The Inn at Eagle Point Read Free Page B

"True
enough," he admitted. "How about this? We give it six months. If you
still hate it, you can take off again with my blessing. That's fair, isn't
it?"

As a respected and in-demand artist working freelance for several of New York's
top ad agencies, Trace had the flexibility to do as his father asked. He could
even keep up with a few accounts to keep himself from going totally stir-crazy
in Chesapeake Shores. If it would buy him his freedom permanently, surely he
could survive six months in a suit. He owed his father that much respect. And
in the long run that short-term display of loyalty would be wiser than causing
a family rift.

Moreover, he could spend the time trying to convince his sister to forget about
her stupid pride and being second choice. She'd wanted this job since she'd
learned to count. She ought to grab it, rather than wasting her talent by
keeping the books for a few local businesses. Unfortunately she'd inherited
their father's stubbornness. It would probably take Trace every single day of
the allotted six months to make peace between the two of them.

"Okay, six months," Trace agreed. "Not one day longer."

His father beamed at him. "We'll see. You might discover you have an
aptitude for banking, after all."

"Or you'll realize I'm incompetent when it comes to math."

"I have your college test scores and grades that say otherwise." He
stood up and held out his hand. "Welcome aboard, son."

Trace shook his hand, then studied his father intently. There was a glint in
his eyes that suggested there was more to the negotiations than Trace had
realized. "What are you up to?" he asked warily.

"Up to?" Lawrence Riley had a lousy poker face. Half of his pals at
the country club would testify to that. For the past thirty years, they'd lined
their pockets with his losses.

"Don't even try to play innocent, Dad. You're up to something, and it has
nothing to do with me becoming your protégé around here."

"We've made a business deal, that's all," his father insisted.
"Now let me show you your office. It's fairly Spartan now, but if you
decide to stick around you can decorate it however you want. Meantime, I'll
have Raymond go through some loan folders with you. We have a meeting of the
loan committee first thing Tuesday morning. You'll need to have your
recommendations ready then."

Trace held up a hand. "Hold on a second. I don't know enough to make
recommendations on whether loan applications should be approved."

"Raymond will show you the ropes. He's been my right hand for years. And
they're not all loan applications. There's a possible foreclosure in there,
too."

Trace's stomach knotted. "You want me to decide whether or not someone's
home should be taken away and put up for auction?"

"It's a business, not a home. And you won't be deciding on your own, of
course. The board will have the final say, but we'd likely act on your
recommendation."

"No way," Trace said. Who was he to rip someone's dreams to shreds?
Businesses in Chesapeake Shores were small, family-owned operations. It would
be like taking the food right off someone's table, someone he knew, more than
likely. He wasn't sure he had the stomach to do that.

"You can't be softhearted, son. It's strictly business, a matter of
dollars and cents. You'll see once you've taken a look at the paperwork."
His father patted him on the back. "You start looking over those files and
I'll send Raymond in."

Trace scowled at his father's departing back, then turned to the stack of
folders sitting neatly in the middle of the huge mahogany desk that took up
most of the corner office. Right on top sat one with a large, ominous red
sticker pasted on the front.

He sat down in the leather chair behind the desk, his wary gaze on that folder.
Curiosity finally got the better of him, and he flipped open the file and
stared at the first page.

"Oh, hell," he murmured as he read it: Possible notice of
foreclosure—The Inn at Eagle Point. Owner: Jessica O'Brien.

He knew