“That’s a lovely detail,” she said to keep herself from gulping half the contents in one go. “The side panels.”
“Yeah, they turned out.”
“Shit, out of ammo. You got any—” Beckett sauntered in. “Oh, hey.”
“And here’s Beckett,” Justine announced. “We’re showing Hope around.”
“Yeah, hi. I think we met for about five seconds a couple years ago. Welcome to The Penthouse. I was just across the hall in what may be your apartment. So . . . Clare’s not with you?”
“I called her before I came over,” Avery said. “She had to stop by TTP, some Internet glitch.”
“Let’s show you the rest of this space before we go through the apartment.” Justine gestured. “This will be the parlor, third-floor porch access through the door at the end of the hall. The bedroom’s in the back, with the bath between.”
Hope followed her down a short hall, then goggled. “This is a huge space. I love the floating wall.”
“My son, the architect. Counter with double sinks on this side, shower there. The tub, and it’s a beauty, on the other side of the wall. We’re going for lush here, intricate tile work, some mosaic touches, crystal sconces with brushed-nickel accents. Contemporary with a touch of Old World.”
The Penthouse equaled luxury, Hope decided, with a big, ornately carved four-poster showcased in the bedroom, with fancy stools at the foot, a dainty side chair.
She had a sense they’d make the space worth the climb.
She felt steady again when they went through the apartment across the hall. The wonderful windows again. A small-scale kitchen, but Owen was right, she wouldn’t need bigger. It jogged off a living room she thought she could make both cozy and efficient. Not nearly the space she had now, even with the second bedroom, but access to the porch—and to the big, beautifully appointed inn.
It was certainly more than adequate, she mused as she wandered through. And more than twice the size of her first efficiency apartment.
Also a third-floor walk-up, she remembered.
Closet space wouldn’t be a problem. She’d just use the second bedroom for that as she’d have the office downstairs. If she wanted to have a guest, she could . . .
And when had she decided she wanted this job, wanted this place?
“It’s a good, practical space, and again well laid out.”
“If we come to terms, you can pick out any colors you like for the walls.” Justine smiled at her. “We can go out and see Westley and Buttercup, our other suite. It’s got its own outside entrance.”
“I’d love to see it.”
She loved it all, but she knew better than to leap into something without refining the details, negotiating terms, thinking it through.
This would be a major change—in geography, in lifestyle, in career. She couldn’t make a decision like this without giving it a great deal of thought.
“It’s going to be amazing.” She stood in The Lobby again, taking one last look around. “Every room is special, or will be. And the building has such character, such a good feel to it.”
“Could you love it?” Justine asked.
On a half laugh, Hope shook her head. “I think I already do.”
“Do you want the job?”
“Mom, we really have to—”
Justine simply waved Owen aside.
“We should both . . . Yes.” Saying it felt terrifying, and absolutely right. “I really do.”
“You’re hired.”
Avery let out a whoop, grabbed a shell-shocked Hope, and danced in a circle. Then she grabbed Justine and did the same. When she started for Owen, he threw up his hands.
“That’s a girl thing.”
So she punched him in the arm.
“I’m so happy. I’m so excited. Hope!” She grabbed Hope again, bounced.
“I—Mrs. Montgomery, are you sure?”
“Justine. We’re in this together now. I’m sure. Owen and his brothers will catch up. Now, why don’t you and I meet for lunch over at Vesta, say, about twelve thirty? We’ll have some wine and talk some more.”
“Yes, of course.”
Clare tapped on the door, pushed it open. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here. I got hung up. If one thing didn’t go screwy this morning, three other things did. Did you already go through?”
“Every room,” Avery said, grinning like a maniac.
“Oh well.”
“I’ll take you through what you haven’t already seen if you like.” Justine set a hand on Hope’s shoulder. “But first, say hello to our innkeeper.”
“You—Really? Really? Oh, Hope!”
Hope told herself she felt giddy because Clare was squeezing the air right out of her. And not because she’d just made one of the biggest decisions of her life more on the basis of emotion and