let them down or allow Bailey Cole to screw up this project any more than she had.

      He opened the folder, eager to prove her wrong. Except...

      The first page listed the inn’s grant awards. Not one, several. Federal and state funding had been provided to the inn.

      His neck stiffened, the cords of muscles tightening and coiling like electrical wire. He turned the pages, one after another. Each was a death knell to his plans for the inn, smothering his hope for success, throwing the resort company’s future ownership in doubt.

      It now made sense why Floyd gave them only forty-eight hours to make a decision about purchasing the inn. The man had been trying to pull a fast one. Not trying, succeeding. Damn.

      Talk about a crook. Paige, everyone at McMillian Resorts, had been duped. If Justin couldn’t fix this, his parents would sell the company and ride off into retirement without a second thought to their three children who had spent their lives living and working at the family’s hotels.

      Not about to give up, Justin straightened, handed back the papers. “We were not provided this information. I would appreciate copies at your earliest convenience.”

      “I’ll get those to you as soon as I can,” Bailey said.

      Grady took the file out of his sister’s hands. “I’ll have copies made. You need to get off your feet.”

      “I will.” She ground out the words as if clenching her back teeth. “I have to return the artwork first.”

      “So, what’s the approval process so we can begin our project?” Justin asked Grady.

      The officer looked at his sister. “That’s Bailey’s expertise.”

      Great. She was the last person who would offer help, but too much was at stake for Justin not to ask. “Care to enlighten me on the steps?”

      “Gladly.” She leaned against the railing, but her casual position didn’t match the sharp, predatory gleam in her eyes. “First the intended project plans must be presented to the Advisory Council on Historic Preservation.”

      Not insurmountable. Justin released a quick breath. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

      “No, but that’s only the federal portion of the process.” Bailey flexed her knee with the injured СКАЧАТЬ