“Everyone has a price,” he replied, and in his experience, that was true. Anything could be attained if someone had enough hundred-dollar bills in the bank. Even life could be bought. Something squeezed in his chest and his throat constricted.
Not now. He forced himself to think more pleasant thoughts. To imagine the luxurious five-star resort that could replace this chaotic mishmash of a building. Tourists would flock here because of the view out over the beach, the forest behind the property, and the dozens of winding trails that ran through the trees. They’d come for the picture-perfect scenery and balmy summers. Then, when they came, his boss would be raking in the cash, and he’d wonder what on earth he’d do without Sterling.
Kat Hopa watched him, her eyes softening with sympathy. “I’m sorry you believe that.”
He scoffed. He didn’t want or need her pity. “Explain to me why you won’t consider selling. You’ve done a reasonable job of renovating parts of this place, but from what I can discover, it’s taken a long time and you have a lot left to do. Allowing my employer to start from scratch would be a sensible business decision.”
Her cheeks paled. “By ‘start from scratch’, I assume you mean flatten Sanctuary and build a soulless tourist trap in its place?”
He ignored her provocative language. “If you sell, you can start fresh somewhere else.”
“Forget it. I’m. Not. Selling.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head, her curtain of black hair swaying across her body. “I like the history of Sanctuary. I like putting it back together with my own hands. You seem to think you know everything about me, Sterling. Did you know I was in a wheelchair when I moved here? That every piece of Sanctuary I fix feels like putting a piece of myself back together?”
“No, I didn’t.” For once, he wished he had a better grasp of what made people tick. Unfortunately, human psychology had never been a strength of his, which was why he preferred to oversee projects from the safety of his office. He couldn’t fathom her attachment to this place, and discussing it made him uncomfortably aware of his own emotional shortcomings. But he had to persist. Eli had given him this job as a test run, and Sterling needed to prove his boss’s faith wasn’t misplaced. To do that, he had to convince Kat to sell.
Kat didn’t know how anyone could think to bowl over her beautiful Sanctuary and replace it with a corporate money-generator. Sure, the west wing needed repairs, but everything else was in great shape, largely because of the work she’d put in.
She studied Sterling Knight, who had a determined set to his jaw. “Look, I painted those skirting boards myself when I was still in a wheelchair.” She’d cried tears for Teddy as she worked. “It took weeks to recover enough to use a roller to paint the walls, but I managed. See the carpet? I cut it myself.” She didn’t know why she was explaining this to him. Why would he care that just inside the garden door were a few flecks of paint on the carpet where she’d messed up as she was tidying things away. To him, this was an old building like any other. To Kat, who knew its every quirk and imperfection, Sanctuary meant everything.
“That must have been difficult for you,” he allowed, his expression losing its hard edges, making him even more handsome, and a strange fizzing sensation began in the pit of her stomach, working its way upward. “I can see how you’d grow attached, but you’re better now. You’re capable of more.”
Her lips pursed. He didn’t get it, not at all. But the man had clearly had a bad day, and she could sympathize with that. She knew more than most people about bad days. He’d driven all the way here—not once, but twice—only to be harassed by Betty and the Bridge Club. If nothing else, he deserved a hot drink and a listening ear.
“Come to my office,” she said, adding quickly, “I don’t agree with you, and have no intention of selling, but I’ll make you a cup of tea and we can talk.”
He nodded and gestured for her to lead the way. She led him down the hall to her office.
“Go on in.” She motioned him through the door. “I’ll get those drinks.”
Before she could go, Sterling spun around to face her. “How do you find anything in here?”
Kat glanced at her desk and the pile of loose paperwork, some of which had fallen to the floor. She was struck by the overwhelming urge to grab Sterling by the arm, yank him back out of her office and slam the door so he stopped looking at her in that unnerving way he had. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t concentrate on paperwork for longer than an hour without feeling sick or getting a headache. Everyone healed from brain injuries at their own pace, and she may never be able to keep up with someone like him.
“I manage just fine,” she snapped. “I don’t need a fancy filing system. I know where everything is.” A blatant lie, but she’d rather he think her inefficient than incompetent.
Sterling’s expression didn’t change. “I’ll have a coffee, thanks.”
She nodded, and unclenched her teeth. “How do you like it?”
“Black. No sugar.”
Of course he did. Already she could tell he wasn’t the type to sweeten anything. She backed away, reluctant to leave him alone, but what damage could he do? You’re being ridiculous.
She headed to the kitchen, where she greeted Tione, the in-house cook and one of her best friends, with a smile and a kiss on his bearded cheek as she brushed past to flick the kettle on. Tione was preparing lunch for her guests, a selection of sandwiches, fruit, salad and cold meat. Kat stole a bunch of grapes and popped one into her mouth.
“Hey, I saw that,” he grumbled. “Keep your sticky fingers to yourself.”
“You saw nothing,” she replied with a grin. “Is everything going all right in here?”
The side of his mouth lifted, about as close as he came to smiling, and his brown eyes twinkled. “Except for the grape thief who keeps sneaking into my kitchen, everything is fine.”
Unabashed, she ate another grape. He rolled his eyes, and she dropped the grapes onto a saucer and fixed a mug of coffee and one of mint tea.
Back in her office, Sterling Knight was sitting on the guest chair in front of her desk, holding a wooden photo frame that had previously stood atop the bookcase. The cheerful words she’d been about to utter died on her lips, and she blinked rapidly against stinging tears.
Kat knew the photograph in his hands better than she knew her own face. It had been taken the day of the World Rally Championship in Sweden. In it, she wore a jacket with her sponsor’s logo and had just popped the cork from a bottle of champagne. She was grinning like she’d never been happier, and Teddy’s arm was around her shoulders, his face lit with the contagious verve for life he’d always had. The photo always reminded her how cruel it was that he’d always squeezed the most from life and yet she’d outlived him.
She swallowed, then shook herself, and pretended not to notice as Sterling placed the frame back on the bookshelf. Instead, she made a show of clearing space for the mugs, dragged her chair around to join him, and blew on the surface of her tea before sipping cautiously.
“I’m listening,” she said.
Sterling raised the mug to his lips, which were surprisingly sensual, with a defined Cupid’s bow, but his shoulders remained square. Her mother would say he had good posture, but Kat saw it for what it was: tension. The man was wound tight. Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t slouched or leaned or done anything to make himself comfortable since they’d met. His knees were bent at neat ninety-degree angles, his feet were on the floor, pointing forward, and his spare hand rested on the arm of the chair. When was the last time this guy relaxed?