few other pieces of vital information I would need for our lunch meeting, I locked up and followed Christian to the elevator.
On my way, I poked my head in a few offices and took food and drink orders. Our secretaries and accountants worked hard. Every now and then, I had to throw them a bone so they would keep asking how high whenever I told them to jump.
“Why do you do that?” Christian asked when I caught up. He crossed his arms, glaring as we waited for the elevator.
I adjusted my tie in the reflection of the closed doors. “Do what? Offer to buy these hardworking people food?”
“That’s not what you’re doing and you know it.”
Smirking, I smoothed a hand down my suit jacket and stood at an angle, admiring my reflection. “You wound me. What am I doing then?”
“Flaunting your money.”
The elevator arrived with a ding, and I laughed, shoving Christian inside. “I’m being nice. There’s no flaunting.”
“Lachlan Montgomery is never nice. He’s an asshole, and everyone knows it. We’re going to Horatio’s. Not a single person in this office can afford to eat there except you, me, and Dad, yet you’ve offered to buy lunch for at least six people.”
“That’s called being generous.”
“That’s being a dick and rubbing your money in people’s faces.”
“You and I have different definitions of being a dick.”
Christian threw his hands up and glared at the numbers above the door as they ticked down to the first floor. “Never mind. You’re impossible. I give up.”
“Do you want me to buy your lunch too?”
“You’re an ass. I’ll buy my own lunch.”
I stared at my brother’s reflection. He felt the heat of my attention, and before we reached the ground level, he cracked a smile.
He swung his arm and slapped me in the gut. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
We both laughed, and whatever walls of tension Dad had erected between us dissolved. We may have been different in a lot of ways, but Christian was still the only guy in the world I trusted. Friends never lasted. Lovers came and went. But he would always be my brother even when Dad worked hard to pit us against one another.
We took my BMW to the restaurant, and I placed the takeout orders once we were seated so it would be ready for us when we finished.
We spent the first half of our meal chatting about the Bertrand deal and the second debating Dad’s new plans in Jasper.
“You can be as sweet as pie, but the locals won’t be happy when they find out why you’re there.”
“Then they’re idiots. Do you know what this will do to their economy?”
“Doesn’t matter. You aren’t looking at the whole picture. They have lodges. They have a ski resort. And despite Dad’s claim, they aren’t as dated as he wants to believe. Their main attraction is the Jasper Lodge. It has fine dining restaurants, a spa, outdoor and indoor pools, and plenty of activities. They cater events and maintain a golf course in the summertime. They have partnered with the resort already, and they will not appreciate the competition. They have pre-established connections with the town and community.”
“And ours will be better.”
Christian barely contained an eye roll as he focused on his meal. “You aren’t listening. You’re narrowminded like him. That town is packed with all kinds of high-end lodging. People don’t need more. The mountainside condos I can get on board with. Take the land and triple the number of condominiums. That’s where your money is. That’s what I’d do. If the guy will sell.”
“He’ll sell. Do you doubt me?”
“God forbid.”
We shared a laugh and ate for a few minutes in silence.
“I’m just saying, be careful going in there hot. This is a small town. Even if they triple their population during tourist season, they still have a small-town mentality. They will not take kindly to an outsider who wants to turn things upside down.”
“Noted. I’ll be fine. You worry about your stuff, I’ll worry about mine.”
The following morning, I woke at the crack of dawn, packed a few belongings, and hit the closest coffee bar. With my standard venti—skim milk, Sweet’N Low, and with a double shot of espresso—I hit the AB-16 for my four-hour drive to Jasper.
I’d spent the previous night reviewing the details my father had gathered on Mr. Erwin Campbell, stable and riding school owner. The guy was seventy years old. Two years ago, he’d had a riding accident that had left him with a bad hip.