Trouble

by Tia Louise

  I’ve never met Court’s husband, but once when we were doing clinicals, I had to treat her clients for a week because he’d sprained her wrist. I’d also kept Ollie for her so he’d be away from the fighting when his dad was around.

  “Didn’t the judge give you sole custody?”

  Her lips tighten. “Ozzy won’t sign the divorce papers. I filed a restraining order a year ago, but I guess it expired. I don’t know. I thought he’d finally given up and gone away.”

  “Do they ever really do that?” She doesn’t meet my eyes, and I pull her into a hug. “Don’t worry. I’m here now, and I can kick some serious butt.”

  She exhales a laugh. “Thanks, Sly.”

  Leaning back, I catch her eyes. “What? You don’t believe me?”

  “It’s not that.” She rubs her face with her hands. “I’m just so tired. I stepped in this pile of shit, and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to get it off me.”

  “I’m here for you.” She blinks up, and our eyes meet. “I’ll do whatever I can—just tell me what you need.”

  “Thanks, girl. I just wish he’d lose interest.” She goes to Ollie’s room, and I sit in the chair, studying my warm mug of coffee. All those true crime stories I’ve watched about abuse situations ending in death push against my mind. I’d do anything to protect my friend.

  My phone buzzes, and I lift the face to see a text from Daisy. Miles needs to see your portfolio. Spence said to bring it by on Monday.

  Adrenaline flashes in my chest at the sight of his name, and I quickly push it down. Not going there. We’re working together. I have to be professional.

  My thumbs fly across my phone. I wasn’t coming home this weekend. How will I get it?

  Tell me where it is, and I’ll meet you.

  Chewing my lip, I think about this. When do they want me to come in?

  Any time. Spencer said he’d be there all day.

  Because he’s my client now. I’ll have to see him, interact with him, probably quite a lot. He hired me… He’s practically my fucking boss for the next few weeks, and I slept with him. Boy howdy, did I sleep with him.

  After what happened with Elliot, I swore I’d never mix business with personal life again. Exhaling a frustrated growl, I scrub my fingers in my hair. How could I be so careless? That man is bossy, arrogant, trouble, and I ran straight into it.

  Yep, I’m my own worst enemy.

  * * *

  “Miss Winthrop, I didn’t expect to see you today.” Miles holds a stylus over an oversized iPad when I enter his large, corner office. It’s a stunning space, with oak paneling and a wall of windows overlooking downtown. “Did I forget to write down a date?”

  “Daisy said… Spencer told her you wanted to see my portfolio.”

  “He did?”

  Looking down at the oversized black folder in my hands, I’m starting to think Miles had nothing to do with my being here today.

  “No worries.” He grins warmly. “I hate you made a special trip, though. Isn’t your portfolio online somewhere?”

  He says it like it’s the most obvious thing, and embarrassment heats my cheeks. “That would probably be a smart idea. The truth is, I thought I was done with this type of work, so I never made time to scan it all—”

  “Oh yes, we’re pulling you out of retirement.” He gives me a wink as he taps a button on his desk phone. “Spencer, can you join Miss Winthrop and me in my office?”

  “Be right there.” Spencer’s rich voice fills the room, and my insides zing.

  I squish that zing.

  I’m more casual today in a short navy skirt and chambray shirt. Still, I anticipated seeing him, so I styled my hair and spent a little time on my makeup.

  It’s all so completely ridiculous, because I have no intention of continuing any sort of romantic relationship with Mr. Carrollton.

  Miles has the right idea keeping things formal. We should use last names.

  The door opens, and my chest squeezes at the sight. He’s wearing a thin, black sweater that clings to his muscles and gray pants. He walks past me without a look and pauses at Miles’s desk. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  My breath tightens in my throat, and I blink twice before tearing my eyes away from his ass. I remember every detail, every line of muscle on his body, how his skin felt against mine.

  “Take a seat and we’ll run through it. Or should we go to the conference room? Which would you prefer, Joselyn?” Miles smiles. “Do you mind if I call you Joselyn?”

  So much for formalities.

  “I don’t mind.” My voice seems too soft, too delicate, and the muscle in Spencer’s jaw moves. “It’s your call. We can go through the folder here or we can use one of the large tables to spread them out and look at the pictures all together.”

  “I’m sure Daisy told you the Oceanside Hotel said yes.” Miles rocks back in the chair. “You’ve worked in their facilities. What would you recommend?”

  Spencer’s eyes are fixed on my hands, which are now trembling as I turn the plastic-lined pages. Clearing my throat, I steel myself against his unfriendly demeanor.

  “I’ve done so many different events… This is the first time I’ve done anything for antique dealers.”

  “They’re just as banal and boring as everyone else, I assure you.” Miles is a friendly counterbalance to the glacier standing beside me.

  “Okay…” I hesitate at a photo of a palm sculpture. “If I at least had an idea of what type of theme you were wanting.”

  Miles shifts in his chair. “I had hoped you or Daisy could take the lead on that. Themes aren’t really my strong suit.”

  “He’s more of an idea guy.” Spencer turns, and I jump back, nearly knocking my folder off the desk. He catches it, still not smiling. “Tell you what, I’ll take Joselyn to my office, and we can go through this and pull something together.”

  “Brilliant!” Miles smiles broadly, clapping his hands and rising.

  “I don’t mind working something up for you on my own—”

  “I have some ideas I’d like to discuss.” Spencer’s voice is firm, and he meets my gaze at last.

  His hazel eyes are flat, and I feel very small looking up at him, even though I’m four inches taller than Miles. I feel like I could hide behind him.

  “Okay.” My voice is subdued.

  “I like this plan.” Miles motions us to the door. “Spencer has impeccable taste. I can’t wait to see what you two come up with.”

  My portfolio is in Spencer’s hands, and I study his broad shoulders as he strides out of the office and down the hall. I can see the muscles rippling through that sweater. He’s powerful and arrogant, and what the hell am I doing here?

  “Chivalry is dead.” Miles chuckles, breaking the spell. “His office is just at the other corner there. The north and the south.”

  “Warmth versus freezing?”

  “Something like that. He won’t win Mr. Congeniality, but he’s hardly ever wrong.”

  Squaring my shoulders, I decide I made this bed and had sex in it. I can meet this challenge head-on. Hell, Spencer being cool and professional is exactly the right approach to get things back on track. I have no idea why he summoned me here today, but he said I could always tell him to stop, and he would.

  Hopefully he’s better at keeping his word than I am.

  Chapter 8

  Spencer

  “These pieces should work.” I flip the oversized pages, stopping at a photo spread of life-sized floral sculptures of a couple dancing in Regency attire. “Since that show on Netflix, everyone is into this royal type of thing. Or maybe it’s since that Oprah interview.”

  “This is actually Belle and Prince Adam.”

  “I’m not familiar with them.”

  “Beauty and the Beast?” Her blue eyes flicker up at me, and when they meet mine, my stomach tightens in a way I don’t like.

  She looks amazing, and I’m pissed I still want to fuck her. She’s also being very polite and p
rofessional—as am I.

  “I did this for the high school prom one year, ‘Tale as Old as Time.’”

  “Was it for your high school prom?”

  “No, I was in college at that point. I needed the money.”

  Clearing my throat, I step away from her hair and its scent of magnolia. It reminds me of how it bounced in soft waves around my arms when I drove my dick into her from behind.

  “Go with that. Miles will think he’s in a Disney movie. Hell, they all will.” Morons.

  “So Regency romance.” She taps on her phone. “Should we tell them to dress in period attire?”

  “God, no. It’s not a carnival.”

  Her eyebrows rise, and she cuts me a glance. “You’d be surprised how much people love wearing costumes.”

  “Nothing surprises me.” I walk around my desk as she zips up the folder and takes her clutch. My jaw tightens, and I can’t seem to stop myself from going there. “You appear to be well.”

  She tilts her head, confusion lining her brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Why else would you sneak out in the middle of the night unless you were ill?” Crossing my foot over my knee, I lift an iPad off my desk. “Unless you had some sort of emergency.”

  In my peripheral, I see her shifting uneasily. Yes, I like seeing her squirm under my cross-examination. I’m not a frat boy, and I’m definitely not a football jock. She’s in the real world now.

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice returns to that soft register that makes me want to wrap her hair around my fist and pull her head back against my shoulder. “Friday was a mistake. I apologize for my unprofessional behavior.”

  My jaw tightens. Not what I expected her to say.

  “You don’t have to apologize. We’re consenting adults.”

  “Yes, but I don’t sleep with clients. I’d had too much to drink—”

  “Stop.” My eyes flash to hers, anger tightening in my chest. “I do not sleep with intoxicated women.”

  “No…” She holds up a hand. “I only meant…”

  “I ordered food, which you refused to eat. I believe your exact words were not to tell you what to do.”

  Her chin drops, and she squeezes her eyes shut. “You’re right. I said those things. It was poor judgment. I was dealing with some personal stuff.”

  Sleeping with me is poor judgment? I don’t think so.

  I grab the reins on my stinging rebuttal and put it in the box of cool self-control. I’m Mr. Freeze, after all.

  Idiotic nickname.

  “I see. Is this ‘personal stuff’ going to impact your ability to do your work? Or is that too invasive of me to ask?”

  “It will not.” She stares at her shoes like a child.

  I want to tell her to look at me, but I don’t.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Standing, I round my desk and open the door, holding it for her to go.

  She looks up at me as if she feels the need to explain. “I caught Elliot having sex with another woman. I was angry. I guess I wanted to prove something to myself… that I was still attractive or whatever. I know how dumb that sounds. I don’t expect you to understand. It was reckless and completely unprofessional. It won’t happen again.”

  Her words only toss lighter fluid on the situation. I’m pissed she’s labeling our night as revenge sex. We were better than that. I’m pissed she sneaked out without letting me drive her home, like some kind of cheap hooker. I’m pissed she thinks she can decide it won’t happen again.

  If I want her, I’ll have her.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you.” That’s as far as I’ll go. “Friday night, we scratched an itch. It’s done, and we can put it behind us now.”

  “Behind us.”

  “You made the point we don’t know each other very well. If we did, you’d know I’m not interested in a relationship. You’re quite safe, Miss Winthrop. I have no intention of holding it against you or expecting a repeat performance.”

  Unless, perhaps, if you get on your knees and beg me…

  She blinks several times, pressing her lips together, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far.

  If she starts crying…

  Pressure builds in my chest, but she pushes her hair behind her shoulder. “Thank you for that. I’m lucky you’re such an understanding guy.”

  “I’m not a guy.” I swear to God. “I look forward to seeing your art. In the meantime, I’ve got work to do.”

  With a quick turn, she stalks out the door, leaving behind the scent of creamy magnolia, mimosa, and memories.

  * * *

  “Now you own the place.” I’m in Fireside, one of the smallest towns in South Carolina, standing in the kitchen of a century-old, red-brick colonial house on the only main street in town. “How long has it been since we renovated it?”

  “We?” Daisy cries, then winks. “Let’s see… I had just finished college, so five years?”

  “I’ve lost track.”

  We’re all in Oceanside to prep the ballroom and get ready for Saturday night. Joselyn is staying with her mother here in town, and Miles will join us on Saturday.

  Some masochistic part of me relishes the idea of spending the next three days with her, even if it’s to work, and when Daisy said they needed help or we’d miss our deadline, I found myself agreeing to come here. Miles has been good to all of us, and I try to support him, even if I think it’s unnecessary.

  Daisy crosses her arms, growing wistful. “Isn’t it funny how things come around?”

  “I still don’t care for grand millennial or country.” Walking through the floral-wallpapered space, I lift a red and white checked table cloth. “I’m glad you rethought this blunder.”

  “Miles said my interior design was inspired.”

  “Miles thinks you’re an angel descended from design heaven, poor man.”

  She laughs, as we stroll through her living room to the front door. It’s decorated in gingham pillows, large churns of dried lavender, and lace doilies. “Don’t try to fool me with that icy exterior. I’ve seen behind the curtain, Mr. Freeze.”

  “Will I ever shake that nickname?” I don’t even know how it got started.

  “You could try being a little nicer.”

  “I value honesty above all.”

  “I didn’t say be dishonest. Remember when you gave Ms. Nelly your prized Fenton art glass to complete her collection? That was very thawed of you.”

  “It was a loan. You said I’d get it back when she dies.” Lifting a photo of a handsome man holding a golden-haired little girl, I pause. “Where are they?”

  “Football practice.”

  “Of course.” I lift my chin. Pituitary case.

  “So a gala? Just like that, out of nowhere? You hate big events. What’s behind all this?”

  “Link Sherlock.” I place the photo down and we step out onto the red-brick front porch. It’s expansive and catches the breeze nicely, and Daisy has wicker chairs and rockers at various intervals.

  “The YouTuber? He’s hilarious!” Her blue eyes crinkle and she mimics the voice of his intro line. “‘Finding treasures wherever they may hide…’ I love him.”

  “Miles is very threatened by him. Thinks he’s going to steal all our clients.”

  “Why don’t you join forces with him?”

  “I can’t think of anything worse. I prefer my idea.”

  “Which was?”

  “Ignore him.”

  “You can’t ignore the future.” She shakes her head, and I remember a time when she and I were the future in this business.

  “Speaking of, what happened to that ambitious young woman who dreamed of traveling and taking over the southeast region?”

  She takes my arm as we descend the stairs. “She grew up to be happier than she ever dreamed possible.”

  One look in Daisy’s eyes, and I know she’s telling the truth. “Well, good for her.”

  “You could always tell Miles no. He’s not your boss anymore.”

>   “He doesn’t have a lot of excitement in his life. I’ll let him have his fun if it saves me a trip.”

  “Good thing, because we’ve spent the last two weeks busting our asses. We might set a record on fastest gala assembly in recorded history.”

  “Always the over-achiever.”

  She snorts, shaking her blonde head. “I’m actually looking forward to it. I haven’t been to a big party since I got married.”

  “There you go.”

  She rises on tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “You’re an old softie, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody. Now get to the hotel. I reserved the executive suite with a view of the water for you. It’s coastal chic, not a quilt or a doily in sight.”

  “I remember it from your wedding. The northeastern crew will adore it. They’ll think they’re in the Hamptons.”

  “We’ll take them all to the Tuna Tiki to remind them where they really are.”

  I start to recoil at the low-rent tiki bar on the beach, but I remember one positive. “They have very good sushi.”

  “Thank you!” Daisy slaps my arm. “One of these days, you’re going to stop being such an old fuddy-duddy.”

  “If you’re implying I don’t know how to have fun, you know that’s wrong. I don’t care for places where I’ll be vomited on or have draft beer spilled down my back.”

  “I told you not to wear your best blazer.”

  “I don’t own cheap clothes.” We’re standing beside my black Tesla parked on the street.

  “We’ll have to find you some play clothes, Captain Von Trapp. I think I have an old pair of drapes—”

  “I’ll see you in the ballroom in the morning. In appropriate work attire.”

  “Thanks for agreeing to help out. I know it’s not your thing.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You’re a good man, Spence.”

  Glancing at the sky, I decide this was a mistake. “I’m an asshole. Don’t forget it.”

  Chapter 9

  Joselyn