a requisition for room deodorizers and sent a memo to housekeeping that guest rooms were to be so clean that fragrance wasn’t necessary. Excellent. Trudy knew his position on the issue. Apparently, the housekeeping supervisor was pleased with the replacement linens. The prior lot must have been defective, though they’d come from a leading company for luxury hotel linens.
Zack started on the invoices, only to grit his teeth when he saw the third one. Of course. Jamie Conroe must have chortled when she topped her paperwork with Little Blue Fruit Stand Enterprises.
Resigned, Zack added his authorization for payment. Maybe the Mar Vista restaurants would furnish enough income that she’d abandon her trailer. It had to be easier to manage supplies for one customer than to spend a full day vending vegetables to dozens of different people.
The lunch hour passed before he was finished. He got out his keys and squared his shoulders. No more procrastinating; he had to tackle his chief headache.
On the way, he drank the cup of stale coffee sitting in the SUV. Caffeine might help him cope with the woman.
The blue trailer wasn’t quite as vivid as his memory had made it, or else the shock value had diminished.
Jamie was half reclining in a green chair, legs extended in long, languid lines. She seemed to be asleep. Her dark hair fluttered in the breeze and her creamy complexion was highlighted by the eyelashes resting on her cheeks. Today she wore jeans and a T-shirt that revealed the curves he’d glimpsed at her house.
No cosmetics.
No jewelry or accessories.
No special attempt to look attractive or appealing.
Yet something in the scene tugged at Zack’s gut. It didn’t make sense. Jamie was the opposite of the women who inhabited his world. True, he’d been living like a monk, too buried in work for socializing, but still....
“Are you going to buy strawberries, or keep examining me for weak points?” she said suddenly, startling him.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“The sound of tires on gravel is a decent alarm system.” Jamie raised her eyebrows. “If you’re here to complain some more, go ahead and give it your best shot.”
“I...I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have called the sheriff. And you were correct—this is your land. The surveyors’ report came this morning.”
“Wow. That must have hurt.” She rose from the low-slung chair in a graceful twist.
Zack grimaced. She couldn’t know how much it hurt, or how hard it was to follow Kim’s advice to be nice. “As I said, I’m very sorry. I was under the impression your grandfather sold me everything, including this beachfront acre.”
Her blue eyes grew stormy. “Are you saying he cheated you?”
“I’m only...” Zack stopped. It was galling; even if George Jenkins had cheated, it meant he was the chump. Zack couldn’t afford that kind of reputation in corporate circles. “No, not at all, but I would like to acquire this section. Name a price.”
“It isn’t for sale.”
“Are you planning to build?” he asked.
“Heavens, no. Granddad would haunt me.”
That was reassuring. All he had to worry about was a summer fruit stand—except summer was his busiest season. In the next few months the resort was solidly booked with reservations from high-profile guests, as well as old friends and clientele who knew him as a manager in other locations. Most were coming because of their acquaintance with him, and they’d keep coming if Mar Vista met or exceeded their expectations. And while it was possible that Jamie’s hideous trailer wouldn’t sabotage the resort, it wouldn’t be good for it, either.
“I’ll pay you a fair amount,” he said. “Extremely fair.”
“It isn’t a question of price.” Her gaze was clear and seemed free of guile. Yet it made no sense that she didn’t care how much she could get. A woman who eked out a living peddling fruits and vegetables had to be short on money.
“If you aren’t going to develop the site, why not take the cash?”
“To be sure no one else builds on it. It isn’t you personally. No one gets this land. It’s Conroe soil and it stays in the family.”
The scent of strawberries wafted into Zack’s consciousness. His stomach grumbled, a reminder that he’d skipped both breakfast and lunch. Jamie grinned at the noise and held a bowl of fruit in his direction. “Have some. My treat.”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s a free sample of what your restaurant is serving for dessert tonight,” she said. “You do know that we’re in business together, don’t you?”
“I saw the invoice.”
Her lips twitched. “Did you fire your chef for crossing enemy lines?”
“No. Gordon is in charge of his kitchen. I’m lucky to have him.”
Jamie jiggled her bowl to tempt him, and the glistening red berries made his mouth water. It was also a reminder that if he’d eaten something instead of gulping numerous cups of coffee, he might be doing a better job of handling this situation.
“So, top chefs do rule their territory,” she mused.
“That’s one way of putting it.” Zack thought of Gordon’s contract. It gave him broader authority than anyone else employed at Mar Vista, even Rick Lopez. The competition was fierce for a chef with Gordon Chen’s standing. Zack probably couldn’t have gotten him if he and his wife hadn’t wanted to raise their children in a rural setting like Warrington, California.
“Poor Mr. Denning. There’s a fiefdom in his kingdom that he can’t command.” Jamie ate a berry with unabashed pleasure, then licked a bead of ruby juice from her finger.
Zack hung on to his resolve and concentrated.
“Come on,” she urged. “Declare defeat and eat a few.”
“I don’t need anything.” His voice came out stiffer than he’d intended. “I want to discuss...”
His words were interrupted by the crunch of truck wheels on gravel. The pickup parked and the passengers ambled across to look at the spinach. Another car pulled in behind them.
“Excuse me,” Jamie said. “You comprehend the importance of customers, don’t you? People who buy what you want to sell. Catch my drift?”
Yeah, he got it. She refused to part with her land. But surely there was something he could offer...perhaps pay for renovations to make her produce stand more acceptable, though moving her was his top choice. His guests would still see the signs as they approached the resort, but he could have new ones painted that were rustic and charming, rather than garish.
“Loganberries?” queried one of the newcomers as she lifted a basket and sniffed. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“They’re yummy,” Jamie told her. “Kind of a cross between a raspberry and a boysenberry. Delicious in jam, pies, whatever.”
“We’re staying at the state park,” the woman said, wrinkling her nose. “No camper. Roughing it, or I’d bake a pie.”
Jamie smiled, a wide, unaffected smile that transformed her ordinarily pretty face into something truly striking. “That reminds me of the summer my mom made jam using a camp stove. She swore she’d never do it again. Tell you what—if you have a covered pot, you can make berries and dumplings.”
“Really?” the woman said, plainly intrigued. “We have sugar and I brought biscuit mix for pancakes.”
“That’s all you need. Cook it the same as you’d cook chicken and dumplings, only sweetened, and drop the dough into the simmering berries.”