by Skye Jordan
“Yes, I found someone to cover Tori’s shift.” Phoebe’s gaze turned to the building. “Is it as bad as it looks?”
Delaney was about to take another bite, but mention of the bar killed her appetite. She took a sip of coffee instead and looked over the building again. “Unfortunately.”
Delaney set her unfinished scone back in the box, her coffee on the hood of her Jeep, and dusted crumbs off her hands. Combing her fingers through her hair, she collected the strands into a tail and used the elastic band around her wrist to secure the mass into a messy bun. Kind of like the way she was trying to wrangle a massive amount of information about the bar and all it needed into a condensed package for Phoebe.
“It needs a new roof, new walls, reinforced foundation,” she said. “New floors, new plumbing, new windows, new doors.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I’m not done yet. New appliances, new fixtures, new cabinets. New stairs, new hardware, new insulation, new HVAC.”
“You learned all that in the short time you were here?” Phoebe asked with awe in her voice.
Delaney nodded. “What I can’t see yet are structural issues that are hiding behind the walls and ceilings. In a building a hundred years old, I’m sure we’ll come across at least a handful.
“There are so many code violations in there, even if something was still good, we’d likely have to rebuild it to meet current codes.” She turned her gaze back to Phoebe with the enormity of the project sitting in the pit of her stomach like a boulder. “There are very few things that are still solid. Everything else has to be replaced, rebuilt, rewired, replumbed . . .”
“If it’s so bad, why didn’t the city come down on Joe sooner? Why’d they let the place stay open so long?”
Delaney lifted a shoulder. “Buildings don’t need to meet updated codes unless they undergo renovations or additions, or unless the city passes new ordinances or laws, like the visual nuisance ordinance that this place violates in spades.”
“I knew there would be a lot involved,” Phoebe said, worry creasing her brow, “but not to that degree. Maybe the inspector can shed some light on things.”
Frustration whipped through her chest—a knee-jerk reaction. Delaney took a breath and waited for the coil to release. “I’m not doing the walk-through with the inspector so he can tell me what I need to fix. I’m doing this so I can meet him, get a read on him, see how we’ll get along. Aside from a good crew, there is no relationship more important than the one a builder has with their planner and inspector. Those men can make the length of a renovation a living hell or a dream.”
She caught sight of a white truck turning onto the drive, and her tension flared again.
“Before you meet the inspector,” Phoebe said, her expression sobering as she watched the truck approach. “I need a few things from you this morning, Delaney.”
Dread joined the nerves tingling in her belly. “Like?”
Phoebe met her gaze deliberately. “I need you to keep an open mind, and I need you to remember this is a small town.”
The truck parked next to Phoebe’s Cadillac, and Delaney checked out the driver through the open window. With the sunlight glinting off the glass, she couldn’t see the person inside.
“I’m a professional,” she said without taking her eyes off the truck, “and I’ve worked in all kinds of towns—big, small, and everything in between.”
But she’d never worked in Wildwood. And she’d never renovated a building with a harrowing history that affected the people still living in the community. Or with her own money.
“Good,” Phoebe said. “Focus on the long-term benefit, not the short-term discomfort.”
Delaney’s gut squeezed. “What does that . . .”
She lost track of her question as the man pushed open the truck door and stood—and looked right at Delaney.
Ethan.
Her heart kicked into a flutter that stung her breastbone. But in the next instant, her brain connected dots as quickly as a computer circuit, and Delaney felt her world tipping on end. “Phoebe?”
Ethan approached in a slow swagger. She certainly couldn’t claim to be able to read the man after only one night with him, but she was pretty damn sure the tight jaw and grim frown meant he wasn’t very happy right now.
He wore a black tee that stretched across his muscular chest with white block print across the front that read THIS IS NO TIME TO BE SOBER. His jeans clung to thick thighs and cupped his generous sex, and his running shoes had holes worn in the toes. By the looks of his tousled wet hair, he’d showered but hadn’t done much else.
Damn. The man looked edible.
He came to a stop eight feet away and crossed his arms. She wished he’d take off those sunglasses so she could see his eyes.
“Good morning, Delaney,” he said, his tone overly solicitous in a fancy-meeting-you-here sort of way without any change in his expression.
Yep, he was pissed.
What the hell?
Ethan turned to her aunt. “Phoebe.”
“Thank you for coming, Ethan. I wouldn’t have bothered you if this situation weren’t so time sensitive.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t,” Delaney cut in, making it clear no one was going to walk over her. She looked to Phoebe for answers. “What’s going on?”
She gestured to Ethan, as if it should be obvious. “Ethan’s going to do the courtesy walk-through. It couldn’t hurt to have a second pair of eyes and another opinion on the project.”
“His opinion?” The intangible undercurrents rolling between the three of them made Delaney feel as if there were a piano hung over her head on a fraying rope. She settled her gaze on Ethan. “You didn’t think to mention you were the building inspector while we were talking on the porch last night?”
If he could read between the lines, he would have also heard, “Or any other time in the last ten hours we were fucking?”
“I was going to tell you, but—” Ethan started.
She put up a hand before he said too much. “Never mind.”
“Delaney,” Phoebe said with her mediator voice ramped up, “this doesn’t have to be an issue if you just—”
“What doesn’t have to be an issue?”
Phoebe glanced from Delaney to Ethan and back. “Working with Ethan.”
Delaney was definitely missing a piece of this puzzle. A very troubling piece if her instincts were right. “Why would I have a problem working with Ethan?”
“Because,” Ethan cut in before Phoebe could speak, “my last name is Hayes.”
Delaney drew a sharp breath of shock.
Ethan Hayes? Ethan Hayes? Her mind searched for the names of the boys in the Ryan and Hayes families. Ian, Adam, Austin, and . . . shit. Ethan.
Her stomach went cold.
“Ethan Hayes?” she repeated in disbelief. She’d spent the most glorious night of her life with Ian’s cousin? Ethan had slept with her—the woman his family blamed for Ian’s death? “What in the . . . ?”
Her mind spiraled and spiraled and came to a sudden stop in the present—where they stood in front of The Bad Seed.
This was wrong.
So wrong.
All wrong.
“No.” A weird sort of horror crept over her shoulders. “Wow, this is . . . no, no, no.” She held up her hands. “You can’t work on this project.”
He leaned back, and his brows shot up. “Excuse me?” He chuckled, but it sounded more like No way in hell than like humor. “No one tells me what projects I can or can’t work on except my boss.”
This was completely absurd. And the fact that he thought he could get this past her—whether because he’d slept with her or because she was a woman or because of their families’ feud, the reason didn’t matter—pissed her off.
“That wouldn’t happen to be the mayor, would it?” she asked. “The mayor who is also your father? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“My boss is the city ma
nager.”
“Whose boss is the mayor.”
“Not exactly. The city manager answers to both the mayor and the city council.”
Smug bastard. Who the hell was this guy? Certainly not the man she’d spent the night with. “In the end all roads lead to the mayor. The mayor who is heavily funded by your uncle, Ian’s father. That is a problem. That is called a conflict of interest.”
“Delaney,” Phoebe scolded. “Ethan is here because I asked him to do me a favor. And watch your tone and your attitude. It’s not professional.”
“Professional?” she scoffed, gesturing to his chest. “You mean like his shirt?”
His mouth kicked up in a lopsided smile, and Delaney’s mind skidded into a sharp turn, racing back to their night, to the feel of that mouth all over her body. Heat flashed everywhere, stealing her breath for a long second.
Phoebe took hold of Delaney’s arm, gesturing to the box of pastries with her free hand. “Ethan, help yourself to coffee and scones while I have a word with Delaney.”
She let her aunt drag her twenty feet toward the bar before she planted her feet and pulled from Phoebe’s grasp. She turned her back on Ethan and faced her aunt with barely enough patience left to hold her voice down. “Why didn’t you tell me this last night when he was standing right here?”
“This is why.” Phoebe lifted her hand to Delaney, indicating her angry posture. “It was hard enough to get you here. I was afraid you’d leave town before you’d even thought things through if you knew a member of the Hayes family was in charge of the planning department.” Then in a hushed rasp she said, “Had I known you were going to sleep with him, I would have taken my chances and mentioned it. Good Lord in heaven, Delaney—”
“I didn’t know.” She crossed her arms, angry Phoebe could read her so well. “It’s bad enough to have a father who cared so little about me that he left me with this kind of burden. Bad enough to have sisters who can’t even take a couple of minutes out of their life to pick up the phone and talk me off a goddamned ledge. But I will not stand by and let the Hayes family or the Ryan family try to beat me down while I’m clawing my way out of this pit.”
Delaney was breathing hard, sweating now, and as soon as she stopped talking, she felt tears stinging her eyes, which only pushed her from angry to furious.
“Do you know why your father gave you that extra one percent ownership?” Phoebe asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “Not because you’re the oldest daughter, but because you’re the strongest. He knew what you’d be up against in this town when he passed and the three of you had to deal with this property. And he knew you were the only one who had the guts to see it through.”
Surprise compressed her lungs, and all Delaney’s air left her on a whoosh.
“You left this town running, Delaney. Running from your father. Running from the Ryans and the Hayeses. Running from the rumors. Running from yourself. You have the chance to stand your ground for a change.”
Phoebe stabbed a finger toward the ground, her expression tight, her eyes flashing. “This is your home. This is your property. And no one can make you run unless you let them. Stop running, Delaney. Stop running long enough to show these people, show this whole goddamned town, who you really are and what you’re really made of.”
Delaney huffed, crossed her arms over the fury battling inside her, and turned her back on Phoebe, the bar, and Ethan. Her gaze wandered the acres of countryside. Beautiful countryside covered with century-old live oak and tall grasses waving gently in the morning breeze. She’d come this morning with an open mind. But now she was having a hard time pushing aside the ugliness of the past to reach for the opportunity in front of her.
“I can come back.” Ethan’s voice cut into her thoughts. “But my schedule’s pretty booked up for the next—”
Delaney spun and met his gaze directly, cutting off his words. But he didn’t look the least bit concerned. He’d flipped his sunglasses over his head, and they sat at the back of his neck. With his hip against the grill of her Jeep, a coffee cup in one hand, half a scone in the other, he looked absolutely carefree.
He looked as if he’d smell warm and male if she pressed her face to his neck and breathed him in. As if he’d feel hard against her softness if she leaned into him. As if he’d wrap her in his arms and stroke her hair the way he had last night as she’d fallen asleep in his bed.
Now she had to wonder exactly what last night had been about for him. Why he’d taken her to bed knowing who she was. There had to be an ulterior motive. With the Hayes family, there was always an ulterior motive.
She forced her body to relax as best she could and closed the distance between them. “You need to recuse yourself from this project.”
He frowned. “This isn’t a trial.”
“Isn’t it?”
He scanned her face, and whatever he saw made his frown soften. Made a hint of compassion lighten his eyes. “No. It’s a simple procedure that home and business owners go through every day.”
“You can’t expect me to believe your opinion won’t come into play here. You have a history with this property. A vested interest in seeing renovations—if that is the direction we decide to take—fail.”
“Even if I wanted to recuse myself—or whatever you want to call it—I can’t. I’m the chief planner and building inspector, the Wildwood Planning Department all rolled into one person. If you build in this town, you go through me.”
Goddammit. It figured.
She crossed her arms and shifted her gaze to her rattrap of an inheritance. Screw it all. If she had a towel, she’d throw it in.
“Maybe I could just torch it,” she said, speaking before she thought. “God, that would be amazing. Just watching it burn . . .”
Phoebe came up beside her. “Maybe another day would be best, Ethan.”
“No, he’s already here,” she said without looking at either of them. She may as well get a read on where he was going to take this. “Let’s do this.”
So I can move on with my life.
Ethan returned to his truck for a flashlight, and Delaney let him even though there was no need for one. She needed to sort things out in her head. She needed a moment to separate business and pleasure, to get herself on solid ground.
Man, this sucks.
When he was just out of earshot, Phoebe turned to her, but before she could say anything, her phone rang.
“Saved by the bell.” Delaney sighed, then told her aunt, “It’s time for you to take care of your business and let me take care of mine.” She gestured toward Phoebe’s car with a sweet, “Go on now. Move along.”
Phoebe’s scowl was filled with solemn warnings and preemptive scoldings, but she answered her phone and wandered away, giving Delaney room to breathe.
She turned and approached the bar with Phoebe’s earlier words echoing in her head.
“Stop running, Delaney. Stop running long enough to show these people, show this whole goddamned town, who you really are and what you’re really made of.”
She’d never thought of leaving all those years ago as running. Not exactly. Sure, she’d wanted to get the hell away from here, but not because she’d been afraid of anyone. Certainly not because she’d cared what they thought of her. She’d hated the power games and the double standards and the false fronts she’d run into. But mostly she’d just gotten sick of dealing with her father’s drunken bullshit. Gotten sick of keeping the bar running when he was passed out in the back room so she and Avery and Chloe would have grocery money and cash for school supplies. Phoebe always helped where she could, but back then she’d been cash poor, too.
The crunch of gravel behind her signaled Ethan’s approach. She pulled from those heavy old memories with awareness prickling all along her body, as if she could feel his eyes scanning her. Seeing her as naked as she’d been with him less than five hours ago.
In hindsight, sleeping with him without learning more beforehand had been really stupid. Mind-b
ending, amazing, and unforgettable, but stupid. Now she had to face her mistake and deal with the fallout.
She secured the best mental shields she could under the circumstances and turned. She remained silent, deciding to let him set the tone for this situation.
He planted his hands at his hips and scoured her from head to toe. Her work clothes included faded jeans worn through at the knees and thinning in the thighs, a T-shirt bearing the logo of her previous employer, and her standard lightweight suede work boots. Everything she had on was scarred and stained. While the fabric had been washed, it was all smeared or spattered with paint, cement, caulk, oil, grease, tar, and other compounds she couldn’t immediately identify.
With no makeup on and her unbrushed hair pulled into a ratty bun, she couldn’t have looked worse. She also couldn’t have looked any different than she had when they’d met for the first time last night.
Holy crap. They’d only met last night.
That was surreal.
His gaze moved back up her body and held just above her left breast. “Isn’t that the logo for Pacific Coast’s Finest?”
A spark of panic singed her heart. She hadn’t thought about it when she’d pulled on the shirt. This tee was her work shirt, and the bar was a potential job. She’d reached for it automatically. But she didn’t need him digging into that mess. Certainly not after what had happened between them. And certainly not in this town, where rumors spread like wildfire in dry brush. She already had a goddamned scarlet A on her forehead.
So she offered a curt, “It is.”
He looked as though he wanted to ask more. Looked as if he was putting the company’s reputation for renovating historical commercial buildings into hip, urban brewpubs together with her clothing.
Instead of questions, he surprised her with, “I was going to tell you who I was this morning. But I couldn’t do that because you were gone.”
She could have picked up on the bitter undercurrent in his tone and worked it into an all-out argument, but she didn’t need any more conflict in her life. And certainly not with this man.
“It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d known a few hours earlier,” she said. “It would have mattered if I’d known last night. Let’s get this over with. Where do you want to start? Inside or outside?”