by Drea Stein
“Noah,” Chase’s voice boomed as he emerged from a door. One thing could be counted on. Chase had had his back since the fifth grade.
“How’s the tycoon doing? Having fun playing hometown hero?”
Chase slapped Noah on the back, a hearty slap that had him catching his breath. “I see you met Tory here. She’s my resident computer whiz. Probably wants to ask you a bunch of questions about databases and algorithms.”
Noah glanced over at Tory, who was blushing again. “I’m a computer science major, and it’s so totally an honor to meet you.”
“Really, I just got lucky.”
“Oh no, the way you solved that problem of—”
Chase cut in at that moment. “Tory started out as a sales clerk, and now she manages the ecommerce division and will talk about computers all day. Good thing she’s also a great sailor, too, or I would have to throw her overboard. All that tech stuff is geek to me.”
Noah laughed. Tech stuff might have been geek-speak to Chase, but he’d trusted enough to give Noah money when his father wouldn’t, enough to start TechSpace. Chase had never wanted to be part of the company, content to take over the family business, a marine hardware and supply store. In a few short years, Chase had overhauled the place and turned it into the outfitters of choice for the yachting set. With three locations and a thriving online business, Chase was the consummate businessman, always seeking a profit and not nearly as computer illiterate as he made himself sound.
“I know, computers bore you. You’d rather be outside, sails full out, riding the waves.”
“Something like that. Still, it’s not a good day for sailing, even for me. We’re going to head over to the Osprey Arms and get something to eat,” Chase said to Tory, who nodded, still looking shyly at Noah.
They were back out of the store, with Chase shaking his head. “Do all the girls look at you like that or just the computer geeks? Thought she was going to ask you to play ‘where’s my floppy’ in the middle of the showroom floor.”
Noah sighed as the brisk October air hit them. North Coast Outfitters was located in an old sail loft along the harbor’s edge, right next to the Queensbay Marina, and the Osprey Arms, Queensbay’s fanciest, and pretty much only, hotel and restaurant.
“Just the computer geeks, unfortunately. Not like the swimsuit models you get to hang out with.”
Chase gave another laugh. “They’re sporting apparel models, and they’re all professionals. It’s just another photo shoot on a yacht for them.”
“Whatever you say,” Noah said, giving his friend a playful shove. It felt good to be out here on the water, hanging out with his old buddy. It was hard to keep up pretensions around someone who knew you when you had braces and Star Wars pajamas.
“Isn’t life grand?” Chase said, breathing deep into the air as he stood overlooking the harbor, letting the fall sunlight soak into him. Noah shoved his hands in his coat. He was still wearing one of his father’s. If he was going to stay in Queensbay, maybe he should take a look around the store, let Tory talk him into some kind of overpriced jacket he probably didn’t need.
A guy who worked at the marina nodded at Chase, who waved a friendly hand in greeting. As he pushed open the door to the Osprey Arms, the front desk clerk, a young man with a blond ponytail, acknowledged them with a friendly, “Hello.”
Chase led the way, and when the maître d’ appeared, was greeted with a smile and respect.
“Usual table, John.”
“Of course, Mr. Sanders.” They were led past empty tables towards the back where a wall of glass afforded a sweeping view of the harbor. The wind was kicking up small whitecaps on it, and channel marker buoys bounced up and down. There were no boats out now, though Noah could see that more than a few, including some heavy duty fishing boats, were still moored in the harbor.
They settled in, both ordering iced tea. Chase leaned back and looked at him, a serious expression on his face.
“How are you holding up, Noah?”
Noah felt himself sink into his chair. He and Chase kept in touch through email and phone, but their busy schedules had made it harder and harder to get together in person, and Noah realized that he had missed that.
“Okay. A bit of a shock, despite what you said.”
Chase nodded. He had told Noah that Maxwell was acting kind of off.
“I heard about his last night at the club. He was spending a lot of time with Caitlyn.” Chase said the name carefully.
“Yes. I guess I’m actually glad for that. That he had someone. But he was still alone, at the end.”
“Well, in some way, aren’t we all? At least you got a chance to talk to him, you know, open the lines of communication.”
Noah snorted. “He wanted money, Chase, and I said no. I guess he was desperate enough to sell it, even to me. And now I get to run it and take on the likes of Caitlyn Montgomery. She is pissed at me. Do you know why?”
“She hates your guts?” Chase said, offhandedly.
“That was a long time ago. Don’t you think she could have forgiven me by now?”
Chase’s mouth twitched, and his eyes danced. “I don’t think girls like to be called teases. Kind of steams them. Oh, and not returning her phone calls. Seems like you were pretty clear you were over her. Maybe she’s really good at carrying a grudge.”
“A grudge?” Noah said, watching Chase carefully. “How would you know about that?” Chase had told him that he’d had lunch with Caitlyn, but that was it. He felt his hands wrap around the edge of the table, the white cloth bunching up underneath his curled fingers.
“I told you I looked her up in London. But we spend most of our time talking about you. Or we would if she’d admit to it. Sure, she put on a good face, but I don’t think she’d quite left that summer behind, and judging from your reaction, neither did you.” Chase smiled smugly as he took a sip of his iced tea and picked up the laminated menu.
Noah took a look out the window and watched the water, giving himself a chance to settle down. Chase had said he’d never gone out with Caitlyn, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t tried. Girls had flocked to him when they were kids, and they still did.
“So you never even tried...?” Noah hesitated. He didn’t want to know, but had to. Maybe he was kidding himself, and this was Chase’s way of breaking it to him that Caitlyn was taken.
“No, never. I’ll be honest. I thought about it, more than once, but she’s always kept me at an arm’s distance. Besides, like I told you, her ex was a piece of work. You didn’t want to look twice at her; otherwise, her ex would be all over you.”
A waiter came up to him, and Chase ordered the crab cakes. Noah looked at his menu, impatient to continue the conversation, and picked shrimp scampi, the first thing that jumped out at him.
“What do you mean? About her ex?” He had thought about what Chase had said at the funeral and the way Caitlyn seemed almost jumpy around him.
Chase grimaced. “Real son of a bitch. Sure, he was all old chap this and old chap that, but if he so much as caught you looking at Caitlyn, he’d turn into a real prick, to say nothing of the way he looked at her.”
“Look at her, like what?” Noah felt a cold rage settle into him. He’d heard about Caitlyn’s engagement; well, he had read about it. Her fiancé Michael was kind of a somebody over there in London, and their coupling had landed them on some gossip pages. He didn’t normally read them, but he’d set alerts for her name, so anytime she was mentioned, she had shown up in his inbox.
Chase shrugged. “He seemed like the jealous, possessive type. I wanted to look out for her, but I didn’t want to cause her any trouble. So I kinda stopped seeing her in London. But since she’s been back, we go to lunch every once in a while. She’s thinking of getting a boat, so I’ve been looking over listings with her.”
“Listings?” Noah said.
“She wants to go used, which is a good choice. It’s been awhile since she’s been out on one, so I think she misses it. I
t’s just the boats for sale section my friend, nothing more.”
Their meal came with soup, clam chowder, and the waiter set down a bowl in front of each of them.
Noah ladled a bit of the hot, fragrant soup into his mouth. It was good, a closely guarded recipe – and the restaurant’s secret weapon.
“So, is she seeing anyone else?” Noah finally asked.
Chase just shook his head. “What are we, fourteen? Shouldn’t you ask her yourself? Seeing as how you’re, like, totally not over her?” His voice rose, in an approximation of a cheerleader, Noah guessed.
“I am, like, so over her,” Noah replied, doing his best to keep up the act.
“Whatever.” Chase got in the last word.
Chapter 17
Caitlyn traded icy smiles with Sam Harris for a few more minutes, and then she made her way back down the hallway to her office. Eyes followed her, but she didn’t stop. She meant to say something to Heather, tell her that it would be all right, but she wasn’t at her desk. Caitlyn went into her office and sank into her chair, trying to keep her emotions in check. Her phone rang. Caitlyn intended to ignore it, but it kept ringing. The caller ID said “private.” It could be, hope against hope, a client – one who wanted her to manage a very large account with total carte blanche, and oh, by the way, knew several other friends and family also looking for a genius of a financial manager.
It hardly ever worked that way, Caitlyn thought, but you needed to try. Straightening up in her chair, she plastered her best smile on her face.
“Hello, this is Caitlyn Montgomery.”
“Kit-Cat,” Michael St. John said, his voice silky smooth, so English you could smell the tea and crumpets.
She waited – waited for her stomach to flip, her knees to tremble, her mouth to go dry. Nothing. Nothing happened, no reaction of love, or fear, or desire. She felt not one iota of anything for him, beyond the mild irritation that she had to speak to him at all.
“Hello, Michael, I thought I told you I didn’t want to speak to you anymore.” Her own voice was steady and even, her palms without a trace of nervous sweat. It was a glorious feeling, this sense of freedom, that he no longer had any kind of hold over her, that she would no longer drop everything to be with him, that she would no longer lose herself in an effort to be more pleasing to him. No more would she spend hours wondering how to have dinner with him, spend the day with him, make love to him, all of the things she had worried and fretted over with him. The last thing she had ever been with him was herself.
“Caitlyn.” His voice was a reproach, chastising her for not calling. He waited, and when she said nothing, merely shuffled through some papers on her desk, he rushed on.
“I’ve been wishing to speak with you.”
“Well, I suppose I was unlucky enough to pick up. What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping you would come back, Caitlyn.” His voice was pitched low, a tone to make her think he was a sensitive soul.
“You know I won’t.”
“I’ve fixed things up for you. Everyone understands that it was just a mistake, not even yours – they’re all clear on that. I have people ready and waiting to become your clients.”
Clever, Caitlyn thought, he was dangling the very thing he had taken from her. And what he thought was her weak spot.
“You know that I won’t do that, Michael. I thought I had made it very clear to you.” She kept her voice calm, reasonable, as if talking to an angry child. She knew that it would infuriate him. Michael couldn’t stand it when people were indifferent to him.
“But you can’t possibly be so stubborn, Caitlyn. There’s a lot of money involved in this. I know how you like money.”
Of course she did. Who didn’t? But it wasn’t stubbornness this time; it was pride. Michael St. John, a man consumed by his own ego and arrogance, seldom met anyone who didn’t come around to his way of thinking. Caitlyn was defying his wishes, and in so doing, she was making herself that much more alluring to him.
“We could work something else out. Find a totally different position for you. I could talk to a few friends. Caitlyn, it doesn’t have to be this way.” He was actually pleading with her.
Caitlyn pictured him, an ocean away, at his desk in his office, behind glass doors, turned towards the windows, looking out on a London that would be on its way into nightfall. It would be cold and rainy, of course, the weather a virtual guarantee.
He would be sitting there in a crisp white shirt, handmade to fit him precisely. Suspenders, crisscrossed against his back, silk foulard tie with a discreet yet quirky pattern. Wool suit trousers, polished, hand-cobbled wingtips. Blue eyes straining to convey sincerity, blond hair so fair and fine that it fit his head like a golden cap. Manicured hands, Mont Blanc pens on the desk, everything the finest from shops and stores that the general public never knew existed, shops that catered to the last of the dying breed, the gentleman. No one would ever guess at the anger and the cruelty that lay beneath.
That image of him speaking to her, thousands of miles away, moved her not at all. She checked her vital signs where Michael was concerned and found that she was not registering, not even anger. She was in control, had the upper hand, and though she did not wish to torture him, would never use it in that way, it fortified her to know that she did not weaken in the face of his relentless and wheedling charm.
“Michael, our problems go far beyond a job.”
“Or you wouldn’t have to work at all, once we were married,” he said over her, and she almost laughed.
“What a kind offer, Michael, but as I was saying, we have other problems, as you might recall, and I don’t really see any way around those. You chose your path, Michael, and now you need to live with those consequences.”
Even as she said it, she doubted that he ever worried about the consequences, unless they were good ones. If they were not, he simply did his utmost to manipulate the situation back to his advantage.
“Caitlyn, what more do I have to say? It was a mistake, and I wish you would forgive me.”
She noticed that he did not say he was sorry, and she wondered which mistake he was talking about.
“I can forgive you, Michael,” she said, meaning it, “but I can’t forget and, quite simply, I can’t quite trust you. And I can’t live that way.”
“Kit-Cat, please.” Only he used that nickname, and now she hated it. “Give me another chance; please let me make it up to you. Fly here, and then we’ll go to Paris for the weekend, or the Alps to ski. Or someplace warm, instead. Anyplace you wish. Please let me show you that I still care.”
Caitlyn almost laughed, but that would have been a mistake. More than most men, Michael believed he possessed special gifts in bed. Like most women, Caitlyn had not found that to be the case, her attraction to Michael having been much deeper and more complicated than that.
“No, Michael, absolutely not. It’s over. You made your choice when you decided to sleep with Zoë in our bed. I knew you were a flirt, but you crossed a line. You humiliated me, Michael, and that was the last straw, the last.”
“Caitlyn, you made me realize my mistake. Please, how many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”
Just once, she thought, and mean it. To forgive didn’t mean to forget. “It won’t make a difference. It’s over. We’re over.”
There was a pause, and all of the pleading went out of his voice, replaced with the cold, hard edge she remembered so well. “Don’t think you will get away from me so easily, Caitlyn. You were mine, and I am not accustomed to letting what’s mine walk away.”
“Michael, I was never yours.” Caitlyn hung up, the click of the receiver adding to the finality of her words. He was probably calling her a bitch, but she decided she did not care, and this, too, was another step towards freedom for her.
Her breath hitched, and she saw that her hands were shaking. She had lied, those last words. She had let Michael think that she was biddable, too impressed by who he was.
�
�Are you okay?” Heather looked in the door. Caitlyn glanced up and saw the look of concern on Heather’s face. It was obvious that she had been standing there awhile. Heather was young, but not dumb.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Heather took another step in and stood there, hands twisted together, looking uncertain.
Caitlyn gave a short bark of laughter. “Ever had a bad breakup?”
Heather smiled. “Who hasn’t?”
“Right, I guess it’s a rite of passage. This one just won’t get the hint that it’s over.” Caitlyn smiled, starting to feel a little less shaky.
“Well, if you want, I can screen all of your calls for a while, you know, if you just tell me who to look out for.”
Caitlyn smiled at Heather, who looked less nervous and more than a little excited at the prospect of being useful.
“That would be very helpful.” Caitlyn, struck by inspiration, added, “Would you like to grab lunch together? My old friend just took over the deli on Main Street. She’s turned into a fun little café. It’s about time I stopped by, and my schedule’s free. My treat.”
Heather beamed. “That would be great.”
Caitlyn smiled, feeling better, and watched as Heather went back to her own desk. In the meantime, she tried to push the thoughts of Michael St. John and his threat to the back of her mind.
Chapter 18
Caitlyn had enjoyed her lunch with Heather. The deli had been renamed The Golden Pear. The owner, Darby Reese, was an old friend from high school. They’d fallen out of touch for awhile, but since they had both returned to Queensbay at the same time, they’d become friendly again. Now Darby, a former lawyer had taken over her family’s former deli and had turned it into elegant breakfast and lunch place.
Darby was much happier keeping the people of Queensbay supplied with baked goods than she had ever been practicing law. And it didn’t hurt that she also found the love of her life with Sean Callahan, the chef at the Osprey Arms.