Playing With Trouble (Desire Bay)

by Joya Ryan

  Jake would like to think he didn’t have a type. But he did. And it was tall, blonde, and—as of just recently—wet. Still, he had to find his manners and help this clearly lost woman.

  “You all right, ma’am?” he asked.

  She stood, obviously shocked by his presence. “Ma’am?”

  Sure, he was a man who appreciated a fine woman, but he wasn’t an animal. He’d been raised by a single mother and also had a younger sister. Respect was a big deal. Granted, the mystery woman who still wasn’t facing him didn’t seem to like the word ma’am.

  “I’m not a ma’am. I’m a miss,” she protested. Her voice was mildly familiar.

  She turned and—

  “Ho-lee shit,” he muttered, staring down the one girl he hadn’t thought he’d ever see again. Scratch that, she wasn’t a girl. She may have looked it last time she was in town. But Laura Baughman was a full-blown woman and had grown into her curves nicely. So nicely, in fact, he’d have to rethink his stance on being an ass man after all. He’d also rethink his type, because truth be told, his type was Laura Baughman. Had been since high school. But Laura Baughman had a notorious type as well, and Jake wasn’t it. At least, back then.

  “A poet with words,” she said deadpan, accompanied with a rolling of her eyes. Christ, he hadn’t meant to curse. But those eyes—rolling or not—hadn’t changed much. Brown irises and thick lashes were vibrant against a perfectly tan complexion. That kind of tan wasn’t seen in these parts. It reminded Jake that Laura, with her ever-apparent attitude, had spent the last decade somewhere in the sunshine. Sure, he’d heard the rumors and picked up a few details from Walt over the years. She’d run off right after high school, gotten married, and lived some grand life in some big city. He’d also heard that she wasn’t married anymore . . .

  “Forgive my use of ma’am, ma’am,” he said. And nope, she definitely didn’t like that. Maybe she’d lost her sense of humor? Once upon a time they had joked together and she’d laughed a lot. She was always kind. A bright sun all on her own, walking down those old school hallways. But judging from the way she barely glanced at him, only to go back to examining her knee, she didn’t seem to recognize him. At all. Which meant he could work a different angle.

  “You should work on broadening your vocabulary before asking for forgiveness. Ma’am makes me seem old and bitter, which I’m not.”

  “Clearly,” he said. Wow, either she’d changed or she was in a bad mood. Either way, it was time to take that different approach. Because they weren’t teenagers anymore, and he wasn’t some lovesick puppy dreaming of the day Laura Baughman would notice him. Nope. Between the six inches of height and a hundred pounds of muscles his late growth spurt had given him roughly nine years ago, he wasn’t a wimpy, shy guy anymore. And he more than knew how to talk to a lady . . .

  “If you want me to sweet-talk you, all you have to do is ask.” He winked at her.

  That got her to face him fully. With that pretty mouth wide-open and likely ready to hand him his ass, she instead went mute, and a bright pink flush stained her cheeks.

  “I, ah . . . ,” she stuttered, those brown eyes going a little wide as she looked him over. Her gaze paused longer on his mouth, then his chest, then his . . . belt? Looked like Miss Baughman was checking him out. Something that had never happened back in high school. Sure, she’d been the prom queen and a knockout then, just like now, but she’d always been nice to him. Didn’t mean he’d ever had a shot with her, because she was way, way out of his league.

  She ran her palm over her hair as if trying to straighten it. It was golden and long and hung way past her shoulders in wet waves, which were currently dripping water from the tips of the tendrils to the cement floor. Poor woman looked drenched, disheveled, and sexy as hell.

  Any minute she’d smile and realize who he was and that he was just messing with her by his earlier comment.

  She shook her head, as if trying to get rid of whatever thoughts she’d been having, and returned to scowling in his direction.

  Wait . . . scowling?

  “I’m looking for my father, Walt Baughman. Not for you or your pickup lines.”

  Funny how she said, “my father, Walt Baughman,” as if Jake didn’t know who she was. Which meant . . .

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked and gestured to his name tag with his eyes. Sure, they hadn’t been BFFs in high school, but they’d hung out some. But she couldn’t be this out of the loop, right? Considering her father was basically retired and Jake was running the show. Had been for the past five years now. He was even set to buy the place from Walt as soon as he was ready. Because Jake had put a decade of blood, sweat, and tears into the place, and it was like his home. His career. His purpose.

  “Oh!” Laura smiled awkwardly. “Of course, Jake.” She read his name tag. “You’re the stock boy—man”—she caught herself—“the one my father has spoken so highly of in the past.”

  Jake frowned. Stock boy? Okay, he didn’t look like the band geek he’d once been. Sure, his hair was longer, and he could grow a beard now, and had ditched the braces. Side note: he could still play a wicked clarinet solo. But he couldn’t be that different.

  “I’m happy to hear your father thinks highly of me, considering we built the place up together. But I’m curious what you think of me. Presently.”

  She frowned. “I, ah . . . I don’t think I understand. If you want honesty, then I should tell you that your pickup line could use some work. And I’m not interested in dating Baughman employees, so . . .”

  “I see your ego is still right on point,” he said with a grin and hooked one thumb in his belt, which she stared at. Oh yeah, ego or not, Miss Baughman was checking out a Baughman employee.

  “Says the guy who’s flexing his pecs,” she replied.

  “So you noticed my pecs?” He flexed again, making them dance, and that pink flush in her cheeks deepened. Man, sparring with her was fun.

  “Noticed or not, you clearly can’t take the hint that I’m not interested in a stock boy.”

  “Well, clearly you’ve been misinformed, because the word you’re looking for is foreman. Maybe if I got out my marching band uniform that’d help jog your memory and your manners?”

  Her beautiful eyes went wide. She looked at his name tag again, then at his face. Name tag. Face.

  “Jake . . . as in Jacob Lock?”

  He smiled, because those eyes ran the entire length of his body again. Up and down and back up and back down.

  “You’re . . . hot—huge! I meant, huge.” She clamped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Prom queen thought he was hot. And the nerd in him wanted to jump for joy. “I had no idea you were that Jake. I thought you were just some lug telling me my dad’s business and—”

  “Hitting on you?”

  She nodded and laughed. “Yeah. But I was wrong because you never had a girlfriend—I mean . . . that’s not what I meant. I meant you’re not the type to hit on someone.”

  “In my defense, my line was pretty good, and I was just responding to your attitude.”

  That made her take an extra breath. “You think I have attitude?”

  “Oh, I know you do,” he said with a smile. And like it or not, Jake was both irritated and turned on. Because he did know how to treat a woman, and that was something he wanted to show prom queen over there real bad. Because she was the misinformed one if she thought he was anything like he’d been when he was a scrawny teenager.

  “I didn’t mean to be snarky. I just got caught in the rain, and you are the first person I’ve seen around here. And you’re so . . .” She scanned him again. “Different.”

  Different.

  Jake wanted to take that as a good thing, but deep down, he knew he was still the nerd talking to the popular girl, and a flare in him wanted to take that word, different, and replace it with another. Like, strong, capable, hot. Which she had said already. No takesees-backsees. Wow, even his mind was thinking like a damn teenager
again.

  And Laura Baughman was difficult. She wasn’t a brat, exactly. She was a wild card. Went after what she wanted. He knew this because her ambition had led her straight out of town right after graduation.

  “You look exactly the same,” he said. And that was a lie. She looked better. So much better it wasn’t fair to other humans.

  “You don’t at all,” she said. “The you-now could eat the you-in-high-school for a snack.”

  “Now look who’s the poet with words,” Jake said.

  “I just mean, it’s remarkable! You grew . . . in lots of ways.” She nibbled her bottom lip, and if she didn’t stop that, something else was going to grow in his jeans. Looked like any hope he had of her not affecting him was gone. Because she did then, and she did now.

  “Still the same me, not that I was so bad before.”

  “Of course not,” she said. “You were great. And now you work for my dad.”

  “With.” Jake worked with him. But she didn’t look impressed. And she might not have meant to say that he was the stock boy earlier, but her polished facade was enough to show that she was not his type. Just like she wasn’t his type back then. A decade may have passed, but they were still in different leagues. Didn’t stop him from crushing hard on her, but it would stop him from repeating that giant road to nowhere again.

  But damn, she was gorgeous. She wore a tight, white button-up tucked into that skirt, and he was starting to have fantasies about rucking the hem up to her hips and seeing what lay beneath. Thanks to the water, it was possible to see right through her top for a prime view of the lacy demi cups beneath. A full C, it looked like.

  God bless the rain.

  “So catching up is fun, but I really do need to find my dad,” she said. “Do you know where he is?” With her cell phone in one hand and a busted shoe in the other, she tapped a couple of keys a few times. “He’s not returning my texts.”

  “That’s because Walt Baughman doesn’t text. In fact, he doesn’t usually carry his cell, either.” Not that Jake had seen. Granted, Walt didn’t come around a whole lot. He was more of a silent owner who popped in now and again instead of a steady worker.

  She frowned at him. “I got him a phone last Christmas.”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he uses it.”

  With an exasperated breath, she continued tapping on her phone.

  “There’s my girl!” Walt’s voice boomed from behind Jake as the man walked in. His silver hair was combed back and wet from the rain, and his usual Hawaiian shirt was soaked, as were his Birkenstocks. The man always looked like he’d just walked out of a Jimmy Buffett concert, no matter the weather. He loved that man like his own father and respected him even more. He gave Jake a quick pat on the back then headed toward his daughter.

  “Hi, Daddy!” She hugged him, and Jake wondered if that’s what having a dad felt like. He wouldn’t know, since his had taken off when he was young. But Walt was a good man and Laura was lucky to have him.

  “See you’ve gotten reacquainted with the Oregon weather,” Walt said, looking her over.

  “Yeah, it’ll take some getting used to. Maybe we can expand the overhang in front of the shop. I got drenched waiting out there.”

  “Great idea!” Walt said.

  Whoa, great idea? Woman wasn’t here fifteen minutes and she was already talking about major work to the outside storefront. Which cost money. Something neither Baughman paid too close attention to, since Jake had basically taken over the shop and all the details.

  “Ah . . . we can talk about that,” Jake said, trying not to interject but wanting to make sure he was on the same page.

  Laura frowned at him. Okay, maybe he was a page off . . .

  “I would love to talk about a lot of ideas I have, Dad,” Laura said, clearly not interested in chatting with Jake about this. Which irked him, since he’d been here for a decade and she hadn’t. But Laura always had had a knack for coming and going whenever she liked. They’d been on the student council together and she would show up randomly, turn everything he’d planned out upside down, then leave before the votes were counted. Yeah, he was well aware that Laura Baughman had ideas, and she had no problem fighting for them, no matter the time, place, or person in her way.

  “Well, like I told you, sugarplum, the flower shop is all yours,” Walt said.

  “What’s that now?” Jake said, shock going through him. When he’d started working for Walt ten years ago, Baughman Home Goods had been a small flower shop at best. But they’d built it up into a major home supplier of goods and products.

  “The flower shop is mine,” Laura said, like he was an idiot with a hearing problem.

  “I get that, but the warehouse—”

  “Is yours,” Walt said, giving Jake a nod. “Jake here is responsible for all the store’s success.”

  Laura looked between her father and him, and Jake couldn’t quite read the expression on her face. But he’d bet his salary she wasn’t happy.

  “I don’t know about all this gravel and wood.” She waved her hand. “So you can go about your business with that. I’m just excited to revive the flower shop and really make it something special. Like Mom had.”

  “Mmm-hmm, of course, sugarplum. Whatever you want,” Walt said. But the man was half paying attention now because he was tapping on—Jesus Christ—a cell phone?

  “Can we back up here for a second?” Jake said. Because whatever you want was a dangerous phrase to use. “The warehouse doesn’t sell flowers. Hasn’t in years.”

  “Well, that’s going to change,” Laura said.

  Jake looked to Walt for some backup and found the old man still texting.

  “If you want to sell flowers, that’s fine. But the warehouse and flower shop need to stay disconnected. No crossing funds, profits, or anything.”

  “This is about money,” she said.

  Well, yeah. Because the warehouse made it, and the shop didn’t. So as long as that was understood up front, everything would be fine.

  “I need start-up capital, and the warehouse and the shop are connected,” Laura said.

  “I don’t sell flowers,” Jake said with finality.

  “And I don’t work with the rocks and wood,” she said.

  “But you want to fix the overhang and have ideas,” he started. “Which, let me guess, you’ll need money for?”

  “Maintenance costs are part of running a lucrative business.”

  Yep, this was snowballing fast, and Walt was—Jesus—was he playing Candy Crush now?

  “Walt?” He got his mentor’s attention.

  “Yes, son?” he said.

  Deep down Jake loved it when Walt called him that. But judging by the look on Laura’s face, she didn’t.

  “Can you give some guidance here? While Laura is staying for . . . ?”

  “Indefinitely,” she said, but Jake had a feeling that wasn’t going to happen. But one thing at a time.

  “If she’s running the flower shop”—with no flowers, he might add—“and the warehouse is still in business and separate, that is presenting a problem.”

  “Mmm,” Walt said and scratched his chin. “I see your point, son.” With a deep breath, he clapped his hands together and smiled. “Well, son, you run the warehouse and Laura will run the shop.”

  “But Daddy, they are one business. Should be run as one.”

  Are not! Jake wanted to spit out, but he didn’t want to come off like an arguing child. He’d worked hard to build the warehouse. He made a profit from it. Laura had just showed up with a grand plan and zero funding.

  “Mmm,” Walt said again. “I see your point, sugarplum.”

  Oh, for Christ’s sake. Jake was going to lose his mind.

  “Well, then I guess you two will have to work it out. I’m basically retired, you know that,” he said happily to Jake. And yes, Jake did know that. But officially and unofficially were different, because Walt was the owner. Not Jake. So he needed some kind of support here on
how to take this little endeavor of Laura’s forward—and how to survive it.

  “Daddy, don’t you think just one person should be in charge of it all?” Laura suggested.

  “Yes, I think you’re right,” Walt said, and Jake’s right eye began to twitch. “Jake, you run the warehouse, and Laura, you start working on flowers in the shop. After thirty days, whoever has done the best job will take over all of it. Time to make my retirement official, after all.”

  “What?” Jake and Laura said in unison. They only thing they seemed to agree on was that this was crazy.

  “Um, Daddy, seeing as how I’m your daughter, I should have access to the business. And the flower shop will need some TLC.”

  Jake huffed—this was her subtle way of saying she needed money “from the business.” In other words, from his warehouse.

  “Of course, sugarplum. Just talk to Jake. I’m sure he’s happy to work with you.”

  That made Jake smile and cross his arms. Finally, something he could get behind.

  Laura opened her mouth—obviously to argue—but Walt got a ping on his phone and smiled.

  “My lady friend just texted, looks like dinner is ready early.”

  Laura frowned. “Lady friend? Is she coming to the house tonight?”

  “No, I’m staying with her. Have been awhile now. You can have my old place,” Walt said casually. But Laura looked like she’d just been struck with a sack of sawdust.

  “Dad, when did this happen? Are you two serious? Are you telling me you’re living with this woman?”

  “Roberta,” he said. “And yes. Gotta run, sugarplum. Jake will take you to your new home. And so happy to have you back!”

  It was clear where Laura got her spark from, but Walt had his quirks for sure. Because the man all but ran out, leaving Jake standing in the middle of a shit storm, which had nothing to do with the actual storm churning outside.

  “What the hell just happened?” Laura said, looking at Jake, then watching her father get into his car and honk as he drove his old ’83 El Camino away.

  “Looks like we’re working together,” Jake said.