Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “Are you in town for work?” I ask.

  “No,” she scoffs. “I’m on vacation.” Her long, thin nose crinkles at the end. “For three long days.”

  “You say that as if it were a death sentence.”

  “I’d rather be working.” She stops in front of a wall of windows. The sunlight streams in, highlighting the red and gold tones in her hair. “My brothers arranged this. How could I not come?”

  I laugh. “That was nice of them. My brothers would’ve sent me to work and taken the vacation on their own.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Four.”

  “I have three, and they’re a giant pain in my ass.” There’s a slight upturn to her gorgeous lips as she says the words, and I find myself wondering how much of that I really believe.

  “I’ll trade you,” I offer.

  Our eyes lock, her grin pulling my own wider as the throng of bodies hustling around us thickens. A thousand questions are on my lips, an itch to know more about this intriguing beauty in the middle of Savannah Hilton Head International Airport. Before I can figure out which way to go with this conversation, she gestures toward an exit.

  “I apologize for running into you,” she says. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “No, wait.” It’s too quick, too telling—and not my style. I make fun of men for tripping over themselves like this, but it comes out before I can think. “Can I take you to dinner sometime?”

  The question surprises me as much as it seems to surprise her, but I don’t regret it. As a matter of fact, I like the idea. A lot.

  She hesitates, her response on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t let it pass. I almost think it’s on purpose, but I’m not sure if she’s fucking with me, or if she has plans. Or a man.

  For about a half a second, I contemplate if I care about the latter.

  I don’t.

  My phone buzzes in the jacket pocket of my suit, and I know it’s Oliver asking me where I am. I’m never late. But I can’t even mull that over right now, not with her standing in front of me and looking at me with the same curiosity about her that’s filling every nook of my mind.

  “Ugh,” she grimaces, taking a large step toward me as the crowd begins to fill the entire hallway connecting the concord with the baggage claim. The top of her head barely reaches my eyes. “I’m not a big people person.”

  “Me either.” I lift my briefcase and step so that my back is against the wall, giving her more room. “So … dinner?”

  She considers this. “I don’t typically go to dinner with nameless men.”

  “That’s an easy fix.” I grin. “I’m Holton Mason. My friends call me Holt. All three of them.”

  She laughs, her long lashes fluttering. I fight from reaching out and brushing the stray strand of hair off her cheek.

  A hundred people might be swarming around us, but it may as well just be her in front of me. A circus could be clamoring down the hall, complete with elephants and man-eating tigers, and I wouldn’t notice.

  “I’m not sure what my plans are, actually,” she says finally.

  “Well, let’s meet up, and I’ll help you make them.”

  She smiles. “I bet you would, Holt.”

  “Ah, you used the nickname. That’s a good sign.”

  “I just feel sorry that only three people like you.”

  “Does that mean you’ll give me your number?”

  Digging in her bag and pulling out a small notepad, she rips off the bottom of a sheet in a crisp line. She offers it to me along with a pen. “No, but you can give me yours.”

  “I could text it to you.”

  A single, perfectly arched brow rises farther. “And I could exit those doors and get into my rental car. Your call.”

  My fingers wrap around the scrap of paper, glancing at her delicate fingers in the process. Visions of them gripping my cock pop immediately to mind, and I have to shake them away.

  “I can’t say I’ve had a woman refuse to give me her number before,” I say, the words mixed with a chuckle.

  A part of me wants to refuse, just to see if she’ll bend. But when I look at her standing there, the resolution in her eyes means she’s not bluffing. So while that’s frustrating in a plethora of ways, it’s also really kind of hot.

  “But there’s a first time for everything, right?” I scratch out my digits and hand the paper back to her.

  She presses her lips together and drops the pen and paper into her bag without even looking at it. “Thanks.”

  “I look forward to seeing you again,” I say as she turns toward the doors.

  “Nice to meet you,” she replies with no indication that I will see her again. In a split second, she disappears.

  Like a damn fool, I don’t move. I just stand and watch her, breathing in the remaining notes of her perfume. It’s a second too late before I realize I don’t even know her name.

  When I shove my hand into my pocket, it nudges my phone. As if on cue, it begins to ring. Again.

  “Yeah, Ollie?” I ask, my voice filled with a level of frustration equal to the pulse in my temple.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “On my way.”

  Chapter Two

  Blaire

  I jerk the curtains back and swing the sliding glass door open, filling my lungs with wonderful, salty air. The sea a few stories below sparkles in the sunlight. The sandy beach is spattered with sunbathers and kids building castles.

  Standing at the window, I watch the activities below. I’m reminded of summers at Lake Michigan with my parents and brothers years ago. My middle brother would be reading a book, my oldest brother creating a track for various toy cars he’d made my mom pack, and the youngest holding a drink in one hand and chasing girls or birds, depending on his age.

  No matter how much I really don’t want to be here, I can’t help but appreciate that they at least picked a beach. It was undoubtedly Sienna’s decision. Walker, my eldest brother’s girlfriend grew up here, and as I take in the sunshine and palm trees, I have no idea why she ever left.

  With another deep breath, I head back into the little condo that my three infuriating, difficult, ornery brothers rented.

  I flop on the sofa and take in my new digs for the next few days. The walls are painted white. Decorations in soft pink and seafoam green, most of them seashells and sand dollars, are everywhere. I suppose it’s relaxing to most people, but it makes me want to start stripping wallpaper. In lieu of that, I eye my briefcase sitting by the bedroom door across the living room and wonder if it’s too early in this little getaway to start working.

  As if he knew I was about to grab my client files, my phone rings. Walker’s name appears on the screen. I pick it up. “Hello?”

  “Did ya make it?” His voice is gruff on the other side.

  “Yes. A couple of hours ago.”

  “I told ya to call when ya landed, Blaire.”

  “This is not the first time I’ve taken a trip by myself, you know.”

  “Of course not. Just the first time in, what, a decade?”

  “Why do you really care how often I take a vacation?” I ask for the millionth time, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’m just going to sit here and dwell on how far behind I’m falling at work.”

  “I care because I heard you go batshit crazy on a man through the phone the other day. And because you were telling me you were afraid your assistant was going to quit over your workload.” He sighs. “I know you feel all fancy and shit in that corner office in the city, but fuck, Blaire. You can’t live to work.”

  He’s right. Of course, he’s right. But that doesn’t mean he’s … right.

  “You’re wrong.” I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. “I absolutely can live to work. I find it fulfilling.”

  “Whatever. How’s Georgia? Sienna said it’s nice there this time of year.”

  I turn my head and peer out the window. Palm trees sway in the sea breeze, and birds loop
lazily through the air, highlighted by the cloudless blue skies.

  “I can’t imagine it ever not being nice here,” I say. “I’ll never understand why she moved to Illinois.”

  “You have met me, you know.”

  “My point remains.” Pulling my legs up under me, I rest my head against the pillows. “Sienna made you a sap.”

  “I’m not a fucking sap,” he cuts back. “I’m just saying. Been thinking a lot lately …”

  The way his voice trails off hits me right in the heart. My face falls, and I fight the urge to lecture him or mother him in some way. This happens every summer. I think all my siblings start to think of our parents and their accident. It’s the time of year Walker is a bit less cantankerous. Lance drinks a little more. Machlan calls in the middle of the night with philosophical questions that I never can answer.

  Before I can figure out what to say, Walker changes the subject.

  “Can I ask you for a favor? Well, not for me, but for Sienna?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  “Can you meet up with one of her brothers and pick up some paperwork or some shit?” The sound of metal crashing onto a hard surface ricochets through the line. “Fuck!”

  I laugh. “What are you doing?”

  “Come finish this before I stick a fucking wrench in it!” The line gets muffled before he comes back. “I was trying to take an oil filter off a tractor, but it’s stuck. God knows I’m not gonna get any help with it either. I just shouted for someone to come finish it, but it’ll be there a day from now if I don’t circle back to it.”

  “Hey, it’s job security,” I say through a laugh.

  He chuckles as the sound of water in the background trickles through the phone. “Anyway, can you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Meet with one of Sienna’s brothers?”

  Something about the way he says “brothers” takes me back to the man at the airport today. He was devilishly handsome in his business suit with a Rolex strapped around a thick, muscled wrist. He spoke well and seemed educated, which were bonus points to his light-colored hair and jade eyes.

  The problem? I see men like him every day. My office is full of them. That controlled, alpha vibe stops being attractive when you peel off the suit. They’re just like other men—overgrown children who want a woman to fight for them.

  And fight for herself.

  Because if she doesn’t fight for herself, no one is going to fight for her.

  “I’m not sure what my schedule looks like,” I say for the second time today.

  “You don’t have a fucking schedule. I made your schedule.”

  “I’ll happily refund your money and come home.”

  “The hell you will.” He sighs. “It won’t kill you to do her this one favor.”

  “For what? So, you can get laid?”

  “I’ll get laid regardless …”

  “Ew!” I say, getting to my feet. “How did we get here? I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “I’ll text you the address, okay?” Walker asks.

  Moseying across the sage-colored carpeting, I gaze across the water. Families are holding hands, letting the waves rock against them. I wish I could do that—just throw all caution to the wind and let my guard down. But I can’t. Or if I was like that, I’m not anymore.

  “Fine,” I say finally. “But tell Sienna she owes me blueberry muffins when you pick me up from the airport.”

  “Will do. Talk to you soon, Blaire.”

  “Bye.”

  The line goes dead as he shouts at our cousin again.

  Tossing the phone to the sofa, I stretch my arms overhead. For once, I don’t feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, don’t have to look over my shoulder for a colleague or client. It’s an odd sensation that somehow makes me feel more guilty about this little getaway.

  I glance at my briefcase. There are only two files situated inside the leather case. My boss plucked the rest out of my hands before I left and shoved me out the door.

  Two files. I can have them worked over in forty-eight hours. Tops.

  My phone dings with Walker’s text, and I wonder how I, Blaire Gibson, got relegated to running my brother’s girlfriend’s errands.

  I sink on the couch next to my phone and sigh.

  This might be the longest three days of my life.

  Chapter Three

  Holt

  “What in the hell took you so long?” Oliver hits the gas, barely giving me enough time to shut the door to his sport utility vehicle.

  “Delayed flight.”

  My briefcase sails across the floorboard in the back, ramming the door behind my brother, as he takes a tight right turn onto the freeway.

  “You know, we could always buy a private jet.” He looks at me like he just proved a point he’s struggled to make for years.

  As the president of Mason Ltd., I control the purse strings and major financial decisions. I remind him of this with a simple quirk of a brow.

  He scoffs. “We’re going to be late to our meeting with Graham Landry.”

  “And what the fuck should I have done about it? Explained to the weather gods in Portland my little brother needed me for a business meeting and the storm should just vanish because I said so?”

  He’s not entertained. With a roll of his eyes, he sits back in the leather seat and hits cruise control on the steering wheel.

  “And stop fucking calling me every twenty seconds and handle shit like a big boy,” I add for good measure.

  “Really, Holt?”

  We watch each other, a heated standoff like only brothers who run a multi-million-dollar company together can manage. We’re both type A, intelligent, and damn good at what we do. This causes a few skirmishes, but we are also loyal. To a fault. And that’s what makes our bond stronger than any other in the business and why Mason Ltd. kicks ass.

  The ringing of Oliver’s phone through the car breaks our stalemate. Oliver answers. “Oliver Mason.”

  “It’s Rosie.”

  “How are you, Rosie?” I ask our shared assistant. She’s seventy-five years old and still good at old-fashioned typed things. Neither Oliver nor I can let her go, despite having to hire separate assistants to help pick up the slack. Our brother, Wade, was going to hire her in his architectural office because it’s more low-key, but when Oliver brought it up to her, she looked hurt. So, we pretended there was a big fight over her. She was happy again, and we just made do.

  “Is that you, Holton?” she asks.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’ve made your brother extremely nervous today. I’ve warned the Landrys you’re running late. Told them you had a weather delay.”

  I grin at Oliver as he shakes his head. “You’re right. It was the weather.”

  “Of course, it was, dear. I shall ignore any strange credit card charges from the past couple of hours when your bill hits my desk.”

  “That would be awfully kind of you, Rosie.”

  Oliver butts in, going over a few things with her while I gaze out the window and try to quiet my head. Meeting with Graham Landry is no joke. The man is a powerhouse all on his own—quick-witted, smart as hell, and cutthroat. If you aren’t on top of your game, you’re out of play.

  We pause at a traffic light and wait as the cars in the opposite lanes barrel across the intersection. Oliver ends the call with Rosie. I’m about to ask him how far away from the meeting we are when a pedestrian with long, dark hair crosses in front of us.

  Unlatching my seat belt, I rise in my seat to get a better look. Oliver’s eyes are on me as I try to ascertain whether this is the girl from the airport, but I ignore him. Instead, I watch the sway of her hips back and forth and determine, without a doubt, it’s not her.

  I sink back into the seat just before Oliver slams the gas again.

  “Wanna tell me what that was about?” he asks.

  “Not really.”

  “Does it have anything to do with why y
ou were super fucking late?”

  “I wasn’t that late,” I contend. “Just shut the hell up about it.”

  “Fine, fine. Just be ready for Landry. He knows how much we stand to make if we purchase this property from him, so he’s not going to give it to us easily.”

  I look at Oliver and laugh. “Does he ever?”

  “Maybe he’ll be nice and use some lube.”

  “Let’s hope he remembers how much Dad donated to the Landry mayoral campaign a few years back. Maybe that’ll help.”

  He takes a right off the freeway and heads to the outskirts of Savannah where the Landrys’ estate is located. I’ve been there a few times for random events and meetings, and it’s nice as hell. I keep telling my brothers we need something like that, but our personalities are too different to agree on anything. We just meet in Aspen and go skiing every winter instead.

  As the car pulls up to the gate, a man takes Oliver’s information and buzzes us through. We slip by tall rows of trees along the freshly paved path leading to the massive farmhouse nestled back away from the road. Oliver parks the car and looks at me.

  “You ready, big guy?” he asks.

  “Let’s do this.”

  * * *

  Blaire

  A lot of assumptions are made on first appearances, so for that reason, I strive never to be underdressed for an occasion. Yet as I walk up the steps to the large farmhouse at the address given to me by my brother, I feel totally unprepared.

  A flowy, pale yellow sundress hangs from my shoulders and hides the sandals on my feet. It seemed like the perfect easy ensemble to do a little shopping on the quaint little street beside my condo, and I didn’t see the need to change before picking up some papers for Sienna.

  I was wrong.

  This place is gorgeous and elegant and oh, so Southern. As I knock on the door and wait for someone, presumably a butler, to open the door, I wish to heaven I’d have worn something slightly more professional.