Charlie shook his head. “I got a tip, too. But it’s not about Spain. It’s about Maine.”
The breath caught in Jake’s throat. At the mention of Maine, his stoic demeanor nearly cracked.
He cleared his throat. “Maine? Like trees and barely a high-rise or luxury resort to be found? That Maine?”
Why the hell would Charlie want to send him there? Linton projects fell in the hundreds of millions—even billion-dollar range. What would be the point of dropping that kind of money in a location that was barely a blip on their development radar?
Charlie gave him a slap on the shoulder. “That’s the one, my boy. I want you to procure a piece of land a little north of Portland near the coast called Woolwich Cove. There’s currently a camp on the property that goes by the name Camp Woolwich,” Charlie said, contempt infused into the words, but Jake couldn’t focus on the man’s darkening expression and willed himself not to break out into a cold sweat.
Camp Woolwich was the last place he’d been before his world had turned upside down. The last summer where he believed that life was fair and that kids couldn’t have all the things they loved taken from them in the blink of an eye.
Charlie’s hawkish gaze was back. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Have you heard of Camp Woolwich?”
Oh, there was a ghost. A ghost named Otis Wiscasset.
He’d have to do a better job at muting his emotions. Charlie didn’t miss much, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to break down and share his sad childhood tale.
A muscle ticked in Jake’s jaw as he worked to keep the sentiment from his voice. “I spent a summer there when I was a kid.”
Charlie’s face lit up with an odd, gleeful expression, bordering on a mad scientist level of excitement. “You’ve been there? On the property?”
Jake glanced away. “I haven’t been there since I was thirteen. But yes, I remember a few things about it.”
That was a lie.
He remembered more than a few things.
He remembered a well, surrounded by the forest and cast in darkness, where he’d held the hand of the first girl he’d kissed. He didn’t even know her name or what she looked like. That kiss keeper bullshit and his blindfolded trek through the woods had turned out to be the last happy memory of his childhood.
He could still feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he and his kiss keeper held hands and dodged the camp night patrol. And then he’d done it. He’d kissed her outside her cabin. They were supposed to lock lips at the well to offer a kiss as some way to thwart his balls falling off or some crazy campfire folktale. But that night, he knew he couldn’t leave without kissing the most enchanting girl he’d ever met.
Where was she now?
Even with all the money and the one-night stands he’d accumulated over the years, he couldn’t think of anything he’d desired more than when he’d wanted to kiss that young girl with her face obscured by a damn bandana blindfold.
But he knew one thing for sure. He couldn’t go back to Maine and risk the wounds of his past ripping open. He’d spent too much time fortifying himself from feeling anything to risk having all his defenses crumble once he set foot in that place.
Charlie clapped his hands with a hard slap, pulling Jake back from the past. “This is excellent, Jake. You already have a grasp of the place.”
Jake shook his head, a minute movement to get himself back on track.
“Is it still owned by Mr. and Mrs. Woolwich? I think their names were Hal and Betty.”
“Hal and Beverly. She goes by Bev,” Charlie corrected with that odd, sharp edge.
“That’s right, Hal and Bev,” he repeated, treading carefully.
It was surprising to see Charlie so agitated over something as mundane as him forgetting a name. Charlie never cared about the lives of the players in a deal—only that it went his way.
“Have you had anyone reach out to them and see if they were interested in selling?” he asked, steering the conversation in a more business-oriented direction.
From what he remembered, the camp founders loved the place. They’d built their lives there. Raised their family there. There were so many Woolwich grandchildren, nieces, and nephews, he was never able to figure out who was who.
Charlie made a face as if he’d sucked a lemon. “I’ve had a handful of my nephews look into it quietly, never mentioning the Linton name, but damn old Hal Woolwich will barely speak a word to them, let alone allow them on the property.”
“What makes you think they’d even consider selling?” Jake pressed.
“Two things. They’re not running the camp program this summer, which leads me to believe that there may be some financial constraints, making them more vulnerable and amenable to selling,” Charlie answered, the edge in his voice replaced with his usual cool detachment.
“And the other thing?” Jake asked.
Charlie gave him a hint of a smile. “Just a little information shared with me privately.”
Jake crossed his arms. “What makes you think they’ll talk to me?”
“For one thing, you’re a former camper. I don’t know if that’ll be enough to get you in the door, but you may be able to make that work for you. Plus, if they do give you the chance to pitch to them, we’re golden.”
“But if they’ve shot all your other guys down, why wouldn’t they do the same to me?”
“Because of Dubai, Jake. You can walk into a room the equivalent of a minefield and walk out unscathed with the keys to the kingdom in your hand.”
He appreciated the compliment, but it still didn’t make sense. Why would a billionaire developer want this small piece of land?
Jake ran his hand through his hair. “So, you want me to convince a couple of old people to sell a scrap of land? But there’s got to be plenty of open real estate in that area. If you want property on the New England coastline, there are many more choices. Especially ones not as remote as Woolwich Cove.”
Charlie leaned in, gaze darkening. “I don’t think you’re hearing me, Jake. I want this land. And you’ve been with me long enough to know that I get what I want. Don’t mistake for a moment that because I’m in the AARP crowd that I’ve lost my edge. Let’s up the ante. How about I sweeten the deal? You get me Camp Woolwich, and I’ll make you a full partner. Do you know what that means?”
He sure as hell did.
Charlie ran Linton Holdings himself. There were no partners. Just Charles P. Linton, reigning supreme at the top of his empire. To become a full partner meant Linton Holdings would one day be his to control.
Jake Teller, the boy orphaned at thirteen who scraped his way through life, beating out others with higher pedigrees and unlimited resources, would control it all.
And more than money or sex or the thrill of closing a deal, the thing Jake craved most was control.
If convincing a couple to sell a few hundred acres of land in Maine was the price, then he’d suck it up, ignore the wounds of his past, and write the damn check himself.
It was time to lock away the memories and do what he did best.
“How high are you willing to go?” he asked his mentor.
Charlie’s hint of a smile was back. “Twenty-five. Thirty, tops. If you can scoop it up for twenty, I’ll give you the damn five as a partner bonus.”
Five million.
Sure, he had almost ten million sacked away, but to make a cool five with one deal was nothing to scoff at.
Charlie leaned in. “But you can’t mention Linton Holdings. This deal will need to be transacted under one of our subsidiaries. Use Lighthouse Investments if anyone asks.”
Jake frowned. “Is this that delicate of a deal?”
It wasn’t that uncommon for developers to remain anonymous, but that was usually for high-profile or controversial projects.
Charlie narrowed his gaze. “Think of what you want, Jake. Think of what closing this deal will mean.”
It would mean everything. An everything that might
be able to fill the void in his heart.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I’ll do it.”
His boss looked past him and nodded, a damn strange thing to do after offering up his company. But when Jake turned and found a man in a dark suit sporting a chauffeur’s cap heading their way, he shook his head.
“You old bastard! How’d you know I’d say yes?”
“Because you’re hungry, Jake, and you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get to the top. I know a thing or two about that,” Charlie replied, then waved the driver over.
The man nodded to Charlie. “Good afternoon, Mr. Linton. Mr. Teller, I picked up your bags from your suite and took the liberty to pack the additional items Mr. Linton had sent over from the Bergen Mountain Sports store in Denver.”
“Mountain sports store?” Jake questioned.
Charlie gave him a dry laugh. “You’ve been to Maine, Jake. We can’t have you trouncing around in five-thousand-dollar suits. I know the Bergen family and asked them to pull together some apparel for the trip.”
“I could have stopped by my place.”
While Linton Holding was a global company with offices all over the world, the headquarters were located in Denver. He had a loft downtown, a place he rarely saw the inside of thanks to all the time he’d spent traveling to procure and oversee the Linton properties. But he could have picked up what he needed. He had the right gear. You didn’t get abs like his parked in a conference room. He was an accomplished climber and could knock out a six-minute mile in his sleep.
Charlie glanced at his watch. “There’s no time. The next flight to Portland leaves in an hour.”
“You’re not fucking around on the timeline for this, are you?” he joked, but Charlie didn’t crack a smile.
“I’ve waited a long time to get this land, and if you hadn’t noticed, time isn’t something I have in spades.”
Jake held his mentor’s gaze. “Are you all right? Is there anything I need to know?”
Charlie waved him off. “I’ll be better when the deed to Woolwich Cove is in my hands,” he said, then glanced over at the blonde, still lingering in the auditorium. “I’ll take care of your friend over there, Jake. All your tall, dark, and handsome may work with the ladies, and I might not be as strapping as I was fifty years ago, but I’d be willing to bet that the nine zeros on my bank statement can seal the deal with that sweet piece of ass.”
Charlie had never married, so it wasn’t too out of the ordinary for him to go after an attractive woman, but something was off.
“You’re not a betting man, Charlie. You’re the one who taught me how to see it all in black and white and filter out the bullshit shades of gray.”
A muscle ticked in his mentor’s jaw. “Take in the Maine air. Eat some goddamn lobster. Buy a boat and sail the coast.”
“I don’t do boats,” Jake shot back, his voice void of emotion.
Charlie rested a hand on his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Then forget the boats and do however many blondes you like while you’re in Maine but get me that land.”
Jake tried to discern what was lurking behind his boss’s hazel gaze when Charlie gave him one last slap to the shoulder, then sauntered down the row toward the woman with the killer cleavage.
“Shall we?” the driver offered and gestured to the exit.
Jake stared at the door and steadied himself. Ready or not, he was going back to Maine.
3
Jake
Jake settled himself into the town car and tried to relax into the plush leather seat as the vehicle merged into traffic. He needed to quiet his mind and get focused, but his thoughts churned and whirled as fragments of his childhood accosted his mind.
Maybe it was the fact that he was heading to Camp Woolwich or the oddity of Charlie offering to make him a partner if he were able to procure a tiny parcel of land. His mentor had built luxury resorts in remote areas before, but he’d stuck to purchasing properties in warmer climates where the place wasn’t packed in ice and frigid temperatures for a decent chunk of the year.
Then it hit him. That Dubai transaction may have put him on the fast-track at Linton, but if this Maine deal went through, he’d be set—totally and completely in control.
He’d relied on himself for the better part of his life.
No safety net.
No family there to catch him if he fell.
He leaned his head against the seat and inhaled, smelling the sea air as if he were already back at Camp Woolwich. As if a moment hadn’t passed since his mystery girl entered his life that night when he was sent to meet his kiss keeper. She was everywhere. Her soft lips. Her graceful neck. His hands on her shoulders. The way he could hear the smile in her voice—that gentle warmth woven in with the honeyed scent of blackberries. His first impression of her had been sightless, and even when he’d gotten a glimpse, she was still shrouded in darkness with that damned bandana. So, he’d relied on his other senses to paint a picture of her in his mind.
A faceless masterpiece held together by touch, scent, taste, and sound.
“Sir, we’ve arrived.”
Jake blinked open his eyes. Jesus! He could not allow thoughts of some thirteen-year-old mystery girl to derail the importance of closing this deal. He caught his reflection in the window and smoothed his jacket.
With a body that rivaled most fitness gurus, he wasn’t some gangly thirteen-year-old anymore. And he sure as hell couldn’t let that kid wreck this opportunity.
Time to get his head in the game. He could pull property records and research the Woolwich family on his flight. Hell, by this time tomorrow, he could be ordering new business cards with the title partner printed prominently under his name.
The driver removed his bag from the trunk and handed him his boarding pass. Jake slipped the man a twenty, then headed inside to catch his flight.
The line for TSA screening was insane, and he was grateful he didn’t have to wait with the herds of unseasoned travelers. Usually, void of Hawaiian shirt-wearing idiots and screaming toddlers, the exclusive PreCheck security line, and the ability to fly First Class were the only ways to maintain one’s sanity when navigating the world of commercial air travel. He headed to the familiar spot, then froze to find the area empty.
This was not good.
He blew out a breath and spied a familiar face. Thanks to spending a decent amount of time in the Denver airport, Jake was on friendly terms with many of the security agents and recognized the man staffing the empty area.
“What’s going on, Tim?”
The TSA agent shrugged. “System’s down. Everyone has to go through the main line today.”
“Shit,” Jake murmured.
“It might not be so bad. I wouldn’t mind being stuck in line behind her,” the man replied, gesturing with his chin toward a woman at the end of the line.
Dressed in a trench coat and red heels, the stunning brunette stood in line, her gaze bouncing wildly between her phone and the airport’s bustling main lobby like a sexed-up bobblehead doll.
“I don’t know. She looks a little…off-balance,” he answered.
“I’ll take off-balance any day of the week. The crazy ones are always great in the sack,” the man joked, but Jake didn’t laugh.
For once in his life, he had no interest in bedding a woman—crazy or otherwise. He had too much on his mind. He bid the agent goodbye, then got in line behind the twitchy lady.
“No, no, no, no! Not the curse!” she murmured, staring at her phone, confirming his initial assessment of her above-average level of craziness when she caught his eye.
She blinked back tears. “Could you do something for me, sir?”
Dammit! Why did the crazy ones always ask for help?
“What do you need help with?” he asked as unhelpfully as possible.
“I think my boyfriend just dumped me over text,” she blurted.
His brows knit together. “You think you just got dumped?”
She shook her head, then held out her phone with a string of texts illuminated on the screen.
This isn’t working for me. Have a good life.
“Jesus, that’s harsh,” he said. Even he wasn’t that big of a dick.
The woman swallowed back tears. “He’s here. I know he’s here because he did that check-in thing on his social media accounts to notify everyone that he’d landed at the Denver airport. I thought, maybe if I could see him, if we talked, he might change his mind. We’re supposed to go on a trip together today.”
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
She was back on her cell, scrolling through pictures now, then held up her phone. Instead of her text feed, an image of a man appeared on the screen.
“This is him. It’s the only picture I have. He doesn’t like his face splashed all over the internet. Can you look around and try to spot him?”
Active enough online to post his location but unable to take a pic with his girlfriend?
That wasn’t a good sign for this chick.
Not to mention that the Denver airport is the fifth busiest in the US. Finding one guy in the masses was like looking for a needle in a haystack. He was about to tell this to his crazy line lady when he glanced into the lobby and did a double take. The same SOB in the photo she’d shown him was right there, crossing the length of the area where the newly arrived passengers congregated.
He craned his head. “I think I see him.”
She gasped. “Where is he?”
“He’s behind you, but don’t turn around.”
“Why not?” she asked.
Jake flicked his gaze from the man to his crazy line lady, then back to the man. “Let me watch him for a second.”
“I’ll text him, and you can tell me what he does,” she added with a burst of energy.
He released an impatient sigh. What the hell was wrong with him? The last thing he needed was to get in the middle of a breakup, but when the crazy line lady pegged him with her emerald eyes, he couldn’t look away.
The Kiss Keeper Page 4