Star-Spangled Showdown: The Williamsville Inn, #4

By Hank Edwards

A fireworks salesman intent on making his mark in his family's business. A twice divorced father in desperate need of a sale and a new love life. A week-long town celebration that sparks their competitive natures.

 

Owen Gillespie is no stranger to competition. But his plan to spend Independence Day week at the Williamsville Inn before pitching his fireworks proposal is derailed when he meets a handsome and snarky man in the elevator.

 

Dom Mitchell has two marriages behind him and three kids he's supporting. His bisexual awakening has opened him up to dating men for the first time, but he isn't looking for a serious relationship; he's in town to sell a fireworks package.

 

When both men realize they're vying for the same business, they decide to turn it into a competition. But things slip out of their control when the mayor learns of their agreement and proposes some challenges of her own. These two corporate rivals will need to work together even as they're competing against each other to woo the mayor and other city officials, all while keeping their mutual attraction a secret and their hearts in check.

 

At the end of the week, only one of them will be leaving town with a signed contract, but the sparks between them are undeniable, and their love life might just be the most dazzling display of all.

 

This funny, snarky, and steamy story about corporate rivals turned lovers with a slight age gap and a spanking fetish is set in the Williamsville Inn world but can be read as a standalone story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hank Edwards
• Release date: Jun 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223087526

Hank Edwards

Hank Edwards has been writing gay erotic fiction for more than twenty years. He has written over two dozen novels and even more short stories. His writing crosses many sub-genres, including romance, rom-com, contemporary, paranormal, suspense, mystery, and wacky comedy. Find out more at www.hankedwardsbooks.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

H e hates me.

Diane’s patient sigh was clear on the call Owen had channeled through the car’s sound system. He doesn’t hate you.

Owen chewed his lower lip, dragging his teeth lightly through the whiskers of his beard. Yeah, you’re right.

I know I’m right. I’ve worked here longer than you, and I know he doesn’t hate you.

Extreme dislike then?

Owen… Diane’s voice had an edge of impatience.

All right, all right, I’ll stop. Owen glanced out at the open land on both sides of the car before fixing his attention once more on the highway. It’s just so… remote. Is this like the last city before Canada or something?

How much farther until you arrive?

Um… Owen checked the GPS. Thirty minutes.

Good. Call me back as you’re exiting the toll road.

Owen frowned. Why? I’ve got the address for the hotel already plugged into my phone. He glanced at the display again. Oh, sorry, the inn. Guess I’m staying in style this week, huh? There wasn’t a response. Diane?

Yep, I’m here.

Oh, okay. You got really quiet there, thought I’d lost you.

No, you didn’t lose me. I was thinking. She let out a breath and lowered her voice. All right, I’m going to be really honest with you, but you’re not allowed to freak out.

Something tightened inside Owen’s chest, compressing into a familiar knot of tension. "Oh my God, he does hate me."

You have to stop saying that. Your father doesn’t hate you. He loves you.

Then what am I not allowed to freak out about?

This trip came up at the last minute once we got word of Sam’s retirement, so I had to make a lot of calls to get you a room.

Oh? The knot of tension eased a bit. It wasn’t a family situation after all, but now a cold spot had formed low in his belly. How many calls?

A lot. It’s a big tourist time of year in upstate New York, and every hotel is booked solid.

Are you saying I don’t have a place to stay? He looked to the map display again. Then why did you give me the address for this Williamsville Inn?

You do have a room for the week, and it is at the Williamsville Inn. But, it might not be what you’re used to.

Owen heard the suspicion in his own voice. Why is that? Oh my God, am I going to have to share a room with some stranger?

No, you’re not sharing with someone.

Thank God.

But the inn is an older place, independently owned by a gentleman who lives in Philadelphia, so it’s not a chain hotel.

Okaaaay. He dragged the word out, giving himself time to think, even as he passed a sign that stated ‘Williamsville Next Exit’. Be honest with me, Diane. How bad will it be?

Oh, I don’t think it will be terrible, but it’s not what you’ve gotten comfortable with.

In what way?

There’s isn’t a restaurant or bar, and there’s not a full kitchen for room service. There is a breakfast buffet with both hot and cold foods, but that’s it.

How do they provide hot breakfast food with no kitchen?

They have a small kitchen, but it closes after breakfast.

Owen groaned. He did this on purpose to punish me.

This has nothing to do with your father, Diane said in a softer voice. This is all a circumstance based on the timing of the trip.

He could have sent Carl. He should have sent Carl.

Carl would have ended up staying at the same place. There are no hotel rooms in reserve waiting for Carl to call and request them. And your father asked you to go. He wanted you to do this job.

As a punishment.

Because he knew you would have the best chance of landing this account. Carl’s too brash for something like this.

Owen slowed and activated his turn signal as he approached the exit. He is kind of like a bull in a china shop.

A mutant bull that’s five times bigger than a normal one, Diane said, and they both chuckled. This pitch needs someone more genuine than Carl.

My dad called me genuine?

For the most part.

Owen blew out a breath. Fine. By the way, I’m getting off the toll road now. Any other bombshells you need to lay on me?

Can’t think of one, but if I do I’ll call you back post haste.

You’re a peach, Owen said drily.

You know it. You’re going to do great with this, Owen. You know what to do.

He could clearly see her face: ash blond hair tucked behind her ears, blue eyes clear and kind behind the small wire frame glasses, and one corner of her mouth slightly curled up. A sense of calm came over him at the thought of Diane back at the office, managing his schedule, running interference for him with the rest of his family, and talking him down when his panic started to go up. She’d always been more like an older sister to him than his own siblings.

Thanks, I appreciate it, Owen said.

I know you do. Call me if you want to talk strategy once you’re settled.

Okay. Thanks again.

The call ended with a repeating boop sound as Owen approached the toll booth. He asked for a receipt and stowed it in the center console before pulling away. He merged with the traffic along Main Street, and he cruised slowly, looking around and getting a feel for the town.

A mix of chain and independent coffeehouses, diners, and shops lined both side of Main Street. The buildings leaned heavily toward brick and mortar, with some clapboard or aluminum sided shops interspersed for variety. Red, white and blue bunting festooned every old-fashioned lamp post, and banners were strung overhead listing Independence Day activities and businesses that had provided funding. American flags flapped above the doors of every shop, and many of the tourists crowding the sidewalks and darting across the street wore some form of red, white, and blue apparel.

Williamsville, New York, really went all out for the Fourth of July, apparently, and that made Owen more than a little apprehensive.

He passed a large Irish pub, its outdoor patio packed with diners. Across a parking lot jammed with cars stood an independently owned brewer. At least he’d be able to find a place to calm his nerves or drown his sorrows this week.

A bridge took him over a narrow stream—or creek or river—he never understood the difference, and he caught a glimpse of a small waterfall to his left before it went past. That was definitely something he’d be checking out later.

Following the on screen directions, he made a few turns and pulled into the parking lot of the Williamsville Inn. Only a few spaces were left, and he cruised slowly through the lot, surveying them. He chose one between two cars that had been parked more evenly between the lines and eased to a stop. Ending the map app, Owen shut off the engine and sat for a moment staring at the gas station across the brown, dry grass of a neglected berm. When he tired of watching people pump gas, he put his head back and closed his eyes, considering his options. He could spend a week in Williamsville acting like a tourist and not even try to get the business. He could just enjoy being away from the stress and nagging of his father and siblings at the main office in Newark. Being the youngest of four, he knew his brother and sisters still saw him as their baby brother: timid, ineffectual, and not a leader by any means. His father had been building up Sky Art Pyrotechnics all the years Owen had been growing up, providing fireworks shows to small communities around their home and slowly expanding his territory north and south of Newark.

Owen’s mother had left at some point, or, as he thought of it, escaped. He’d never quite forgiven her for leaving him behind, but as he’d gotten older, he was able to understand why she did it. Given the options she’d had available, he probably would have made the same choice.

There’d been no question he’d join the business, his father saw to that. Every summer while his classmates were off being kids, Owen worked long hours in the warehouse, sorting and stocking fireworks and taking weekly inventory. Even after he’d graduated high school, the summer months between college semesters were all about Sky Art Pyrotechnics. Once he’d finished college with a business degree, Owen had moved from the warehouse to the main office, working as an assistant to his brother and sisters as they traveled up and down the Eastern seaboard, signing smaller communities up for fireworks displays. When a team onsite was shorthanded, Owen went along and helped out in whatever capacity was needed.

Now he was two months into making sales calls on his own, and he still didn’t feel entirely comfortable. He knew the products well enough, but he didn’t really have his pitch down pat. After he’d lost the last two contracts, Diane had worked with him on his technique, and he felt a little more prepared for Williamsville. A little.

A car in dire need of a new muffler rumbled through the parking lot, bringing him out of his thoughts. He rubbed his eyes then gathered up his phone and other items before opening the door. He groaned as the summer heat closed around him. He hoped it wasn’t going to be this humid all week. He really should have checked the weather app before leaving his apartment. Good thing he’d packed a few pairs of nicer shorts and lightweight dress pants. If he sweated through all his clothes, he’d just have to hit up a store and buy something.

After lifting his suitcase out of the trunk, he slung his briefcase over his shoulder, used the key fob to lock his car, then paused to look the hotel over.

Correction, the inn, although Owen didn’t really understand the difference. Either way, the Williamsville Inn had been around for a long time. While a majority of the landscaping looked as if it had been added in the last year or two, there was no disguising the yellow brick visible in spots between vinyl siding. The front entrance, however, looked a bit more current, with large glass windows and a more modern-looking overhang. He hoped the rooms had been similarly updated as he crossed the lot and stepped inside.

Comfortable furniture had been arranged in conversation groups around the small lobby, and Owen angled to his left toward the front desk.

Hi there, a young man behind the desk said with a big smile. Checking in?

Yep. You should have a reservation for Owen Gillespie.

The clerk typed for a bit and smiled. There you are. Single king-sized bed with a courtyard view.

There’s a courtyard?

There is, just down the hall straight across from me. The clerk gestured, and Owen looked over his shoulder to what looked like a typical hotel hallway, only with windows along the left side that he assumed provided a view into the courtyard. How many key cards will you need?

Just one, Owen said. And you provide breakfast?

That’s correct. Right around the corner here is the breakfast area. Hot and cold dishes served between seven and eleven a.m.

But no room service?

The clerk frowned as he slid the keycard envelope across the desktop. Sorry, no. And we don’t have a bar, either. But there are plenty of great restaurants within walking distance. You’re in room three forty-five. Let us know if you need anything.

Owen thanked the clerk and, towing his luggage, headed for the elevators. After a slow, rattling trip up to the third floor, he stepped out of the elevator car and stopped. The carpet was horrendous, a red, gold and green diamond patterned design that made him squint. No wonder Diane had wanted to prepare him for this. Good God, what the hell was his room going to look like?

As he walked down the hallway, the carpet nearly gave him vertigo, and he had to force himself to focus on passing room numbers until he came to the right one. He hesitated, almost afraid to open the door and see where he would be staying for the next week. With a deep breath to steel himself, he slid the keycard into the slot and pushed the door open.

He was relieved to discover his room had been recently updated. New furniture, carpet, window coverings, and, it appeared, new tile and fixtures in the bathroom. His tension eased back a bit, and he pulled the sheer window coverings open and looked outside. His third floor window did, indeed, overlook a rather nice courtyard. Rooms on the ground level had sliding doors that opened onto small patios with white cafe tables and chairs, all separated by well-maintained hedges. In the center of the grassy courtyard, a couple of trident-style lampposts with frosted glass shades stood evenly spaced, like sentries on duty. A few small trees had been planted throughout, and a pathway of paving stones started at an access door at one end of the courtyard to meander through the trees and around the lampposts. Owen would definitely be checking it all out later.

But first, he needed to give Diane a call to talk strategy. He put his wireless earbuds in so he could keep his hands free and made the call. She answered on the first ring.

How’s the room? Is it okay? I hope it’s not too bad.

Owen laughed. It’s actually a very nice room. He unzipped his suitcase and began transferring his clothes to the dresser and hangers in the closet. I mean, it’s not a suite or anything, but it’s been recently updated and is comfortable. The hallway to get to the room, however, is another story.

Well, at least the room is nice. I’m so relieved. She must have heard him close a drawer. Getting unpacked?

Yeah. She knew his habit of putting his clothes into drawers and on hangers. It always helped him feel more settled.

That’s a good sign. You must be feeling a little more relaxed at least.

Yeah, I’m better. I’m looking forward to exploring this place. From what I saw on my drive in, it’s a cute town. And they’re really into the Fourth of July here. Red, white, and blue all over the place.

I checked out the town’s website and found a list of activities and events for the entire week. I downloaded the PDF and sent it to your email.

Thanks, I appreciate that. It’ll help me plan out the week, Owen said. Did you include the names of the city officials who decide the fire works? City manager, mayor, and city council?

All of that’s in your inbox as well.

You’re amazing.

Just doing my job.

Well, you’re amazing at it.

Thank you. Now, what’s your first step going to be? You going to meet with the city manager or the mayor?

Owen put the last of his clothes in a drawer and pushed it closed. He went back to the window and parted the sheers to inspect the courtyard. A few guests sat on their patios, having drinks and enjoying the sun, and a couple of young children laughed as they chased each other along the paving stone path.

Actually, I think I’m going to do something a little different this trip.

He could hear the touch of concern in her voice. Oh? How different?

This time I’m going to spend some time getting to know the town a bit. Not too much, don’t worry, but I want to get a feel for the residents and the visitors.

Will you have time to meet with the city officials ahead of time? Diane said. A lot of other companies know Sam’s retiring and closing his business. I wouldn’t be surprised if you run into some competition up there this week.

You think so? This early?

You’re up there, aren’t you?

Owen groaned. Yeah, good point. I was hoping to make a good and solitary impression.

I’m sure you will do that. But just keep an eye out for anyone else.

Yeah, I will.

You’re going to do great, Owen, she said in a gentle voice. We’ve worked on your technique. You know what to do.

Thanks. It’s just… it’s been a long year.

Diane was quiet a moment. Have you dated anyone else after… well, since?

You can say his name, Owen said with a humorless chuckle. Paul. And, yeah, I’ve dated. Try as he might not to, Owen got flustered and stammered through his response, hating how defensive he suddenly felt and sounded. I’m playing the field as they say, you know? I’m just out sowing my oats and having a great time. Now that I’m on the road a lot, I can’t really be tied down. Nope, no keeping this mustang in the corral. I need to run free and have fun with other… with other mustangs.

He groaned and sat on the end of the bed, putting his head in his hands. I have no idea why I just compared myself to a wild horse.

I wasn’t going to question it or encourage it, Diane said, her voice so flat it made Owen bust out laughing, and soon they were both in hysterics.

I’m an idiot, Owen said once he had himself back in control.

You’re not an idiot. When you care about people, you care deeply. It’s not a fault, it’s a character trait.

It’s a liability.

It’s not.

It’s a burden.

She hummed in contemplation. That one I could probably give you.

He snorted in derision. Gee, thanks.

Hey, it’s your word, not mine.

Yeah, just like it’s my burden.

Think of it as a gift.

Pain in the ass gift, he muttered.

Still a gift.

Fine, it’s a gift. He flopped back on the bed, arms out to the side as he looked at the ceiling. I just noticed the ceiling is popcorn stucco.

It adds charm, Diane said. You going to be okay?

Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m going to go out and walk around, get a feel for the town. When I get back in the room, I’ll start putting together thoughts for a package deal.

Do you want me to try and get an appointment set up with the mayor or city manager for mid-week?

Hold off on that for now. Let me see what I can do here on my end first.

Okay, just let me know if you want me to do some calling around.

I will, thanks. Owen sat up. You’ve done everything even before I could think to ask, as usual.

You’ve got this, Owen. You know what to do. You care about people and celebrations, and you know the inventory and packages better than anyone else in Sky Art.

I think my Dad might know a thing or two more than me.

I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Diane said. He’s spent more time in that big office of his than in the warehouse the last few years. You know the latest specialty fireworks, and you know how to sell them. Put everything and everyone else out of your mind and listen to the people of the city. They’ll tell you what they’re looking for.

Tears blurred his vision, and Owen swallowed hard to keep a hot lump of emotion at bay. It was nice to hear such kind words, but the fact that it came from Diane, someone completely unrelated to him, stung more than he liked.

When he felt his voice wouldn’t crack, he said, Thanks, Diane. I appreciate the support.

Always. Now go out and mingle. And for the love of God, slather on a lot of sunscreen, you pale skinned ginger.

Owen’s laugh was deep and genuine. It felt great and helped banish the emotions that had bubbled up along with thoughts of Paul.

Yes, ma’am.

Take care, and I’ll talk with you soon.

Bye.

Owen disconnected the call and sat smiling for a moment. When he felt ready, he got up, took out his earbuds, and headed for the bathroom to change his clothes.

CHAPTER TWO

Y ou’re going to miss another birthday?

The sharp edge to Nina’s voice through the car audio system might as well have been a knife going into Dom’s chest. He winced and managed to keep the tone of his voice even.

You know I travel a lot, Dom said. And I told you I had to be out of town when you told me about her party.

Fine. I’ll explain to our seven-year-old daughter how her father would rather watch fireworks shows and try to con city officials into signing a contract than celebrate her birthday.

His body flushed as his temper tried to break free. But he kept it reined in, telling himself Nina was lashing out again, trying to manage her own disappointment and hurt by hitting him in a sensitive spot. Again.

For future reference, I resent your use of the word ‘con’, and I hope you’d be more tactful when you explain things to her, Dom said. He decided to switch gears and try to save the conversation before one of them hung up on the other. Is Izzy there?

She’s over at Katie’s house. I’m wrapping her gifts.

Mine should be delivered later today.

I hope you sprung extra for the gift wrap option, Nina said. I don’t want to have to wrap it while all the kids are going here.

Yes, I did. Dom steered the car toward the toll road exit. And I chose some good birthday paper, too.

I’m sure she’ll love it.

Nina sounded distracted now, and Dom hoped he might be able to end the call without having to relive every single thing he’d done wrong during their five year marriage plus the two years since it had ended. Because that was a really long list.

I hope so. Dom paid the toll and drove slowly into the main business district of town.