Oh. Yeah. Now Courtney understood. Allison was another one of Matt’s victims. Courtney didn’t like Allison much, but she felt a certain solidarity with her. She covered the bride-to-be’s restless fingers with her hand and gave a squeeze. “I understand.”
Allison pulled her hand away. “How could you understand?”
Courtney didn’t know what to make of Allison’s surprised tone. Maybe she just didn’t want to revisit the past, which was understandable mere weeks before her wedding.
“Believe me, I do understand. And you don’t have to worry about him anymore. I’ve got a plan for him.”
“What? What kind of plan?” Allison seemed truly agitated.
“It’s still evolving at the moment. But trust me, when I’m done with him he won’t know what hit him.”
Later that day, Courtney and her assistant, Amy, strolled into Willow’s office on Eagle Hill Manor’s third floor, where once a bevy of servants had lived, back when the house had been home to a wealthy family. The servants’ quarters were spartan, so the office space was small and cramped. But Willow’s office had a gorgeous antique desk, which her husband had given her as a gift on their wedding day. The desk gave Willow’s office a certain kind of formality that was lacking in the space Amy and Courtney shared.
“What’s up?” Courtney asked as she settled into one of the small side chairs. “If this is about Allison Chapman and the nasty things she said about Antonin’s canapés, I can explain.”
Willow chuckled and tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “I heard all about it from Antonin, but I’m not worried. Allison is the worst bridezilla we’ve had in quite some time. And I know how emotional Antonin can get about his canapés.”
“Okay. Glad to hear that Antonin’s pride has not been mortally wounded.”
Willow folded her hands in front of her, and for an instant, she looked the tiniest bit uncomfortable. This was strange because Willow never showed any weakness. She tended to square her shoulders and sit up straight in her chair when she was negotiating. And the woman had a take-no-crap attitude about a lot of things.
Something was up. Courtney’s pulse went into overdrive. She’d be upset if Eagle Hill Manor closed, or if Willow sold it or something like that. She had no reason to believe anything was amiss with operations, but Courtney didn’t know much about finances, except that even healthy-looking businesses could have balance-sheet issues.
Courtney leaned forward in her chair, bracing her elbows on the arms. “Okay, spit it out. We’re about to get fired, right?”
Amy squirmed in her chair, and Willow cocked her head. A slow smile spread across her face. “Courtney, you are such a drama queen sometimes.”
“Okay, so what’s up?”
“How would you like to become the chief operating officer of Eagle Hill Manor?”
“What?” Courtney’s mouth fell open.
“I need to back off a little bit,” Willow said. “And you know more about this business than anyone else. I could hire someone from the outside, or I could promote from within. So, what do you say?”
Willow turned toward Amy. “If Courtney takes the job, that means you become the director of special events.”
“What? No.” Amy shook her head. “Um…Ah…Willow, I’m flattered, but I was about to come talk to you about resigning.” Amy rolled her dark eyes in Courtney’s direction, and Courtney’s pulse redlined. What the hell was happening?
“You want to resign?” Willow’s eyebrows arched.
“Um. Okay, I wasn’t going to tell you this until I told Dad, so you’re officially sworn to secrecy. But the thing is…I’m pregnant. And between Eagle Hill Manor and Dusty’s new ecotourism business, it’s like I’m working two jobs. I love working here, but Dusty needs me. Shenandoah River Guides will be opening in September. I’m only planning to work through August.”
“Oh my God. Really? I’m pregnant too. When are you due? I’m due on November seventh.”
“No. Really? I’m due October twenty-ninth.”
“They’ll be cousins. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Amy and Willow jumped up and proceeded to happy dance around the small office while a toxic dose of envy spilled through Courtney’s blood stream. When would it be her turn? All these years fending off Mr. Wrong while she waited for Mr. Right had left her with a biological clock ticking away like a time bomb.
She ought to be thrilled with this promotion, even if it meant she had to find another assistant. She ought to be thrilled for Willow, knowing that at thirty-six her biological clock was ticking too.
But instead, a hollow place opened in the middle of her chest and a lump formed in her throat that she had to swallow down.
Maybe it was time to give up on the idea of Mr. Right. Maybe it was time to embrace spinsterhood and get a cat.
Dogwood Estates, a forty-unit walk-up apartment development five miles south of Shenandoah Falls, didn’t have a single dogwood tree. In fact, its landscaping was nonexistent except for weeds edging the blacktop parking lot and the squat junipers that blocked the first-floor apartment windows. The redbrick building exemplified the worst of boxy, mid-century architecture, and now the signs of neglect were everywhere.
The dirty white shutters, rusting balcony railings, and unkempt trash Dumpster explained why the Dogwood Estates Tenants Association had been paying rent into a legal escrow account for the last two months.
“Leslie Heath’s apartment is down here,” Arwen said as she got out of Matt’s Acura. The two of them had given up an evening in order to meet with their client about their dispute with Scott Anderson, the deadbeat who owned Dogwood Estates.
Arwen had briefed Matt on the tenants’ grievances. The complex’s roof had been leaking for months, setting off a mold issue for many of the tenants living on the third floor. The trash area was not secure and had drawn raccoons and
