by Marina Adair
Pouring two fingers, he handed it to Charlotte, who was still leaning up against the charred remains of one of his favorite vintage muscle cars of all time, a ’61 Stingray, which he’d been conned into restoring since the resident town mechanic didn’t specialize in complete rebuilds. And this was a ground-up kind of job, which required a clear head and lots of finesse—two things that were impossible for him with regard to this car. And apparently this woman.
This was a mess. And he hadn’t even told her the worst part.
Silently, she took the glass. Besides telling him she was going to be sick, which hurt more than he’d anticipated, she hadn’t said a single word. Not that he expected her to hold an in-depth conversation after that bomb. If there was one thing he knew about Charlotte Holden it was that she was as tough as they came. Not much fazed her, but when she needed to process a situation she went radio silent.
This silence was different, though. It was the kind that demolished her cool-as-a-cucumber exterior that used to drive him batshit crazy.
Used to? Hell, it still did. Even after all this time, seeing Charlotte upset brought out this insane need to comfort her, help make her world better. Except Jace had learned a long time ago that the only thing his help had ever brought others was pain. And the best way to help the people he loved was to keep his distance.
“That’s not possible,” she finally said after staring at the glass for a good, long time. “I filed the annulment myself.”
“Unfortunately, the traveling notary I used notarized the annulment on an expired commission.” He repeated what the woman at the clerk’s office had told him. “I guess they tried to contact me when they discovered the mistake, but I wasn’t in one place for long enough.”
“Why didn’t they contact me?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea, but I learned that the person in the clerk’s office who handled this kind of thing passed away shortly after we filed. So I am guessing we got lost in the shuffle, or someone dropped the ball.”
“Wait.” Her eyes went cold. Cold enough to freeze off his nuts. “How long have you known and kept this from me?”
He held up his hands. “I only found out last week, when the bank denied me a business loan due to my debt-to-earning ratio.” When she only frowned he added, “Seems we bought a house on Sugar Lake last summer, so buying an engine shop came off as greedy.”
Atlanta Motorsports was more than an engine shop. It was the premiere high-performance facility in Atlanta. Hell, in all of Georgia. Known for their high-performance chassis, drivetrain tuning, and a magic touch with the world’s rarest exotics, it didn’t get more elite than that.
And Jace had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make it his.
The owner needed to sell fast, so Jace needed to secure that loan by the end of next month or his dream shop would go to another buyer.
“We didn’t buy anything,” she snapped. “I bought my own house, thank you very much.”
“Explain that to the bank, because as far as they’re concerned, since we’re married, your home loan was listed as a liability on both of our credit reports. Which means we have thirty days to figure this out and untangle our lives.”
If not, then he was going to miss out. Big-time. And he’d worked too damn hard for this.
“Can’t your brothers help you?”
The easy answer was yes. Between Brett and Cal, his brothers had enough money to buy the shop and all of its competition outright, but Jace didn’t do handouts. And he certainly didn’t do pity loans. His brothers had helped him enough over the years, and it was time for Jace to grow the fuck up and figure his shit out.
Which was what he’d been trying to do when the bank had called him with their regrets.
“Not an option,” he said, crowding her a little. He knew he was a big guy, knew that his proximity usually made people bend to his will. And he needed Charlotte bendable right then, because if she wasn’t on board then he was screwed. “I have an appointment for our case to be heard a week from Wednesday in Columbus with the county judge, but since this is a special case we need to see the county recorder first,” he explained. “I have an appointment with the recorder’s office this Tuesday in Atlanta, and both parties need to be present.”
“Oh no,” she said. “I am not going with you to Atlanta.”
“Afraid you won’t be able to control yourself?”
“No.” She crossed her arms. “The new Grow Clinic is opening next month, and my appointment schedule is booked weeks in advance. Plus, last time you sweet-talked me into going to the courthouse I wound up married to the town bad boy.”
Jace flinched a little at the reminder. His misspent youth had been a dangerous mix of anger, self-loathing, and guilt. He’d made a hobby out of straddling the line, but after his parents’ deaths he’d channeled all that pissed-off rage into making trouble, the wrong kind of friends and the wrong kind of choices.
He packed up and moved to Atlanta—where he ran into Charlotte.
And man, one look at his hometown’s own Southern belle, tossing back tequila shots in a big city honky-tonk, and Jace was a goner. Only, as luck would have it, this time his past decided to follow him, and it wasn’t just his future in jeopardy. Charlotte had made the short list for a high-profile pediatrician position at a big hospital in Atlanta—where reputation was gold. So he’d done the best thing he could, filed for an annulment and got himself as far away from her as possible.
Only he’d still ended up hurting her—and turned out they were still married.
“Then take a sick day or a personal day, I don’t care. But I need you there.” Something that Jace didn’t say often—and Charlotte knew it. She also knew he was using her superhero, fix-everything complex against her. And it was working.
She ticked her manicured nails against the side of the car and expelled several deep huffs, a telltale sign she was trying to control her temper. Too bad her eyes were shooting daggers through his chest. But he wasn’t scared by a pissed-off female. He’d spent enough time with his hormonal teenage niece, who made a living off mood swings and hysterics, to be intimidated.
So he scooted closer, his expression making it clear that “no” wasn’t going to cut it in the answer department, and waited her out.
Problem was, Charlotte was as stubborn as he was, and after a long standoff he realized just how close they were to each other. So close that he could feel the evening heat roll off her body, smell her perfume, a real look-but-don’t-touch scent, which for a guy who lived to defy the rules had him wanting to touch her all over.
Starting with those full lips of hers that were lush and glossy and damn tempting—and working his way down to that collar she left open, showing off enough creamy cleavage and white lace to have everything below the belt man up.
She was staring at him, too—his mouth to be exact—and although her expression gave nothing away, he could tell she felt it. That undeniable heat that went from zero to mind-fuck whenever they were within fighting distance.
Or kissing distance.
“Stop crowding me,” she snapped, placing her elegant hand in the center of his chest and shoving. Not hard enough to move him, but being a gentleman he obliged and stepped back—an inch. Then it happened. The queen of cool stomped her foot—right on his. “You’re getting your army of one stench all over me.”
“You used to like my army of one all over you.”
“That was when I thought you’d still be there come morning,” she said, and—message received—Jace stepped back. All the way back.
“One day, Charlie. That’s all I’m asking for. I leave town, and then we both go on with our lives.” A plan that didn’t have as much merit as it had ten minutes ago. The idea of walking away from something he’d never deserved to begin with had seemed easy, yet suddenly he couldn’t remember why he had been so sure they wouldn’t work.
A bad sign, so he stuck out his hand as though he was okay with the arrangement and wanted to sha
ke on it.
She looked at his hand and back to his face. With a grim smile she said, “I’ll think about it,” and strolled right past him and out of the shop, gifting him with a unique view. And he wasn’t just talking about the way she swished her perfect ass all the way across the garage until she disappeared through the bay door.
Jace had made sure he’d always been the one to do the walking. Watching it from the other direction stung like a bitch.
Chapter 3
Ending the day at her parents’ house for Sunday dinner was not an option. Babette Holden could sniff out a scandal like a bloodhound with wounded prey. Her mother would take one look at Charlotte, smell the scent of impending divorce, and before Charlotte could explain the situation a traditional Southern wedding fit for a former Miss Peach would be planned and executed. Because the only thing worse than Babette Holden’s only daughter eloping with the town bad boy was divorce.
Admitting her marriage had been over the first time had nearly killed her. The fact that she had to face it again was starting to give her hives. She didn’t need her parents influencing her decision.
Nope, Charlotte was going to go home, open a bottle of champagne, and finish it in one chug while wearing her sexiest nightgown. Then she would fall into a drunken sleep, convince herself that her life wasn’t rapidly spiraling out of control, and if that didn’t work, break into the ice cream she’d been hiding in her freezer.
That had been her plan.
Until she realized she was stranded in town, with no car, in a pair of adorable yet impractical heels, with only two options. Ask her ex-husband, who had apparently messed up filing for the “ex” part of the title, for a ride home, or see just how far stubborn pride could carry her.
When the blister on her right pinkie toe grew to the size of the Mississippi, Charlotte went for option three. Which was how she ended up seated at her parents’ formal dining table, across from a potential investor, while on a blind date with a bald man who kept dropping his napkin—on her adorable heels—only to retrieve it slowly, while her mother smiled on.
“Disposable inserts,” Babette mused, as though Lionel had discovered the solution to global warming. “Just fascinating. Isn’t that fascinating, Charlotte?”
And because Charlotte was a classy Southern woman, she smiled generously before hiding an eye roll behind her wineglass as she took a generous swallow. Her mother would think that growing grass was fascinating if the man was loaded, connected, and interested. And based on the way Lionel’s fingers grazed Charlotte’s arch every time he dropped his napkin, he was interested.
“The bottom line,” Charlotte heard Tipton Neil say to her father, “is you are just too small for the board’s comfort. We recently had to pull funding from a midsize project out west less than a year into the partnership because the local support dried up after the clinic received our endowment. Since then, the board is hesitant to invest in smaller companies.”
“You have my word that won’t happen here,” Reginald assured him. “Sugar Medical Center has been owned and operated by the Holden family for over ninety years. And for ninety years we have served this community with dignity and pride.”
Huh, no wonder Charlotte had a perfection complex.
“And the town realizes that,” Babette said in a regal tone, which, combined with her entitled pearls and heirloom attitude, made her appear the lady of the manor speaking of her serfs. Not the modern-day image of teamwork Charlotte wanted to portray.
“We’re not just a town clinic, we are the town’s clinic, and we work hard to be a positive part of the community,” Charlotte explained. “When we announced the need for a new pediatric ward and the Grow Clinic, the town came together to raise the million dollars needed for the expansion.”
“It was lovely,” Babette said. “They hosted bake sales and potlucks, even a fish-a-thon.”
“A fish-a-thon?” Mr. Neil did not sound impressed. In fact, he sounded as if her mother’s attempt to help had only helped reconfirm his original concerns—Sugar was a small town with a small clinic. Too small a fish for Mercy Alliance to do anything with but let go.
That’s what got to Charlotte most of all. She was tired of being tossed back, wanted the chance to prove Sugar was worth the investment, worthy of Mercy’s time and commitment.
“Here in Sugar we believe that it takes a village to raise a hospital, and it takes a whole lot of love to save a child,” Charlotte explained. “We may be short on census numbers, but we have enough support and heart to make a difference. To these kids and the families in this county, the Grow Clinic is the difference between life and really living. We’ve built the clinic, the doors are nearly ready to open, and now we need Mercy’s help to make sure that all the patients have access to the treatment they need. Regardless of insurance.”
Tipton put down his knife and studied her—really studied her—and Charlotte knew that she was getting through. It wasn’t about numbers, it was about people and saving lives. That was why Mercy Alliance was founded, and that was why Charlotte did what she did.
“Which is why the town decided to dedicate this year’s Founder’s Day Fair in support of Sugar Medical,” Babette lied, and Charlotte choked on her own spit.
“Mom,” she whispered, but Babette wouldn’t be deterred.
“There will be local booths selling wares, the annual Sheep Scurry and Trials, and a televised parade hosted by our homegrown golf royalty, Brett McGraw.”
“It’s only a local access show,” Charlotte clarified, while giving her mother a gentle nudge under the table to cool it.
Unfortunately, Babette was raised to believe that the most important skill a woman could possess, other than the ability to glisten instead of perspire, was hosting a dinner party that would be talked about. So, if it made the company more exciting, then it was not a sin to embellish the facts. “I heard that they are holding it in the medical center’s parking lot.”
“Actually,” Charlotte said, trying to hide the panic creeping around her neck, because everyone knew that Babette would tell Mr. Neil that Sugar Medical had discovered the cure for cancer if it meant her dinner would be the talk of someone else’s table for weeks to come, “the Founder’s Day Fair has traditionally been held on Maple Street since the first general store and post office opened its front doors back in 1846.”
Tipton looked perplexed. “And this year they are holding it at the medical center?”
“Well, I don’t see why not,” her mother said, raising her glass as though it were a wonderful idea. As though it had been decided. As though they could just change the location of a 169-year-old tradition.
“And Charlotte is heading up the entire event,” her mother said, then whispered to Lionel, “Knows how to keep her house in order, just ask anyone.”
Yes, because after achieving a doctorate and dedicating ten years of her life toward the advancement of medicine, the most impressive thing about her is her super-fantastic party planning skills.
“That is a lot to take on with your practice and the Grow Clinic,” Mr. Neil said, now sounding concerned.
And since the last thing she needed Mr. Neil thinking was that the head of his potential investment would be too busy polishing her pearls to head up the clinic, she said, “The Grow Clinic is my focus.”
Her mother sighed heavily, then whispered to Lionel, “Which is why she’s single.”
“I am just helping out with the event,” Charlotte clarified over her mother’s comment. “It is really the Sugar Peaches who run the show.”
“The Sugar Peaches is an exclusive local woman’s organization dedicated to upholding our county’s rich tradition of giving back to our community,” her mother added, as though anyone cared. “And Charlotte is the current regent.”
“Dad,” she whispered as her mother outlined the complete history of the social organization in the same way one would explain the three branches of government. “We can’t move the fair.”
“You
’re a Holden,” he whispered back. “You can do anything you set your mind to. You want this Grow Clinic to include pro bono treatment? Then get that endowment secured or we go back to my plan.”
Which meant no insurance, no treatment.
“You want me to lie?” Her father might not be known for a warm and fuzzy bedside manner, but he wasn’t a liar.
“I want you to finish what you started,” he said. “Plus it’s not like they’re going to come to the parade.”
“What was that, dear?” her mother asked.
Her father cleared his throat and smiled. “Charlotte was explaining how most of the proceeds from the fair will go toward the Grow Clinic and its patients. It should cover the remaining funds needed to purchase the pediatric physical therapy machines and install the wireless network for the research center.”
And because nearly every one of Charlotte’s decisions were influenced by two factors, making her father proud or horrifying her mother, she gave her brightest smile.
Neither confirming nor denying her father’s big fat lie.
“That is the kind of commitment we are looking for, Reggie,” Tipton said, clapping her father on the back. “Mercy Alliance wants to pursue organizations that exhibit the same dedication to medical care as our company.”
“Ninety years,” her dad repeated, and just like that the conversation was over in his mind. He pulled out the proposal Charlotte had sent him. The one she’d spent the entire weekend reworking, only to have him reject it on the grounds that it “needed work.” Now it seemed to be fine, since he handed it to Mr. Neil. “Take a look at this, and let my office know if there is anything else you need. I’d like to wrap up the paperwork before the end of the month, so we can announce the endowment at the Founder’s Day Fair.”
“You’re a hard man to say no to, Reggie.”
Preaching to the choir, Charlotte thought, because by “my office” he meant Charlotte, since no one knew as much, or cared as much, about the Grow Clinic as she did. Sure, he hadn’t implied that Charlotte was his secretary, as he’d done in the past, but he’d passed off her hard work as his. She could have said something. Should have. But she didn’t—an annoying character flaw she was determined to work on.