“I bet.” The words slipped out before Noah could censor, but as a flush of heat crawled up his chest, he realized he didn’t want to. This was injustice. “There is nothing wrong with those renovations, and we both know it. I followed all the rules.”
“What are you implying?” Isaac tilted his chin a degree, his gray eyes narrowing.
“More like assuming. I’m assuming the fact the Blue Pirogue happens to be on the exact acreage our families have been feuding over for generations has nothing to do with this.” Noah jabbed his finger at the folder.
“Of course it doesn’t,” Isaac snapped. “Are you questioning my professionalism?”
“Yes, along with about a dozen other things right now.” Namely, what in the world had he taken on with this inheritance? Hadn’t his dad, who’d been successfully managing a luxury hotel chain in California for the past fifteen years, warned Noah when Grandpa got sick the first time?He’s going to pawn that old dump off on you in his will, you know. It’ll be a money pit. You don’t have to accept it.
But Noah had. And until this moment, he hadn’t regretted it.
Isaac’s eyes flashed.
Noah took a deep breath, trying to regain control. He laid both palms flat on the table, releasing his breath. “Let’s just say I’m questioning the timing. You’ve had your eye on that inn since before Grandpa started chemo.”
“That has nothing to do with this and you know it.” Isaac’s voice turned to steel. “In fact, if you’d bothered to read the report before making accusations, you’d see there’s a good reason the inspection failed.” He nudged the paper closer to Noah. “Black mold.”
Noah’s fire tempered a bit. “That’s impossible.” He’d have seen it.
“Afraid not.” Isaac pulled a few photos free from the folder pocket and turned them around for Noah.
His heart dipped in his chest as he stared at the evidence in the walls. Not so impossible after all. He picked up another glossy image. “How did I miss this?”
“It probably happened after the storm. You know Hurricane Anastasia didn’t play favorites last summer.” Isaac’s haughty expression sobered. “Left more damage in its wake than a Kardashian.”
“I know. It even hit us in Shreveport. Mom and I have lived there for fifteen years, and we’d never seen anything like that reach so far up north.”
Was it his imagination, or did Isaac’s eyes narrow at the mention of his mother?
“Regardless of where it came from…” Isaac began stacking the photos. “The mold exists. It’d beunprofessionalto approve this inspection before the problem is fixed.”
Noah stared at the way Isaac calmly slid the photos that were ruining Noah’s life back into the folder pocket. He’d thought the Blue Pirogue hadn’t taken much damage during the storm, and what little there had been had easily been swept into the round of renovations.
He’d thought wrong.
“Black mold is a massive liability.” Isaac leaned back in the booth, his expression tight. “You clearly can’t operate with guests until the mold is taken care of.”
“But I can’t afford this.” He’d barely made budget on the renovations needed to get the inn up to date—and up to code—for the pending tourist season. The inn’s books had been in the black—barely—when Noah took over, but having to close temporarily for the repairs had given the dwindling business account a hit. So far, he’d managed to keep his own meager savings out of it, hoping to get the inn back up running before he decided whether or not to keep it.
Isaac shrugged a little, downing the last of his coffee. “Maybe if you hadn’t expanded the third-story suite, you’d have some money left over for emergencies.”
Noah stiffened. The last thing he needed was yet another person telling him how to manage and market the Blue Pirogue. “Not that it’s your business, but that expansion was necessary to draw honeymooners and guests who want more space.” He folded his arms over his hammering heart. “Statistics prove it’ll pay for itself in a few years.”
“That’s great—except you can’t start the clock until this is handled.” Isaac tapped the folder.
He was aware. Noah cleared his throat. These next words were going to taste like sawdust. “Then what do you suggest I do? I don’t have that kind of money left.” Or energy. Or time. The inn was supposed to be finished in the next few weeks so he could figure out his next steps in life.
Not take several backward.
“Do like everyone else does—get a loan.” Isaac raised his eyebrows in challenge as a slow grin curved the corners of his mouth. “Or you could always sell.”
Noah’s gut tightened. “Nice try.”
Isaac leaned forward and lowered his voice, all pretenses gone as he braced both hands on the table. “If you don’t handle this one way or another, I’ll call Judge Morrow. You’ll have a cease and desist slapped on you faster than you can say?—”
“Afternoon, gentlemen.” A slender, tan arm stretched past Noah and started pouring coffee from a carafe into Isaac’s mug. The familiar scent of vanilla and honey hit Noah like a two-by-four from the past and he didn’t need to look up to know.
Elisa Bergeron.
