Page 8 of Middle Ground

“I’d say sorry that I disappointed you by not having a dick, but I’m actually not sorry about that at all.”

I clear my throat. “I apologize. The name threw me off. I?—”

“Have a habit of making assumptions,” she finishes. “You’re not the first big shot to underestimate me, and you won’t be the last. It’s your stupid mistake to make.”

“Okay. First impression, total shit on my part,” I admit. “Any chance we can start over?”

She cocks her head, assessing me. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Why you think you have a meeting with me. And what this supposed meeting is about.”

My brows furrow. “I’m here to talk about the future of the inn.”

“Well, I don’t really see how that’s any of your business.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, “I feel like there’s some kind of knowledge disconnect here. So I’m just going to go ahead and lay everything out on the table.”

Her nod is condescending. “That would be a good idea.”

“My grandmother was Cherie Cheval. For God knows what reason, she owned half of this inn. Now that she has passed, her shares have been left to me.”

Meyer blinks. “Is that supposed to be funny? Because your standup routine needs some work.”

I shake my head. “I’m not trying to be funny.”

She crosses her arms. “I have never emailed with you. I’ve never even heard of you before.”

I pull out my phone and open my thread with Meyer. Or, apparently, whoever was pretending to be Meyer. “Here,” I say, nudging the device across the table. “Believe me now?”

Her eyes rove over the words. After a moment, I hear her curse under her breath. “That was not me.”

Taking my phone back, I tuck it into my pocket. “Well, you’ve obviously got a cyber security issue on your hands, but the fact still remains. As stated in the terms of Cherie’s will, I own half of this place.”

She shakes her head. “This inn belongs to my mother, and soon it will belong to me.Youare not part of the equation. As much as I loved her, neither was Cherie.”

“Maybe you should have a talk with your mother, then, because it seems she’s fed you false information."

Meyer glares. “I think I’m inclined to believe my own mother over somestranger.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Look, Meyer?—”

“Ms. Ellison.” Those bright blue eyes I was admiring earlier are frosty now. “It’s Ms. Ellison, Mr. Vaughan.”

“Ms. Ellison,” I amend, “if it was up to me, my grandmother would’ve had no part in your business. But the reality is that shedid. And nowIdo.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll do you the courtesy of waiting until after you leave to have a good laugh at your expense." She fakes a grimace. “I bet it’ll bereallyembarrassing when you find out you’re wrong.”

I smirk. “I believe that’s what they call projection.”

She huffs as she stands from her chair. “If you're not going to order food, get out of my restaurant, Vaughan!” she calls over her shoulder. “We need the table forpayingcustomers, not stingy rich guys who take advantage of free water.”

I raise my glass in mock toast. “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Ellison. I’m looking forward to tomorrow!”

CHAPTER 4

JACKSON