Merry with a Tycoon (The Love Beach Holiday Collection)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

CRYSTAL

Sunlight streams through the curtains, warming my face, a reminder that reality awaits the moment I open my eyes. But I’m not quite ready to wake up.

For once, my dreams can’t compete with the reality of last night.

As proof of that, Preston’s cologne lingers on my pillow, a heady blend of sandalwood and citrus and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s intoxicating and comforting, and I bury my nose in it, breathing him in.

I smile as memories flash like a slideshow behind my closed eyes: Preston’s fingers tracing my skin. His laughter, rich and warm. The taste of his kiss, still sweet on my lips. His tongue, his hands… his mouth.

Who knew Preston Hollister’s linguistic skills extended outside of the boardroom?

I should get out of bed and get ready for another day at the shop. But I’m not ready to open my eyes, not ready to let the real world intrude. I need just a few more moments in this perfect, Preston-scented bubble.

Stretching languidly, my hand brushes against a piece of paper on the pillow next to me. Preston’s note. I pick it up, my heart fluttering as I read it.

Crystal,

Last night was amazing. Sorry I had to run – early meeting. I’ll call you later.

Preston

Short and sweet, just like him. I hug the note to my chest, feeling like a lovesick teenager. I’m acting silly but it’s been a while since I’ve been with someone, too busy at the shop to allow myself something like this.

At the thought of said lovesick teenager (probably awkward, too), I groan and sit up.

Alright, that’s it. I need to get to work.

As I get ready for work, I find myself humming, my steps light. I deliberately avoid checking my phone, wanting to bask in this feeling a little longer. The real world can wait.

The walk to HarmonyWorks is beautiful. Has Love Beach always been this vibrant? The sky seems bluer, the air fresher. I nod and smile at passersby, my good mood infectious.

I could sing but that would only make it too obvious that I got laid, and we can’t have that. Demure, that’s me. I laugh at my silliness as I skip the last few steps toward my shop.

The bell above the door chimes as I unlock the shop door, but its cheerful sound is immediately drowned out by a chorus of angry voices behind me.

“There she is!” “What do you know about this, Crystal?” “Are you in on it?”

I turn to face a group of my fellow Seaside Square shop owners, their faces a mix of fury and betrayal. My neighbor, Mrs. Chen from the flower shop, thrusts a newspaper in my face.

It takes me a few seconds to figure out what she wants me to see. And then I see it and I freeze.

Mass evictions? A cover?

My stomach drops. “What is this?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Mr. Goldstein from the bookstore snaps. “My niece told me she saw you at the Pirate’s Cove playing mini-golf last night. Pretty cozy, you two are getting, she said. Are you the only one who gets to keep their lease when this ‘revitalization’ is done?”

“No! I... I had no idea about this,” I stammer, my mind reeling. “Preston told me the revitalization was about improving the square, not evicting anyone.”

“I’m sure he did,” sneers Mrs. Chen. “Bet he’ll spare your shop.”

I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Before she can reply, Mr. Rodriguez from the corner bakery steps forward, his face a mask of guilt and worry. “I... I think this might be my fault,” he says, his voice trembling.

All eyes turn to him. “What do you mean, Antonio?” Mrs. Chen asks, her anger momentarily replaced by confusion.

Mr. Rodriguez takes a deep breath. “Yesterday morning, I received a letter about a massive rent increase. We all did, right? I panicked and sent it to my niece Maria at the news station. But later that day, that Teddy girl from Hollister Properties hand-delivered a correction letter to all of us, saying it was a mistake.”

A ripple of recognition passes through the crowd. Preston had hand-delivered that same letter to me.

“I tried to call Maria right away to update her,” Mr. Rodriguez continues, “but I could only leave a voicemail. They must have run with the original story and ignored my update.”

For a moment, there’s silence as we all process this information. Then, Mr. Goldstein speaks up, his voice laced with skepticism.

“But how do we know this ‘correction’ is genuine? What if it’s just to let our guards down? Maybe they’re trying to buy time while they plan our evictions behind our backs.”

His words send a chill through the group. I can see doubt creeping into people’s eyes, the fear and suspicion returning.

Before I can respond, a van with a local news logo pulls up. A reporter and cameraman jump out, heading straight for us.

“Can we get a statement about the Hollister revitalization plan and these alleged mass evictions?”

“No comment,” I manage, pushing past the crowd and into my shop. I flip the sign to ‘Closed’ and lean against the door, my heart pounding.

Preston had looked so sincere when he told me about the revitalization plans. But what if Mr. Goldstein’s right? What if this revitalization plan really about kicking everyone out of Seaside Square?

But why send a correction letter?

…to buy time while they plan our evictions behind our backs.

My chest tightens as Mr. Goldstein’s words replay inside my head. How could I have allowed myself to be played like a fool? I really thought Preston was different. Worse, I thought what we had was real.

“Crystal? Are you okay?” Marika, my assistant, appears from the back room, concern etched on her face.

“I’m fine.” I straighten up, forcing a smile as I flip the Closed sign back to Open and step away from the door. “Can you handle the counter today? I need to... I need to do inventory.”

In the storage room, surrounded by boxes of crystals and incense, I finally let the tears fall. How could things have gotten so mixed up?

My phone buzzes, the sound startling me but I relax when I see who it is.

Willy:

I just saw the news. Are you guys OK?

Crystal:

I just found out. I’m in shock so that’s all I can tell you. I really thought he was honest about the revitalization project. At least his version.

Willy:

Can this be a misunderstanding? I thought you said Teddy delivered the correction letter.

Crystal:

She did, but Mr. Goldstein has his doubts. He thinks it’s a ploy to let our guard down about the real motives. This is prime real estate, being just one block from the Boardwalk. To many it’s an eyesore even.

Willy:

Don’t say that. Seaside Square is charming.

Crystal:

Real estate speak for a fixer-upper, I heard

Willy:

Can I call you? Can you talk?

Crystal:

Sure.

“It’s not like you to be so down like this,” she says the moment I answer her call. “Just talk to Preston. Get the facts directly from him.”

I groan. “I can’t. Not right now.”

“How did your date go?”

“That’s the problem,” I reply, sandwiching the phone between my ear and shoulder as I take a box cutter from the shelf. “It went well. Too well.”

“So talk to him,” she prods. “I’m sure he’ll tell you what’s really going on. If he said one thing and the media says another, I’d be more inclined to believe him over some news media outlet, right?”

“Sure, but you’re biased. You’re dating his brother.”

She sighs. “And you’re dating him.”

“Correction: I was dating him,” I say. “This just got too complicated for me.”

“Crystal Francia, are you telling me you’ve given up so quickly?” Willy’s voice is serious now. “Who was it who told me not to close off my heart when I was having doubts about Brogan? Who reminded me that I deserved to be happy in my career—and in love?”

“That was different.” I cut open a box filled with Valentine-themed items. Would my shop even be open then? “Your career isn’t a brick and mortar store that could be torn down at any time.”

“What about love?” she presses. “Are you saying that’s different, too?”

“I don’t know, Willy. Right now, I just need to think things over and not rush things.” I retrieve an inventory scanner from the shelf. “I’ve got to get the inventory out to the floor, so I can’t stay long. I’ll text you later and let you know of any updates.”

“Please do,” Willy says.

“I will,” I say, if only to get her off my back for I don’t need any more pep talk for one day. Reality is just too harsh at the moment, and I can’t bring myself to believe in something that seems more like a dream, a fantasy.

I’ve barely hung up with Willy when my phone buzzes again. Preston’s name pops up on the screen and for a moment, I’m determined not to answer. But if I need to get to the bottom of things, I need to face the music.

“Is your revitalization plan for the square really just a cover for evicting all of us?” I ask, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.

“No, it’s not a cover at all. I meant everything I said to you.” As he sighs, I can hear a flurry of activity in the background—phones ringing, people talking urgently. “This is all a huge misunderstanding, Crystal, and I’m doing whatever I can to fix it. Unfortunately, I also have another emergency in Shang–”

“Mr. Hollister, your conference call with Shanghai is in two minutes,” a voice calls out.

“Just a moment,” Preston replies, then to me, “Look, I know this looks bad, but please believe me when I say I had no idea about that rent increase letter getting leaked to the media. It was a mistake that Teddy remedied yesterday afternoon, but somehow, people have decided to ignore that development.”

“Then why haven’t you made a public statement? Why haven’t you come down here to explain it to everyone in person?”

There’s a pause, and when Preston speaks again, his voice is strained. “I’m trying, Crystal. But we’re in the middle of a major expansion into Asia. The timing couldn’t be worse. I’ve got investors breathing down my neck, contracts that need to be signed...”

“So Seaside Square isn’t important enough for your personal attention?” The words come out sharper than I intend.

“No, that’s not it at all,” Preston says quickly. “Seaside Square means everything to me. It’s... it’s where my father started. It’s where I met you. But as CEO, I have responsibilities that I can’t just drop, no matter how much I want to.”

“Mr. Hollister, Shanghai is on the line,” the voice in the background says more urgently.

Preston groans. “Crystal, I have to go. But please, can we meet later? I want to explain everything in person. I want to make this right.”

I close my eyes, torn between my desire to see him and my fear of being hurt again. “I don’t know...”

“Please,” he says, and the raw emotion in his voice catches me off guard. “I know I don’t deserve it, but please give me a chance to explain.”

Before I can answer, there’s a commotion on his end of the line.

“Mr. Hollister, we’re losing the Shanghai connection!”

“I have to go,” Preston says hurriedly. “I’ll come by the shop as soon as I can. I promise, Crystal. We’ll sort this out.”

The line goes dead before I can respond. I stare at my phone, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. Part of me wants to believe him, wants to trust that he’ll make everything right. But another part, the part that’s been hurt before, warns me to be cautious.

As I turn back to the stack of invoices on my desk, I can’t shake the feeling that things are about to get a lot more complicated. Whatever Preston’s true intentions are, whatever this revitalization plan really means for our future, I know one thing for certain: Seaside Square will never be the same again.

And neither, I suspect, will I.