I scowled at the man who was too handsome for his own good. That cheeky smile, one I was sure he used time and again to get what he wanted, only made me angrier. “That’s great for you, but I’m heading back to work.”

I started towards the door, but Crosby caught my elbow. “Whoa. We haven’t had our meeting yet.”

I firmly tugged my arm from his grasp. “You asked for an hour of my time. That hour was up five minutes ago. I have appointments and work.”

“But I got these donuts just for you.” He looked as if I’d just kicked his puppy.

“I don’t like donuts.” Lies, lies, lies. I loved the airy confections, especially the ones from Wholly Donuts on Shelter. They were to die for. But I didn’t want Crosby’s bribe.

“Please. I really do need to talk to you.”

The blood coursing through me heated at his words. “If it was truly important, you wouldn’t have gone to get donuts and missed your ferry. You would’ve been here when you said you’d be.”

Crosby held up his hands in a placating gesture. “You’re right. I got distracted and thought you might like these. They’re my favorites. Please, just give me fifteen minutes.”

I sighed. If I didn’t give him the time now, I’d have to deal with him later. And Crosby would probably be late then, too. “Fine.”

Crosby held out a hand, motioning towards his office. “Right this way.”

I walked through the door, taking a moment to soak in the space. I’d picked up paperwork from Penny for Harriet before, but I’d never been inside Crosby’s inner sanctum. It was both surprising and expected. No photos rested on his desk or hung on the walls, only an impressionistic oil painting of what looked like Anchor Island. On the opposite wall hung a mountain bike, dried mud still on the tires. But everything else was neat as a pin.

I eased into one of the chairs opposite the desk. As I did, anxiety shot through me, a realization of why I was here. I didn’t know why it hadn’t crossed my mind as I sat waiting for Crosby. I’d known I would have to leave The Gables, but I’d pushed the thoughts out of my mind all day. Maybe the Abbots already had plans to sell. They certainly weren’t going to keep the property. My chest gave a painful squeeze as I thought about strangers roaming the estate’s halls. All the precious antiques that told the history of Anchor going to people who wouldn’t appreciate the stories they carried.

Crosby bent, opening a drawer and pulling out a file. Instead of sitting in the chair behind his desk, he took the seat next to me, placing the folder on his lap. “How are you holding up?”