Chapter 383
Alexander
The Whitmore Inn appeared on my GPS twenty minutes later, a converted Victorian mansion that screamed boutique charm.
I parked the car and entered a lobby with exposed brick walls, inviting antique furniture, and a crackling fireplace, despite the mild weather.
“Welcome to The Whitmore,” the clerk greeted me with genuine warmth. “Checking in p>
“Alexander Knight. I should have a reservation p>
She typed quickly, nodded, and produced a key card. “Room 304. Third floor, corner suite. Best view of the property. Will you be dining with us this evening p>
“No, thank you p>
“Well, if you change your mind, our restaurant serves until nine.” She handed over the key with a smile. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Knight p>
The room was exactly what I’d expected. Tasteful without being ostentatious, comfortable without being luxurious. A king bed lined one wall, a sitting area filled another, and the bathroom boasted a clawfoot tub.
I moved to the window overlooking downtown, a main street with shops, a few restaurants, and tree–lined sidewalks. Quaint and charming, everything Manhattan wasn’t.
Everything Madison had apparently wanted.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the photos I’d taken of the property, already mentally drafting the preliminary assessment. Strong commercial potential, minimal residential pushback likely given the location, infrastructure support already in place.
My phone rang. Leo.
I answered immediately. “What did you find p>
“Got some intel on your mystery man p>
I straightened in the chair. “Go on p>
“Christopher Allen runs Allen Strategy Group, like I mentioned earlier. Single, never married, no kids. Pretty clean background, actually. Harvard MBA, worked at McKinsey for five years before starting his own firm p>
“Single?” I repeated, hating how the word made my chest feel lighter.
“Very single. No serious relationships on record, at least nothing that left a paper trail. Guy keeps his personal life private. His firm’s smaller than yours, obviously, but they’re making moves. Landed a few major clients in the last year. Real estate development, corporate expansion, market analysis p>
“What’s his connection to Madison p>
“Still digging on that. My guy Adam says Christopher’s a regular at her café, shows up almost daily. Works from there sometimes. But no concrete confirmation on whether they’re dating p>
“Almost daily,” I repeated flatly.
“Yeah. Seems pretty comfortable there.” Leo paused. “Look, I’ll keep digging, but right now it could go either way. Maybe they’re dating, maybe they’re just friends, maybe he’s nursing an unrequited crush. Hard to say without more intel p>
I stared out the window at Connecticut’s peaceful streets. Christopher Allen. Harvard MBA. Successful consultant. Regular at Madison’s café.
Possibly dating her.
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“Thanks for the info,” I said. “I’ll oversee the project myself and get back to you about commission details p>
“Sounds good. And try not to do anything stupid while you’re there”
“Like what p>
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“Like stalking your ex–assistant while pretending to evaluate real estate.” He sounded entirely too amused. “Just a thought p>
“Goodbye, Leo p>
“Have fun in Connecticut p>
I hung up before he could say anything else annoying.
Christopher was single. That didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in Madison, or that she wasn’t interested in him. Just meant there was no legal impediment to them dating.
Which was absolutely none of my business.
beca
Except it felt like my business. Which was insane, because I had no claim on Madison. She’d left, built a new life, and moved on.
I should do the same.
I spent the next hour reviewing the documentation Leo had sent over. Property surveys, soil reports, environmental assessments, and current zoning classifications. Everything pointed to a solid investment opportunity if handled correctly. Mixed–use meant balancing residential needs against commercial viability. Challenging but doable.
The property meeting got rescheduled to two o’clock. Something about the owner having a family emergency that morning. Which gave me more time to think about how ridiculous I was being. Sitting in a Connecticut hotel room, preparing to evaluate a real estate project I didn’t need, just to have an excuse to be near a woman who clearly wanted nothing to do with me.
Pathetic.
At one forty–five, I pulled into the property’s parking lot. A silver Mercedes was already there, and a man who had to be Richard Palmer stood near the main entrance, examining something on the building’s facade.
I parked and walked over, extending my hand. “Mr. Palmer. Alexander Knight p>
He turned, gripping my hand firmly. “Mr. Knight. Appreciate you coming out personally. Most executives send lackeys for this sort of thing p>
“I prefer hands–on assessment for significant investments p>
“Good.” He gestured at the building. “Built in 1962. My father’s first major project p>
We walked the perimeter as Palmer detailed the building’s history, original specifications, and his vision for preservation. The man clearly loved the place, which explained his reluctance to sell to just anyone.
“The structure’s solid,” he said, running his hand along the brick. Foundation’s been reinforced twice, roof replaced in 2015, all major systems updated within the last decade p>
“What about asbestos? Lead paint p>
“Fully remediated in 2008. Documentation is available for review. He paused at a side entrance. “I’m not interested in someone who’ll tear this down and slap up some generic glass monstrosity. This building has character. History p>
“Mixed–use development can preserve that character while maximizing utility,” I said. “Retail on the ground floor showcasing the original architecture, offices above maintaining the aesthetic. It’s possible to honor the past while building for the future p>
Chapter 300
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Palmer studied me. “You actually believe that, or are you just saying what I want to hear p>
“Both p>
He laughed, genuinely and surprised. “At least you’re honest. Come on, let me show you the interior p>
The next hour involved a detailed examination of every floor, Palmer pointing out original features worth preserving and areas where modernization made sense. The man knew his building intimately and could probably draw the floor plans from memory.
“The third floor has the best natural light,” he explained, leading me to a corner office with floor–to–ceiling windows. Southeast exposure. My father insisted on it. Said people work better when they can see the sky p>
I walked to the window, taking in the view. Trees, parking lot, the distant highway. And beyond that, visible in the afternoon light, was the edge of downtown where Madison’s café sat.
“Good sight lines,” I said, forcing my attention back to the business at hand.
Palmer joined me at the window. “You married, Mr. Knight p>
The question caught me off guard. “Engaged p>
“Congratulations.” He gestured at the view. “My wife and I raised three kids in this town. Good schools, safe neighborhoods, a sense of community you don’t find in bigger cities p>
“Is that why you’re selling? Downsizing p>
“That, and the place deserves someone who’ll use it properly. Been sitting empty for two years now. Waste of good space.” He turned from the window. “What’s your timeline if you decide to move forward p>
“I’d need a full structural assessment, environmental reports updated, and zoning confirmation. Two weeks for due diligence, then another week for contract negotiation p>
“Fair enough.” Palmer headed for the door. “You seem like the type who doesn’t waste time p>
“I’m not p>
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Sara Lili
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.