chauvinistic—advice. But she was where she was, and until she clawed her way up to where she wanted to be, she’d be sticking to the serious route. Since she had no intention of sharing the reasons for her attitude with him or anyone else, she forced a polite smile. “Thank you.”
“Ouch,” he replied with a chuckle. “That’s a mind-your-own-business brush-off if ever I heard one. Anything you wanna tell me?”
Not in this lifetime, she wanted to shoot back. Of course, a Southern lady never spoke to anyone that way, so she settled for “No.”
He gave her a long, dubious look before standing. “Then we should head out to meet Fred. He’ll get you back on the road in no time.”
“So nice to see you, dear.” Olivia stood and embraced Chelsea again. “Be sure to come by for a visit next time you’re in town.”
“And bring more barbecue,” Will added eagerly.
That wasn’t likely to happen, but Chelsea forced a smile and managed to say her goodbyes without a hitch in her voice. As she and Paul walked through the kitchen, she hated to think of how disappointed his grandparents would be when the bank got a good look at the figures on Paul’s loan application and turned him down flat.
Outside, she took in the view of a neighborhood that hadn’t changed much since her childhood. Sturdy homes, old but well cared for, lined the street like sentinels from another time. Standing by the truck, she inhaled the scent of gardens overflowing with gardenias and roses, with the exotic aroma of jasmine mixed in for effect. “Mmm...that smells good.”
Paul sniffed quickly and shrugged. “I guess so. I’m here all the time, so I guess I don’t notice it anymore.”
“I don’t remember this part of town being so pretty. It’s really nice.”
Closing her door, he balanced his hands on the window frame and gave her a long, slow smile. “Yeah, it is.”
For a few moments, they gazed at each other through the open window, almost as if they’d never met before. In a way, she realized, that was true. The brash football captain and the shy bookworm they’d once been existed in the past, and the people who’d replaced them were all but strangers.
Could they become more than that? a tiny voice in her head wondered.
She pushed the thought firmly back into the depths of her brain, where it belonged. Getting to the top of her profession was her only goal right now, and she couldn’t afford any distractions, no matter how handsome they might be.
Paul’s pensive look gave way to the nonchalant one he’d been wearing most of the day. On their way out into the country, they drove beneath enormous trees that had withstood the devastating war that had left so much of Virginia stripped and in ruins. Both sides had done their share of damage, and men had returned to a barren wasteland begging for redemption.
With the need for lumber so high, Gideon Barrett and his two surviving brothers sank their meager fortunes into constructing a mill to turn the area’s plentiful trees into raw material for new houses, stores, even railroad ties.
In its way, the mill had saved the ravaged town from fading into oblivion. It seemed fitting, somehow, that the residents were fighting to save the landmark business that had given rise to the village they called home. Beyond that, she knew helping the Barretts was the right thing to do.
Tossing aside her pledge to remain cautiously neutral, she said, “Okay, I’m on board. It won’t be easy, but I’ll figure out a way to get you the money you need for your furniture business. You have my word on it.”
Sliding her an incredulous look, he asked, “Did I miss something? What happened to the numbers not adding up and all?”
“They still don’t, and I have a hunch they never will. It would be a unique operation, and there’s nothing in the area to compare it to.”
“Which means we can’t prove it’s a profitable idea.”
He’d all but admitted this wasn’t his area of expertise, but she had to give him credit—he caught on fast. “Exactly.”
“You’re the logical type,” he pressed, obviously still confused. “Formulas and algorithms, they’re your thing. What changed your mind?”
Sighing, she met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’m doing it for Will.”
“So’m I.” Paul’s grim expression brightened into the crooked grin she remembered from high school. “Looks like we’ve finally got something in common. If Molly finds out, she’ll never let us hear the end of it.”
After resisting his many charms all morning, Chelsea eased up on her well-honed discipline and gave him a genuine smile. “I won’t tell her if you don’t.”
“Deal.”
Chelsea spent several hours framing Paul’s proposal in as positive a light as she could manage without actually inventing facts. To avoid creating the impression that she was somehow personally invested in the project, she called it Barrett’s Mill Restoration and played up the potential she’d observed during her tour. Five minutes before her presentation, she was still tinkering with the conclusion, choosing her words carefully to ensure they’d leave a lasting impression on her very pragmatic audience.
“A one-of-a-kind enterprise like this will fill a small but lucrative niche in the furniture market,” she stated with confidence, clicking through slides of projections alternated with the most flattering photos from the property. “Barrett’s Mill Furniture isn’t a new venture, but rather the relaunch of an old, well-established business rooted in the Blue Ridge area. The product line will meet the desire of modern customers to feel connected to the nostalgia of days gone by. Backing this unique project would not only benefit Shenandoah Bank and Trust in the profit column, but gain us a valuable reputation as a firm that recognizes potential and invests in the future of our customers.”
When she was finished, Chelsea set down the projector remote and took her seat midway down the polished conference table. Hoping to appear calm, she folded her hands in front of her upright tablet and waited.
Twelve pairs of eyes blinked at each other, roaming around the gathering but studiously avoiding her. Then, almost in unison, they all turned to the man seated in the place of honor at the head of the table. Her father was wearing a thoughtful expression, but from a lifetime of experience, she knew that didn’t mean a thing. As a child, she’d quickly learned it was the normal, relaxed position of a handsome face that disguised a shrewd mind and gave away nothing.
As the silence stretched beyond thirty seconds, Theo Barnes let out a low chuckle. “Not all at once, now. We need to keep this civilized.”
Nervous laughter flitted around the posh conference room, trailing off when he turned his dark eyes on her. At work, she wasn’t his daughter, simply another bright employee charging her way up the corporate ladder, and he treated her accordingly. “You think this is a sound idea?”
Direct and precise, she reminded herself. He responded best to confident answers, even when he disagreed. “Yes, I do.”
“And the numbers?”
“Bear me out, as you can see.”
To prove her point, she pulled up the projection that showed Paul’s business breaking even in two years and turning a profit within three. They were shaded toward the optimistic end of the spectrum, but having witnessed how committed he was to making the mill work, she had no doubt he’d find a way to honor his obligation to the bank. Nodding, her father swiveled his gaze around the committee, silently asking for their input.
“Chelsea, I have to say, I’m very impressed,” said Alex Gordon, a good-looking colleague who dressed like a younger version of her father. Seated to his right in the heir-apparent chair that should have