Ghost of a Chance (Banshee Creek Book 2) (37 page)

Her phone buzzed, signaling that Gabe was here to pick her up. She bit her lip as she stared at the phone. Should she back out? Maybe she could tell him she was struck low with terminal gastroenteritis or something. She was trying to come up with a suitable infectious but not life-threatening disease when a banging sound came from the front of the house.
 

Prince Charming was getting impatient.

She walked down the staircase, casting a quick glance at the living room. It looked neat enough. The books on her rickety bookshelf looked somewhat organized, and the pile of papers on her small secretary desk was less chaotic than usual. She paused to straighten the Mennonite quilted throw her mom had brought her from a trip to Lancaster County. I was made of green- and tangerine-colored blocks and it almost matched the Persian rug on the floor. She paused and looked around, reassuring herself that her home looked presentable. Then, steeling herself, she opened the door.
 

Gabe was wearing jeans, a brown tweed jacket, and a frown. He was holding several shopping bags with the air of someone unused to shopping. He looked down at her feet. "You're not wearing heels," he said firmly. "You'll trip on an apple core and break your neck."

"They're not heels, they're wedges, and they're stable." She showed off the shoes, which were actually pretty cute. "The Duchess of Cambridge wears wedges to the country."
 

"I'm not dating a Duchess," Gabe said. "I'm dating a Lucille Ball clone with a depth perception disorder." He dropped a pair of bags with a Middleburg Tack Shop label into her arms. "These are for you."

Elizabeth peeked into the bags, which held a selection of expensive footwear, including dark green Hunter rain boots, moss green Le Chameau rain boots, and brown Ralph Lauren rain boots. All had sensible flat soles and practical rubber treads. The last bag didn't hold rain boots, though. She pulled out the contents and stared at a pair of cognac-colored leather riding boots. She didn't have to look at the label. These were Penelope Chilvers boots. Damn, Gabe wasn't playing fair.
 

Gabe looked around her living room while she took off her wedges. "You bought Mrs. Diageo's house?"

She pulled on the leather boots. They were soft and luscious and, frankly, irresistible. "Yes, she moved to Florida several years ago, taking the bulk of my
Cannibal Clones
royalties with her. Did you know her?"

He nodded. "She was a good tipper, always ordered a small cheese pizza with extra garlic and a side salad. Then she vacationed in Italy and her tastes changed." He smiled at the memory. "She started ordering margherita pizza with basil. My dad was horrified. He'd never heard of a pizza with no tomato sauce."

"She left me a bunch of Tuscan cookbooks when she moved out," Elizabeth said. "I gave them to Patricia."

"You should have sent them to my parents' house. Tuscan cooking sounds a lot better than my mom's
nuevo latino
craze. Zach would kill for some
cacciuco alla livornese
."
 

"Zach owns an Italian restaurant. He can make his own
cacciuco
."

Gabe snorted. "Zach will put fish stew on the pizzeria menu over my father's cold, dead body. My mom's culinary misadventures have given him a new appreciation for plain cheese pizza."
 

He looked around the house, and his darting gaze made Elizabeth nervous. He kept glancing toward her bookcase, which held not only books, but also lots of photographs, many of them from her Hollywood days. Would she have to explain the one where she hugged Cephalox, the Giant MechaSquid? Or was it self-explanatory?

"You have a lot of books," Gabe said.
 

"The architecture ones are mine. The other ones are mostly Holly's. She's a book pusher."
 

"Not a bad trait for a librarian," Gabe replied. He held up a hardcover. "Have you read this one yet?"
 

Her cheeks flushed as she recognized the distinctive gray and silver handcuff-adorned cover. How could she forget that? She'd left it out so she wouldn't forget to return it to Holly. Of course Gabe would find it. She stood quickly.

"Shouldn't we go?" she said brightly. "We wouldn't want to be late." But Gabe was leafing through the book, looking like someone who didn't much care if he was late. She reached over and grabbed the book, but he didn't let go. He held her gaze for a long, excruciatingly sexy, moment, then broke eye contact and let her have the book. She put it back on the shelf with relief.
 

She turned to leave the house, but Gabe was now looking through the shopping bags. He pulled out a mud-colored hunting jacket with hounds tooth lining. Barbour, of course.

"Put this on," he said, not looking at her. "It's cold today."
 

Elizabeth hesitated. The scene was eerily reminiscent of her childhood. She remembered her father bringing home fancy shopping bags from the Middleburg kids' boutique. The bags contained itchy smocked dresses and patent leather shoes, expensive items that were to be kept clean at all costs.
 

She pushed the memory away and shrugged into the jacket, picked up her purse, and followed him out of the house. She got a bit of a surprise when they reached the sidewalk. The Ferrari was nowhere to be seen.

"Are we taking my car?" she asked doubtfully. The orchard would be wet and muddy. She loved her car, but it didn't play well in the mud.

"No," Gabe said, looking a bit embarrassed. "We're taking this one." He pointed toward a black Range Rover parked on the other side of the street.
 

"You bought a new car? For the party?"
 

Something about the car made her nervous. It was black and sinister and expensive. And this Gabe, who could conjure luxury British automobiles out of thin air, intimidated her. Was he the same guy who'd eaten pimento cheese sandwiches with her yesterday? It was hard to picture this Gabe wiping melted cheese off his chin.

He shrugged. "I don't like driving you around in the Ferrari. It doesn't feel safe."

Elizabeth had no idea what to say to that. She heard Gabe lock her house (had he lifted the house keys from her purse?) and handed her the keys (he had!). He put his hand on the small of her back and ushered her across the street. She resisted, and Gabe turned to her with a questioning look.

"Maybe this is a bad idea," she suggested.
 

The new car, the new clothes, the party, it all made her anxiety spike.
 

Gabe's mouth curved into a slow, sexy smile. "No, kissing me in the Hagen house was a mistake." He leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to her forehead. "This is not a mistake. This is a consequence."

"That sounds ominous."

"It shouldn't be," he said as he opened the door to the SUV. "It'll be fun." He shut her door and walked toward the driver's seat. He opened the door, his movements quick and efficient, and sat down.
 

"It's a business function," she complained. "Business is not fun."

He smiled as he turned on the engine. "It is for me." He glanced at her face. "You look like you're walking to the gallows. Don't worry. My investors are nice people and they want to help the town."

"By turning it into crazy-killer-clown central?"

He chuckled. "No clowns, I promise. Salvador will kill me if I put in clowns."

"Well, I'm glad someone in your corporation has sense. I was afraid you were the brains of the operation."

That made him laugh outright. "He won't like that. Salvador likes to believe that his charm and good looks are his only contribution to the enterprise."

Elizabeth tried to smile. It didn't work. She had a bad feeling about the party and she couldn't shake it off. But really, she had a hunting jacket and new leather boots. What could possibly go wrong?
 

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-T
WO

"S
O
,
WHERE
'
S
the fava bean-eating alien princess?" Salvador scanned the meadow. "She hasn't bit a guest yet, has she?"

Salvador's little dig couldn't dim Gabe's good mood. Strange. Usually these events annoyed him to no end, but today he was practically chipper. The sun was shining, the cidery's meadow was green and plush, and the event planners had come up with a gorgeous, and probably insanely expensive, fall-themed décor scheme. The tents were covered with decorative greenery and containers full of lush plantings dotted the landscape. He eyed a fruit-laden apple tree and mentally calculated the cost. Yowza. Trust Salvador to come in and blow his marketing budget out of the water.

"You're getting your horror movies mixed up," he replied, smiling as he caught sight of Elizabeth. She was chatting with the owners of a German brewery, looking relaxed. She tucked her long blonde hair behind her ear and leaned in, charming her listeners. These social functions were a tedious bore to him, but Elizabeth seemed to enjoy them. "She's doing quite well. The Germans are smiling and I don't think I've ever seen them do that."

Salvador followed his gaze, eyes narrowed. "The expression does not suit them. They look like grimacing walruses."

"It's a good sign, though," he replied.
 

His business partner was in a real mood today and Gabe wondered why. The Brazilian usually loved parties, and this particular one was going very well. People were milling around, eating and drinking, and he could hear Elizabeth laughing at something her companions said. Her merriment was another positive development. He hoped this party would convince Elizabeth that Haunted Orchard was committed to the town and its residents.
 

Salvador brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his tailored sports jacket. "Indubitably. Keeping investors happy is a key skill nowadays. You should ask her to give you lessons."

He smiled. Taking lessons from Elizabeth was a very pleasant prospect. "Why? Am I in trouble with the investors?"

Salvador gave an exaggerated sigh. "You're always in trouble with the investors. I spend ninety-nine percent of my time running interference for you."

"I don't appreciate you enough."
 

His companion did not seem to recognize the sarcastic edge to his tone. "Damn right you don't. This past week has been a nightmare, and it's all thanks to your extraterrestrial paramour."

Ah, Salvador and his flair for drama. "It wasn't that bad."

That earned him a black stare. "Really? How would you know? You didn't have to field dozens of hysterical calls from investors worried about whether their cidery project would make any money. The food and beverage index crashed and everyone was already nervous. The wild rumors coming out of Banshee Creek did not help." He snorted.
 
"Hell, the Japanese suggested we branch out into applesauce."

His investors wanted him to sell baby food? No way. "That was an overdue market correction. It doesn't affect our plans."

"From your mouth to God's ears," Salvador replied testily. "Or, more accurately, to our investor's ears."

Elizabeth disengaged herself from the German group with a laugh and headed for the bar, long blonde hair swinging in the breeze. He longed to join her, but Teutonic investors were heading his way, and Salvador would kill him if he avoided them.

"Our income projections are self-explanatory," he said. "The project is exceeding expectations."

"Nothing is self-explanatory, my friend. I know you love your spreadsheets and graphs, but not everyone sees what you see." Salvador gestured, taking in the spectacle before them. "That's why this party is so important. To you it may seem like useless ego stroking, but, believe me, there's nothing like seeing the project live."

"It does look pretty impressive," Gabe conceded.

The old cidery was pretty much unrecognizable now. The rickety wooden building was now a state-of-the-art pressing and brewing operation, all metal and glass. The see-through walls overlooked the well-kept orchard and meadows, providing a pastoral, idyllic view. He was glad to see that the architects left some of the old brick and a few wood walls, giving the building a rustic look. The effect was thoroughly modern, as well as efficient. Hopefully, the remains of the old structures would reassure Elizabeth and help convince her that the company valued the town's history.
 

Salvador was right, this was a lot more impressive than a bunch of spreadsheets. A tour of the facilities, a short presentation, and a whole lot of schmoozing and the investors would leave him to handle the project alone.

"Wait, are you admitting that I was right? Did hell freeze over?"

He laughed. "Don't read that much into it. I'm just saying that maybe this party wasn't such a bad idea."

"The party was, like all my ideas, brilliant. I even integrated the movie stuff into our marketing materials." He waved a greeting to the German investors, who were approaching them. "Everyone loved it."

"
Ja
." The word was accompanied by a deep chuckle. "That we did."
 

"
Auschezeichnet
, Dieter," Salvador said. "I'm glad."

Gabe quickly reviewed everything he knew about the Schwarzerbier Brewery, which was one of his most aggressive, and annoying, clients. It was large, it was family owned and its European operations were floundering. Their Haunted Orchard investment was one of their first attempts to diversify their holdings and, like all new investors, they were skittish and needy.

But they had money, lots and lots of money.

The German smiled, or at least, Gabe though he did. It was hard to tell under the voluminous mustache, and turned to his female companion. "I didn't realize the cidery had such a colorful, and marketable history, Cordy."

"It does," the elegant blonde-haired woman at his side concurred in an elegant American accent. She was expensively turned out and Gabe struggled to recall who she was. She wasn't Dieter's wife, that much he knew. Was she a girlfriend? Part of the investment consortium? Damn, this was the kind of thing he hated about these functions. He was horrible at keeping track of names. This woman seemed important too.