“Damn.” Steve shook his head and patted Shane on the back. “Well, the blondes are still around if you need a palate cleanse.”
Shane grimaced. Now he just wanted to go home and sleep next to his toilet. He didn't care anymore about the rest of the night. It was as if Crazy Girl had stripped him of his desire to keep up his carefree charade.
“Nah, I think I'm about ready to call it a night. Don't bother Kip, I'll just get a cab.” Shane pulled out his phone, but Steve covered the screen with his hand.
“Just wait here a minute, I'll get the guys. I'm ready to head out myself.” Shane heard the pity in his friend's voice but he didn't care. He knew he probably looked like shit. He felt like shit.
He sat down on the curb by the main entrance as Steve went back inside to gather up the rest of the group. For all of Steve's flaws, he was a decent guy at the core.
It wasn't long before Kip pulled up outside of Shane's house and his friends yelled obnoxious goodbyes out the windows as he tried to unlock his door. He was trying not to laugh at them while at the same time trying not to puke in his neighbor's begonias. It was quite taxing.
Finally getting his door open, he staggered inside and slid the lock closed again behind him. He rested against the door heavily.
“Why wouldn't you give me your name, Crazy Girl? How can I sponsor your kick-ass skills when I don't have a name?” he asked into his empty house. He sighed tiredly and walked carefully to the bathroom down the hall.
He stood in the doorway for several long seconds, looking at his toilet in annoyance. He hated throwing up, he really didn't want to. Maybe he wouldn't have to. That last shot of tequila had been a bad idea. He clenched his jaw and resolved to not get sick.
Taking a few more steps over to his room, he crawled across the bedspread slowly and rested his head on the pillows. He rolled over, mindful of his pissed-off stomach. One foot dropped to the floor, to keep the room from spinning, and he folded both arms over his face as he closed his eyes.
“I make the worst decisions,” he said heavily before he passed out.
Chapter 1
All Mixed Up
More than two months later
Late November
Huntington Beach, California
Shane pulled into the parking lot of Soaring Bird in his white Mercedes. He was pretty sure Clarke still had the Land Rover since he'd called her and told her to pick it up from Kip's months ago. She didn't even pretend like she minded. He'd probably just let her keep it. He had more than enough vehicles.
It felt later in the day for him since he was still on New York time. Getting to the office at eight in the morning there was five in the morning here. He'd been up for hours, drinking coffee, doing laundry, trying to keep busy, until he couldn't wait anymore and he drove over to his favorite office.
It had been months since he'd been back in California, and even longer since he'd stepped foot in this building. His head still ached with the memory of the worst hangover of his life from his last trip home.
He had woken up that morning to his cell phone freaking out with calls from the East Coast office and a very vague memory of the night before.
Everything was wrong. All the shipments, orders, and designs were falling apart. He'd called a cab that took him straight to the airport, and flown back to do damage control. It had taken more than two months to regulate the issues and get things up and running again.
The perils of being an entrepreneur.
Lenny had made a few special trips to help get things sorted, and it had taken all of his self-control to avoid asking about Lucy. It wasn't too long after Lenny's last visit that he saw on a tabloid that Blake and Lucy had run off and gotten married. Then it was all over the television for the week after that.
Well, good for them. That's what he had wanted, right?
Having it final, having them make everything very... official, helped him focus even harder on work. She was now permanently out of reach.
He really shouldn't be so hung up on the anomaly that was Lucy Newton. They weren't together for very long and their relationship hadn't progressed to any of his favorite parts. But still, she had become a part of his life. Which was significant. To him.
Shane had really believed, early on with Lucy, that she was someone he could build a future with. His mom would have loved her.
On that thought, Shane closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He'd spent the better portion of his life pretending not to remember all the advice his parents had attempted to drill into him as soon as he could cogitate.
He had been a change-of-life baby. They thought they couldn't have kids, and then his mom got pregnant at the age of fifty. It wasn't unheard of, but it was rare. His dad had been sixty-five. They both passed away the year he turned eighteen. His dad from lung cancer, his mom from complications with diabetes. Two reasons he worked out relentlessly and didn't smoke.
Now, all of their advice that had seemed so irrelevant in his teen years was something he wished he'd written down. He couldn't remember all of it. He hated that he didn't. He could go for some wisdom these days.
He hired better people to keep the East Coast office running. Then he decided he could go home for a little while.
New York was still cold, and so was he.
California was home, it probably always would be. Though, he hadn't spent much steady time here since his eighteenth birthday. Always running off to the next competition or adventure with his well-financed friends.
With that bleak memory, he opened the car door and headed to work.
He unlocked the front door and looked around, noticing that Clarke had redecorated slightly. He liked it.
He slipped behind the counter and booted up the computer, glancing over the paperwork from the day before.
“Depression is a good look, you should totes keep it.”
Shane stared blankly at the girl who had entered silently behind him. She hopped up onto the counter and looked down at him. He didn't recognize her. Maybe she worked for him? It was possible that Clarke had replaced the entire staff. He hadn't exactly been keeping the closest of tabs on her.
The girl's dark hair hung loose down her back, reminding him of another dark-haired beauty that he had walked away from a few months back. White bikini strings tied around her neck dangled out of the neckline of her loose-fitting gray t-shirt. She was chomping idly on some gum but stopped momentarily to flash him a smile.
“Get off the counter,” he instructed blandly. She complied with an eye roll and a shrug, hopping down onto bare feet and shoving her hands in the back pockets of her hot pink, frayed hemmed jean shorts.
Shane tucked the paperwork under his arm, walked the few paces to his office door, stuck the key in the lock, and twisted the knob. He pushed the door open and flicked the lights on. If his thoughts had been where they needed to be, he would have asked the girl who she was, why she was here and why at such an ungodly hour in the morning. But he didn't. Because he didn't care. Not really.
He assumed, and with good reason, that Clarke would have the explanation and, looking at the clock on the wall, he would be able to ask her in about five minutes.
His office was as he left it. No changes. Kind of musty. Clarke had her own office upstairs so she had no reason to be in here, though he had left her a key.
He didn't open the shades that would have let in the early morning sun, giving him an incredible view of the ocean that his employees were so very fond of. Instead, he sank into the chair behind the desk, leaned back and shut his tired eyes. He'd been so anxious to get here, and now he just wanted to take a nap.
He heard the front door open again and thought maybe the rude girl had left.
“Hey, babe. I brought you some food for later, I noticed you left kinda early this morning,” Rude Girl addressed the newcomer.
“Ugh, yeah. I couldn't sleep. Decided to get a start on the day. Thanks.” It sounded like Clarke. Shane peeked his eyes open and reclined further in
his chair, attempting to peer around the doorjamb to check his suspicions.
“No problem. Your boss is back,” Rude Girl continued. Shane leaned back some more, her pink shorts coming into view, and out of them extended some very toned and tanned legs. He hadn't noticed that earlier. Though he had a better vantage point now. “If he washed that look of dejection off his face, he'd be kinda hot.”
That was when the chair had gone back as far as it was capable and he heard something snap right before he crashed to the floor.
Of course.
He didn't scramble to right himself. Instead, he submitted to defeat and rested his head on the thin carpet.
Clarke and her friend stood in the doorway, identical looks of concern on their faces. He noticed the sand embedded in the closely woven fibers and realized that carpet in a building that housed surfers had been a wasteful idea.
“Are you okay?” Clarke stooped down to help him.
“Yeah, I'm great. Why?” He pushed himself up, ignoring her extended hand, and righted his chair, though it probably wouldn't be smart to sit in it again, what with the whole “snapping” incident and all. He leaned back against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to appear nonchalant.
Clarke regarded him with a quizzical expression but stepped back. Shane could see he wasn't getting an introduction, so he asked for one.
“Who's the rude girl?” he asked, lifting a chin to the brunette. She was similar in height and build to Clarke. Probably age too.
“This is Greta Garbo, my roommate. Er, one of my roommates.” Clarke made a face and Greta snickered.
“Wait a minute, 'rude girl'?” It was Greta's turn to cross her arms over her chest. She arched one dark eyebrow at him and he noticed her eyes were blue. Not brown, like her hair and complexion would imply. But a bright, bold, look-right-through-you blue. How had he also missed that?
“I would be hot if I washed that dejected look off my face?” Shane repeated her words, expecting her to be embarrassed or apologetic. She was neither.
“True story.” She smirked and started to back out the door. “I need to head. I'll catch you tonight?” she directed to Clarke.
“Yeah.” It came out like a sigh. “I'll be there, but no promises of bells.”
“Fair enough.” Garbo grinned and was gone.
That smirk and those eyes were trying to connect to a memory he couldn't identify. He had no idea who she was, though; he'd remember someone named Greta.
Shane watched Clarke's pensive face for a moment. He hadn't seen her in several months and while she was his West Coast manager, he had required her to shoulder more of the business burden so he could stay in New York and straighten out some technical difficulties. The numbers looked good and she was doing a fantastic job overall, but the added responsibility had clearly been taking a toll on her.
She was tired. Her caramel hair was dull and her skin didn't have any glow to it whatsoever, which was practically a crime in California.
“I'm sorry I haven't been around,” he offered, knowing it wouldn't do any good. What Clarke needed was a day off. Good thing he already had some plans in the works to give her exactly that.
“Hm?” She looked at him like she suddenly remembered he was there. “Oh, don't worry about it.” She brushed it off and went back out to the main floor. He followed.
“What's going on tonight?” he asked, trying to take an interest, make the effort to re-enter her good graces. They used to be comrades at one time. If he hadn't gotten so distracted with Lucy, they probably still would be.
He and Clarke shared a similar work ethic that was fueled by their passion for the sports they represented. He respected her, he admired her. He often took advantage of the fact that she did the same with him.
“Oh, Greta's brother and friend are coming into town for a couple weeks.” Clarke crouched down to open the safe. “She swears they're only staying with us for one night and they have a condo rented for the rest of the time they're here but... I don't know.” She sounded annoyed. “It wouldn't be so bad if the house wasn't so full already. I can hardly use my own bathroom.”
“How many people are you living with?” Shane leaned against the counter watching her count the deposit.
“A few.” She sighed and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “It was only supposed to me, Greta and Tatewin. But then Steve's place burned down, and he brought Bo and Brady because apparently they can't live without each other. Then Tate moved in with her boyfriend Eddie, so now Steve is making noise to take over her old room.” She looked up at him, her brows furrowed. “I sound bitter, don't I? I'm not bitter. I'm just... so tired.” Her head sank to the counter top, spreading her hair out around her.
“How long have those freeloaders been staying with you?” Shane asked, blowing past the fact that the apartment had burned down and realizing with irritation that his friends had been taking advantage of his absence and using his most loyal employee. Vagrants.
Clarke straightened back up and resumed counting the money. “I don't know, a couple months. It wouldn't be so bad if they could pick up after themselves. And maybe sleep at normal times. And not forget which room is theirs when they come home drunk.”
“So you've been babysitting my friends and running the shop all by yourself?”
Calling it a “shop: was a disservice. To Clarke and to the business that they had built. The two-story building was designed to look like a beach house. The upstairs was where the creative stuff happened. The main floor was where they sold it all. The two were separated by an open gunmetal-colored stairway. The upper floor was an oversized loft space set up with drafting tables, couches, chairs and a TV where the employees took their break, and a few locked rooms for storage and Clarke's office.
They sold anything and everything one could imagine needing for surfing or snowboarding. All bearing the designs and trademark of their creator, Shane Brookings, and his business partner, Lenny Evans Casey.
Lenny had signed on not even a year ago, but the moment she did, the brand took off. It was one of the reasons Shane named it Soaring Bird, after Lenny.
It was a pitiful attempt to make right the way he had treated her when they had dated. It really didn't matter. She had told him that she had forgiven him and she was more than happy with Luke Casey, her husband and front man for the rock band Double Blind Study. Still, Shane was happy to have one of the world's greatest snowboarders as his business partner.
Soaring Bird wasn't Burton or Billabong, but it was getting there. And mostly because Shane had stuck Clarke behind the wheel.
Clarke was organized, dedicated and completely drama free. She kept her workspace the exact same way.
“I wouldn't call it babysitting... Okay, yeah, I guess I would.” She chuckled and he saw some of the stress leave her countenance. “And now Greta's brother and friend will be joining us. Seven people, one house.”
“Greta seems lovely,” Shane remarked darkly, not even attempting to disguise his sarcasm.
Clarke looked up at him with a peculiar expression. “You've never met her?”
“Not that I remember.” That smirk and those eyes swam through his memory again but remained disconnected. “I think I'd remember someone with so much charm.”
“Huh.” Clarke's eyebrows went up. “I guess I thought...” She frowned at him again, as if trying to decide if he was lying or not, then she moved onto her next assumption. “Well, anyway, I figured, since you hang out with the band and stuff.”
“What band?” Shane's stomach began to tighten.
“Double Blind Study. Don't you see them all the time? Which, by the way, a ticket hookup wouldn't be that far-reaching a bonus for a loyal employee.” She tilted her head slightly at his lost expression.
“What's Greta's connection to the band?” He didn't want to know.
“Harrison is her older brother.” She said it like it was common knowledge. Something they talked about often. Then she continued, “She jus
t got back from Boston. I guess Carl married their older sister last week and it was the wedding of the century.”
“I had no idea. I didn't even know Harrison had sisters.”
Clarke gave him that weird look again, like she wasn't sure if she believed him. He stared right back at her until she finally broke, her lips pursing in unison with her frown. “But the guys know her. Like, really well. She moved in with me months ago but Steve, Bo, Brady, Kip, hell, even Adam, are like her freaking bodyguards. The girl can't go anywhere without one of them dragging themselves along.”
“Is she dating one of them?” Shane asked, suspecting it was Adam. Adam liked to date girls that were more of a handful than they were worth.
“Heck no! Greta doesn't date. She has,” Clarke scratched the side of her neck as she looked away and sought the right word, “rules about that.” Clarke shook her head in exasperation. “Are you sure you've never met her?”
“I think I'd remember someone named Greta Garbo.” Shane shrugged.
“Her name is Greta O'Neil. I call her Garbo. We all call her Garbo. After the actress, Greta Garbo?” She looked at Shane like he was daft. “Because I'm Clarke, as in Clark Gable and she's Greta—aw, forget it. No one understands my references.”
Shane chuckled. “Still doesn't ring a bell, my dear.”
“Well, all I know is that when Steve came in one day and she was here to see me, he was all about it.”
“Sounds like Steve,” Shane said dryly.
“Not like that,” Clarke protested. “Like he already knew her. They all acted like it. She's a kick-ass surfer-chick. Even you'd be impressed.”
“Not likely, I don't impress easily.”
“I'm sure you'll get your chance, Garbo is with them all the time when she's not at work. Speaking of work...” She gestured to the money she had been trying to count this whole time.
Shane nodded in understanding and withdrew to his office. So the guys had added a girl to the entourage. That kind of explained her cavalier attitude with him. She was comfortable here, and he had been away. That wasn't her fault. That wasn't really anyone's fault. He should probably lighten up. Especially if his friends already thought she was cool. They didn't let anyone into the group easily.
Tectonic (Double Blind Study Book 3) Page 2