Wedding His Takeover Target Read Online Free Page A

around their money and entitled attitudes, expecting the world to revolve around their wants and acting like the local businesses should kiss their expensively-shod feet and be grateful for whatever crumbs the rich guests threw their way.
    Well, not her. She’d had enough of that holier-than-thou behavior throughout school from the wealthy snobs who’d attended the elite private college where her parents had taught.Those snotty students had made sure Sabrina knew she was not one of them. As if being a professor’s daughter made her somehow genetically inferior to someone born to money.
    She swished the cleaning cloth over the countertop and tried to ignore the anger and worry making her stomach churn. She knew her grandfather’s health wasn’t as good as it had been when she’d arrived three years ago. He slept more, ate less and had trouble keeping up with the inn’s routine maintenance—a job he used to tackle with enthusiasm. But he wouldn’t let her hire anyone to help him. He always claimed he’d get to the tasks, but the to-do list kept growing and the clock ticked down on the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday when the ski slopes would officially open and the guests would arrive—whether the inn was ready or not. Unless a miracle happened, this year the inn wasn’t going to be ready.
    Was Gavin Jarrod here to try and buy the inn? She couldn’t imagine her grandfather handing over the reins, but that day was coming, she realized with a heavy cloak of sadness. She’d hoped— prayed, really—he’d let her take over, but a few months ago while cleaning his office she’d come across a pamphlet on his desk on donating property to the historic trust. When she’d asked him about it he’d told her not to worry, he had everything under control. But how could she not lose sleep? If he donated or sold the inn she’d have to find a new home and job.
    In the meantime, the only thing she could do was try to help more. She glanced at her sore thumb. Carpentry wasn’t her strong suit, but she’d get better with practice.
    The sitting room door opened, and footsteps—too sure and firm to be her grandfather’s—approached.
    â€œThanks for the coffee and snack.”
    Who was Gavin Jarrod and what business did he have with Pops? Reluctant to face the brown, gold-flecked eyesthat seemed to see straight through her, she turned slowly. “You’re welcome.”
    â€œYour coconut cake is probably the best I’ve ever tasted.”
    Pleasure sent another blast of heat through her already warm body. She struggled to suppress the reaction. No doubt his charm and flattery combined with his money and looks made it easy for him to coast through life. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”
    â€œHenry said you don’t have any guests tonight.”
    Why would Pops volunteer that? “No. Early November is like the lull before the storm.”
    â€œIt’s been the same back at The Ridge ever since the Food & Wine Gala ended. I’m exploring the area restaurants before the tourists hit town. Show me your favorite tonight.”
    She fought a grimace. He wasn’t the first of his kind to assume she could be had as easily as booking a room. “I don’t have a favorite, and I’ve already prepared dinner for myself and my grandfather.”
    His eyes narrowed. “Henry can serve himself. Let someone cook for you for a change.”
    Eating someone else’s cooking was tempting, but not with Gavin Jarrod or his ilk. She’d been led on by too many rich boys and then dumped when she wouldn’t get naked for them or get her parents to give them better grades.
    â€œNo. But, thank you.” She tacked on the last hastily because she could almost feel the ghost of her grandmother rapping her knuckles for being ungracious and impolite.
    His steady gaze continued to drill her. She felt like a