Ice Cold Boss (A Paradise Shores Standalone Book 2)

by Olivia Hayle

  He’s not a realistic love interest—he’s not my friend, even—and I would do well to remember that. I have a job to do and a design project to finish. If the jury chooses our opera house, I have a shot at being employed as a junior architect and a future in this industry. The possibility hangs like the most delicious carrot in front of me, spurring me on.

  Henry finally breaks the silence, his voice resigned. “Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, it’s clearly not.” His profile is strong, the jaw working. “Look, I should probably tell you anyway. My sister was in a car accident when she was younger.”

  My hands, folded in my lap, fall limp. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s just… It’s important to sit straight, you know. To wear your seat belt properly. It’s designed for an adult sitting straight. It seems trivial, but if something happens, that can be the difference.”

  I can hear the words he chose not to add, the difference between life and death, and I’m afraid to ask, but I have to. “Is she okay?”

  “Yes. Lily’s strong, and she nearly made a full recovery. But it was way too close.” He glances at me briefly, before steeling himself. “She has a limp now. It’s nothing major, but you’ll notice it.”

  “Thanks for telling me,” I say softly. “Is that why you reacted so strongly?”

  His hands relax around the wheel. “I suppose so, yes.”

  “That’s understandable,” I say. “How old was she when it happened?”

  “Eighteen. I wasn’t home, at the time. Drove from New York while she was still in surgery.”

  Part of me wants to reach out, to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he’s still closed off. I try for levity instead. “I was raised in the countryside, you know. Many of my friends didn’t wear seat belts throughout their teenage years.”

  A theatrical shiver passes through him. “Stop, please.”

  “Will you tell me more about her?” I lean back in the seat. “Who is she marrying?”

  A small, indulgent smile plays on his lips. “She’s the youngest. Has always loved art, much to our father’s displeasure, but she was the strong one. She never cared what our parents thought. She opened her new art gallery just a few months back.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. It’s a small place in Paradise Shores, but it’s a good start. She’s doing what she loves, which is what I want for her.”

  I smile at the affection warming his voice. Nothing about Henry is truly cold or aloof, not like I’d once thought.

  “She has three older brothers, which I know wasn’t easy on her growing up. But she’s never complained.”

  “You have two brothers, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re the oldest?”

  His face turns wry. “It’s that obvious, is it?”

  “Sort of, yes. You have the vibe.” It’s not hard to imagine him taking the lead, being the organizer, the responsible one. I bet his siblings look up to him.

  “So I’ve been told,” he says.

  “Will they also be at the wedding?”

  “Yes. And I should tell you that I’m one of the groomsmen. During the ceremony itself, you’ll be seated with my parents and cousins, but I’ll be by your side for the rest of the evening. I hope that’s not a problem?”

  The warmth in my chest expands even further, until I’m feeling far too many things, all of them silly. Siblings. Cousins. Growing up, it had just been my parents and me, and while I love them dearly, his words paint an irresistible picture.

  “Of course not. Do you know the groom well, then?”

  He snorts. “You could say that. We grew up with him, in a way. Lily and Hayden were close in age and got along well.”

  “That’s beautiful.”

  He’s quiet for a beat, and I wonder if I’ve said something wrong, but then he gives a slow nod. “Yes, I suppose it is, in a way.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “He… well, he was in that car accident as well. He was the one driving, actually. Let’s just say my parents didn’t handle it well. And then he was gone for a long time, serving in the Navy, and my sister was unhappy.” He shakes a hand, dismissing years of family history. “But that’s a story for some other day.”

  I’m curious, but I just nod. “And we’re meeting them tonight?”

  “Yes, for dinner. It’ll be a short affair, and we’ll arrive with plenty of time to spare to work beforehand.”

  “Perfect.”

  We drive in comfortable silence the rest of the way, the time peppered by casual conversation that isn’t stilted or forced at all. Somehow, the further away from the city we get, the less I feel like we’re our office selves. We’ve shed the suit and the pencil skirt, and we’re just Henry and Faye, equals.

  It’s scary how much I enjoy it.

  My nerves return as we drive into Paradise Shores, two hours later. We drive past beautiful old houses with green lawns and wrap-around porches. Old oak trees rise up like guardians, their twisted branches reaching for the sky. Colonial. Georgian. Victorian. Style after style, we pass houses with turrets, shutters, porches.

  “Well,” I say, “I get why you’re into architecture if you grew up here.”

  Henry chuckles. “I have yet to build anything that looks like this, but maybe one day.”

  We pass a beautiful little square with a playground, two parents swinging a laughing child between them. Its idyllic old money, it’s the Hamptons on steroids, pretty like a postcard and just as unattainable.

  And then the ocean appears. Hidden behind trees and a boardwalk, but shimmering blue nonetheless, endless and ageless.

  Henry lets out a slow breath. “This place never changes,” he murmurs.

  We drive along the shoreline, through a little town center, and I want to turn down my window and breathe in the air here. Somehow, I think it might smell like candied apples, like sea salt and money.

  Henry pulls up on the driveway to a seaside cottage, complete with blue shutters and blooming hydrangeas.

  “We’re staying here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This isn’t a hotel,” I protest.

  He chuckles again and turns off the engine. Parked, apparently. “Nope.”

  “I thought we were staying in a hotel.”

  He opens the trunk and grabs both of our bags. “No, this is my sister’s house.”

  My nerves come out in full force. “We’re meeting them now?”

  “No, this house is just for us.” He unlocks the front door, and I follow him inside. It’s beautifully decorated. Homely, but with rustic, seaside details—and not in a kitschy way either. A large kitchen and a cozy living room. Two bedrooms, both with double beds, freshly made.

  I’m floored. “They gave you a whole house? Don’t they have a lot of guests coming in?”

  Henry shoots me a crooked smile. “Yes, but I am the oldest son, you know.”

  The dramatic superiority in his voice makes me smile too. “She doesn’t live here?”

  “No, she lives in the house next door with her fiancé.”

  “Ah,” I say softly, running my hand over the rough linen texture of the couch. The kind of money needed to purchase these seaside houses feels staggering, somehow so much more real than the millions the skyscrapers I regularly work on cost to build. Corporations pay for those—not people.

  Henry sees my expression and pauses, his weekend bag in hand. With his thick hair and the casual linen shirt, here in this beige oceanside cottage, he looks like he belongs in an ad. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. Yes, absolutely.”

  “You have nothing to worry about, you know. If you decide you don’t want to attend a dinner or event this weekend, it’s your call. I won’t hold you to anything.”

  He’s giving me an out from the contract we’d both signed. I release a shaky breath and shake my head. “No, I’m ready. It’ll be fun.
I’ve just never really been introduced to a boyfriend’s family like this, you know. And definitely not at a wedding. Not that you’re my boyfriend, obviously. You’re my boss.”

  Henry’s mouth curves into a smile. “You ramble when you’re nervous.”

  “I do not.”

  “Yes, you do. It’s adorable. The great Faye Alvarez, ambitious and cutthroat architect, gets nervous. It’s headline worthy.”

  I shake my head at him and grab my bag. “Asshole.”

  “Since long before I met you. I’ll take the guest room,” he says, a hand on the doorframe. “The master is yours.”

  “Thank you.”

  He glances down at the heavy watch on his wrist. Judging from this place—this town—no doubt it’s some family heirloom, probably bequeathed from George Washington himself for favors rendered during the Revolutionary War. “We have a few hours, still. How about we unpack and start working? I’d like us to have a final draft of the structure on Sunday, with all the changes implemented.”

  The idea brightens me. The structure is beautiful, and I’ve been wanting to get back to perfecting it for days. “Sounds good. And then we can—"

  A knock sounds on the front door, a cheery little pat-pat-pat. “Heeenry! I saw your car come in!”

  Henry sighs. “Well, you might have to meet my sister a little bit sooner than expected.”

  “That’s her?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  I smooth a hand over my dress and follow him to the door. A woman is standing on the porch, about my own age, with flaming auburn hair and a giant smile on her face. She throws her arms around Henry.

  “You made it!”

  “Of course,” he says, wrapping his arms around her. “Were you standing in your window watching, or what?”

  She gives a pealing laugh. “Yes. It’s funny, I’ve been so busy with wedding preparations, and now that the weekend is here I have nothing at all to do. Mom and Ingrid have all taken over now.” She turns to me, her smile burning impossibly brighter. Is this woman really related to Henry? She feels like his complete opposite.

  “I’m Lily,” she says. “Henry’s sister. I’m so happy to meet you.”

  I extend a hand. “I’m Faye. It’s really nice to meet you.”

  She ignores my hand and pulls me into a hug instead. “That’s a beautiful name,” she says into my hair. “Faye. Very unique. Makes me think of mystical fairy creatures.”

  I blink at her. “Yes, well, I’m afraid I can’t really live up to that. I’m awfully short for an fairy.”

  “But you’re just as beautiful as one,” she says.

  Laughter slips out of me, embarrassed and surprised. “Thank you, I think.”

  “Oh, it’s most definitely a compliment.”

  “Lily, let’s stay on track here.” Henry’s voice is exasperated, and I hide my smile. He sounds just like a fond older brother. “Is everything going as planned with the preparations? Any fires to put out?”

  “No,” she beams. “I’m sure the other shoe will drop, but for now, everything’s perfect. But trust me on that, not Mom. You know she’ll give you a different story. My reception shoes are eggshell white, not cream, or something equally banal.”

  “I won’t even ask,” Henry snorts. “Is Hayden doing all right?”

  “Absolutely.” Lily turns to me with a conspiratorial smile. “Henry keeps thinking that my fiancé is going to run off. Leave me at the altar or get cold feet.”

  “I do not,” Henry protests. “Not in the least.”

  “Sure you don’t. But I don’t mind. It’s part of your gruff charm, not that I have to tell Faye that, of course.”

  And then I watch the most miraculous thing, as Henry—Henry Marchand himself—blushes. It might be the best thing I’ve seen in years.

  “His gruff charm is what I fell for in the first place,” I tell her.

  She winks at me. “I’m not surprised.”

  “All right, all right,” Henry interjects. “Faye and I are going to get settled before we head over to Mom and Dad’s.”

  “Right. Dinner is served at seven, but we’re having drinks earlier. I’ll see you guys soon.”

  I reach out to her before she leaves, a hand lightly on her elbow. “Thank you for letting us stay in your house, by the way. It’s absolutely gorgeous here.”

  Her eyes sparkle again. “Flattery. We’re off to a great start, Faye. I’m going to like you.”

  I have a sneaky suspicion that I’m going to like her, too. “Keep making Henry blush,” I say, “and we’ll get along famously.”

  She laughs, and then laughs even harder as Henry reaches out to close the door. “All right. Goodbye, Lily. See you soon!”

  “Can’t wait!”

  With the front door closed again, I can’t help but grin at him. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

  He reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Of course you two will be thick as thieves before this is over. I should have seen it coming.”

  I put a hand on his arm. “I’m on your side in this.”

  “Thank you,” he says dryly. “Let’s see if we can channel that spirit into the opera house.”

  Right. We’re here to work, and the way we’re blurring the lines at the moment is as dangerous as it’s fun. “Lead the way,” I say.

  20

  Henry

  Faye walks by my side in silence, keen eyes taking in the beach and the boardwalk. It’s not a long walk from the cottage to my parents’ house on the other end of Ocean Drive, and I know it’s not what she’s there for, but I want to show her Paradise Shores.

  “So,” I say finally. “What’s the verdict?”

  She glances up at me with intelligent eyes, tucking long hair behind an ear. “On what?”

  “This place,” I suggest, “or my sister. Take your pick.”

  “You know that’s an impossible question.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. You’re fishing for compliments, I can tell. And if I refuse, I’m rude, but if I give in, you won’t know if they’re genuine.”

  I snort. “Maybe I’m just making conversation.”

  “Mhm. In that case, we can talk about all kinds of things.” She turns and walks backward, ahead of me, her shoes in one hand. I’ve slipped off my own as well, and the sand is warm under my feet.

  The summer air has gone to my head, because here with her, it’s easy to imagine a different reality. One where she’s actually mine—where we walk on the beach most days.

  “What things?” I ask.

  “You want me to pick a conversation topic? That can be dangerous.”

  I snort again. “I’m well aware. Maybe we could have a mature discussion about our mutual attraction.”

  She pretends to consider that for a bit. “Maybe not. Maybe we can talk about you.”

  “Again? You’re turning me into a narcissist.”

  “You own a firm with your last name in the title. I’d say that ship has pretty much sailed.”

  “That’s an excellent topic,” I say. “Ships.”

  She shakes her head, but her eyes are amused. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “No, but it’s what we should talk about. My family sails a lot, and we have a sailing boat here.”

  “Of course you do,” she says, rolling her eyes. “What’s next? You’re related to the Kennedys?”

  I wave a hand. “Second cousins, but that’s not important. Let’s go sailing this weekend. I’ll take you out. Have you ever been?”

  Her eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. Let me take you sailing.”

  “No, Henry, about the Kennedy thing.”

  “That was a joke, although I think my parents have bumped into members of the extended family at a few events.”

  She returns to my side, taking two strides for every one of mine. “You want to go sailing?”

  “It’s summer. Why not?” And, I think, because it gives me more time with you. Tim
e with her away from the strict confines of the office, where the title of assistant and boss don’t hang around our necks like blaring neon signs.

  “I’ve never been sailing.”

  “I’ll teach you,” I say. I’ll never tire of it—the wind against my skin, the feeling of rope running painfully through my hands. It’s been too long.

  Faye bites her full lip, reminding me of how sweet she tastes, and I have to look away before I lose yet another point in our imaginary game. “It’ll take us away from the project,” she says.

  “For a few hours, yes. But I think both of us work hard enough to deserve a weekend with a bit of fun mixed in.”

  She shakes her head, her glossy mass of hair shimmering in the sun. “Who are you, and what have you done with Henry Marchand?”

  I smile at that and don’t reply, mostly because there’s nothing to say. With her, I feel more like myself than I have for a long while, and I don’t want to let that slip out of my fingers.

  When we’re nearly at my parents’ house, we stop to put our shoes back on, and Faye leans against me to steady herself. The small touch makes me irrationally happy. Her wit, her intelligence, her beauty—everything is intoxicating. She’s a woman who gives as good as she gets in every interaction.

  She looks up at me with an apologetic smile. “I’m going to get all the names mixed up. I always do. It’s my one flaw.”

  “Your one flaw, huh?”

  “Yes, and it would be very ungentlemanlike of you to point out any others.”

  “I would never,” I say. “Lily is the only girl, and you’ve already met her, so I’m sure you’ll remember her name. When in doubt, just remember that it’s a flower.”

  “Idiot.”

  “And I’m Henry,” I say solemnly. “H-e-n-r-y.”

  “No, you’re a complete asshole,” she says, her grin widening. “Why haven’t I realized it before?”

  “I try very hard to keep it hidden.”

  “Try harder,” she says.

  Something inside me aches happily at her teasing and the clear ease in her voice. I take her hand in mine, leading her across the lawn toward my parents’ house. It’s large, Victorian, three stories and blue shutters. The picture of imposing Paradise Shores.