by Marina Adair
Darcy snorted, because nothing with the Eastons was ever simple. They were the most intense group of men Darcy had ever met. But they were also big softies when it came to family. Darcy hated it when people held her responsible for Kyle’s choices, so she refused to do the same.
“I’ll email Gage when I get home, tell him we can meet to talk about Kylie. As for the wedding, I’ll make it clear that it is a separate issue, and if we agree to move forward I’m not taking more than my asking rate.”
“What about Kylie?” Jillian asked. “Are you going to bring her?”
Darcy’s eyes once again found Kylie. She was in the bounce house, hands on her hips, chin in the air, telling the biggest kid on the football team that tackling in the bounce house wasn’t nice play.
Darcy smiled. “That depends on which Gage shows up. I would love for the guy who wrote that note to meet Kylie. But if it is the cold and calculated one who sent that contract, then all bets are off. I don’t screw around with my daughter’s happiness.”
She’d walked away from a marriage to ensure it. She’d take on the entire Easton clan if it meant protecting it.
Chapter 6
It was official. Gage needed a vacation.
He’d started his day at the gym, getting his ass handed to him by Clay as he attempted to keep pace with a freaking machine. Oh, Clay had given him a pep talk. One that included name calling and multiple demands to hand over his man-card. Then Owen had arrived, proving the theory behind mob mentality, and by the time Josh showed up with a booklet of bridal gown swatches, Gage flipped them the finger and hit the showers.
By eight, he couldn’t feel his legs, but managed to stay upright while he got dressed and walked the three blocks to his office. Half-way there, he heard his phone ping and saw that it was an email from Darcy saying, I AM OPEN TO DISCUSSING THE POSSIBILITIES AT YOUR EARLIEST CONVENIENCE, and damn near sprinted to his car.
There was a list of possibilities they needed to discuss. Kylie for one. They needed to come to an agreement that included his family being in her life. A close second was the wedding. But the only possibilities his head wanted to entertain were ones that had to do with exploring the connection between them.
In fact, last night he’d come up with some pretty damn creative ones. All of which required no clothes, and none of which were real possibilities. Didn’t stop him from running to his car like some anxious teenager though.
Calling himself a dozen kinds of asshole, he tossed his gym bag in the truck and slammed the door. A snarling sounded from inside his car, followed by a loud growl that sounded straight out of Jurassic Park. And not an herbivore either, it sounded like one of those raptor things was inside his car, making mincemeat of his seats.
Gage placed a hand over the window and peered in when—
“What the hell?”
Something lunged at his face, throwing itself against the door, teeth bared, little pink painted nails scratching against the glass.
“Yip!Yip!Yip!Yip!”
He glanced around the parking lot, but didn’t see anyone. No laughing brothers, no Stephanie, no one he could give the abomination to. Nope, it was just him and Fancy—dressed in a pink top with a skirt that was a ruffle of silk flowers on his butt.
“You, off the leather!”
At his voice, Littleshit went from snarling to panting happily, his hot breath and wet nose marking up the window. Gage didn’t even want to get into what his tongue was doing to the glass.
A post-it note was stuck in the weather stripping on the window. It was small, yellow, and so funny Gage wanted to punch a brother—didn’t matter which one, since they were likely all in on the joke. He should have known something was up when half of his family showed up before daylight.
He tore the note off the window.
Be back a week from tomorrow. Dog food’s in the front seat, outfits in the carrier, wee-wee pads on the floorboard. You’re welcome.
~ Rhett
PS. I hear kids like dogs, so there’s that…
“One wee-wee in my car and shit will get real. Understood?” Gage said, opening the door and scooping Fancy up, who licked his face. “As soon as I find out where your dad is, you’re going back to him.”
Fancy didn’t give two shits. He caught sight of his reflection in the window and struggled to get free so he could annihilate it.
Gage suspended him in midair, his miniature legs going a million miles a minute.
With an empathetic chuckle for the guy’s struggle, he pulled out his phone and dialed Rhett. Gage left a scathing voicemail, then dialed Clay. Ditto.
He went down the list as not a single one of them answered, but Fancy had tired himself out and was hanging from his hand, limp, his tongue dangling out the side of his mouth.
Gage considered calling his mom, but was about as excited about dog-sitting as he was about lying. And since he knew that call would require an apology for not calling often enough, a promise to have dinner this week, and a complete accounting of his day, he punted.
A stacked redhead walked by and gave Gage a once over, then smiled. “Cute dog.”
“You want him?” Gage asked holding Littleshit out in offering. “He’s…ah…laid back, potty trained, and belonged to a celebrity.”
Red gave an amused smile, and Gage smiled back, dialing the charm to magnetic. Even Littleshit played along, lifting those big dark brown doggie eyes her way and giving a cute puppy sigh. “Aw, what’s his name?”
Gage groaned. “Fancy.”
Red bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Fancy?”
“He’s a real lap dog, would make a great house pet.”
“Then why are you giving him away?”
“I’m allergic.”
She laughed and unlocked her car door. “I thought it was because of the present Fancy left on the passenger side.” With a wink, Red slammed her door and drove off.
Gage ducked down and that’s when he saw the “present,” sitting two inches from the wee-wee pad. With his most intimidating frown, he looked down at Fancy—who was tucked against his side, fast asleep.
A few choice words later, the sleeping dog was in his carrier, the poo was in the wadded up wee-wee pad, and Gage was three rows over, depositing the present on the seat of Owen’s motorcycle.
Climbing in his car, Gage called his secretary to cancel his morning appointments, then toyed with the idea of emailing Darcy back. But was afraid she’d pencil him in sometime after his niece graduated college. And he was tired of waiting…
For things to get easier, for the perfect time to reach out, for the universe to go pick on someone else for a while.
Gage’s story was a series of right girl wrong time, and he was no closer to figuring out what to do about the attraction than when he’d first met her seven years ago. So he’d kept his distance, dating other women, playing the friend card. It had been the right move, and Gage liked to consider himself a good guy.
But it was no longer about him and her, or whatever unsettled business still lay between them. This was about family, so he snapped in his co-pilot and started the car.
Twenty minutes later, he was driving up the steep and winding streets of West Hills, passing by some of the oldest homes in the area. Turning down the brick road, which was lined on either side by the dozens of heritage crepe myrtle trees and led to Belle Mont House, Gage smiled fondly.
She was driven, he’d give her that. Darcy had done what so many other developers had failed. She’d resurrected one of Portland’s oldest landmarks and brought back its glory. And she’d done it all on her own.
He parked in front of the main house and stepped out of the car, greeted by the gentle scent of rose petals and moss, which clung to the white oak trees scattered around the property. It had been a while since he’d spent a day away from the office and out in the sunshine. The sound of the rustling leaves was enough to bring a sense of calm that had been—
“Yip!”
Gage closed his ey
es and counted to three—he’d intended to go all the way to ten, but after his nap, Fancy was rearing to go.
Gage scooped the dog out of his cage and clipped his leash on before setting him on the brick path. Fancy went to work sniffing the tires, the nearby tree, then the wide front porch step. Where he lifted a leg and did some more business. This one didn’t require a cleanup, but irritated Gage all the same.
“Nice first impression,” Gage said, ignoring that his hadn’t come off any better. “Between the high pitched bark and that frilly shit you wear, all of the girl dogs are going to start asking if you had your boys clipped.”
Fancy whipped his head, so his ears went to the side like he was in a boy band. Then he sat, poised, cleaning his dainty little paw.
“With all of the chick magnet dogs out there, I get you.”
“Yip!”
“If you’re good, I’ll take you to the mall and buy you some flannel, or maybe one of those ‘Bitches Love Me’ T-shirts.”
With a gentle tug, Dog Wonder-ful pranced up the steps and into the house, a bell jingling behind them. The front room was impressive, mahogany floors and wainscoting, with ornate molding around the ceilings and dramatic arches. The furniture was turn of the century, the chandelier tiffany, and the windows original leaded glass, which cast a rainbow glow around the room.
Belle Mont House wasn’t just historic—it was a piece of art.
Gage looked at the hand painted details around the each of balusters, and tried to picture Darcy in jeans and an old college tee—her hair in a messy ponytail, her hands speckled in paint. He’d always liked Messy Darcy, almost as much as he liked Warm and Soft Darcy. But his new favorite, he decided, as he pushed through the back door of the house, was Polished Darcy in her business-ready blouses, slim fitted skirts that hugged her curves and ended just below the knee, exposing those mile-long legs of hers. Which were always finished off in a pair of fantasy inspiring pumps.
Today the blouse was buttoned, the skirt cream, and those pumps fuck-me red. And the relaxed smile on her pretty face said she hadn’t seen him yet.
She stood at the head of the table, looking poised and confident, with a presentation easel behind her that read, HEIRLOOM BLOOMERS. CELEBRATING 100 YEARS OF FLORA HERITAGE.
“We could set up tables throughout the rose garden. Six-seater round tables in a cluster so that the group is kept together, but yet still invites intimate conversations,” she said to the table of ladies in the gazebo.
Not ladies, Gage corrected. Seniors. In flowered dresses, pearled gloves, and hats worthy of a British royal wedding. A table full of them, sipping tea from elegant cups and eating sandwiches fit for a dog.
“That sounds ideal,” a woman with bright pink lipstick and two matching circles painted on her cheeks said. “And where would you propose placing the flower stands?”
“We could always go traditional and have them set up around the lawn. Or we could get innovative and,” Darcy removed the front poster board to expose a blown-up blueprint of Belle Mont’s first floor, with red dots scattered strategically throughout, “move the show inside.”
Several gasps escaped, followed by a chorus of whispers—some excited, some skeptical.
“I know that you have had the rose show outside for several decades, but your organization was founded by Ms. Pitman and her three best friends as a way to share ideas and celebrate their blooms. Their first ever Heirloom Bloomers Tea was held in Ms. Pitman’s sunroom,” Darcy said, silencing the group. “By moving it back indoors, it will allow us to spotlight each and every entry, and rose enthusiasts to take a leisurely walk back in time, admiring rose blooms whose roots date back several generations, in the way Ms. Pitman had originally imagined. A coming together of friends and neighbors.”
“I do love the sound of that,” a lady in bifocals, holding a cane said. “But our tables are much too big, they’d block the hallway.”
“Excellent observation, Connie,” Darcy said. “Which is why I have spoken with a local contractor, who’s willing to build some vintage looking flower pedestals at a discounted price.”
Gage looked down at Fancy, who was straining on the leash, trying to get loose so he could go greet everyone with a proper doggie hello. “We’re going back inside to wait until her meeting is over. No wee-wee pads in there, so if you have to go, you hold it. Understood?”
“Yip!”
All dozen sets of eyes turned his way at the bark, including Darcy’s. They went big with surprise, before taking a slow discovery of his body, only to stop when they reached Littleshit and narrow into two pissed off slits.
“Real smooth entrance,” he whispered to the dog, who barked and went back to yanking at the leash. “No licking and no crotch sniffing. We’ll go in like gentlemen and charm her into giving us a second chance.”
Making his way down the back steps, Fancy trotting like he was a thoroughbred and this was the winner’s lap at the Kentucky Derby, Gage greeted the table, “Morning, ladies. We didn’t mean to interrupt your party.”
“Well, a party isn’t a party until the gentlemen arrive,” a portly woman in her seventies said, pulling out a lace fan and cooling her cheeks. “And aren’t you quite the specimen. Are you the contractor?” She looked at Darcy. “Is he the contractor?”
Gage’s biceps flexed a bit, along with his ego, and Darcy snorted. “He doesn’t know a thing about construction. Probably doesn’t even own a tool belt.”
“It isn’t about how many tools a man has in his belt, it’s how well he uses the tools he has,” Gage said, his lips curving up into a smile when Darcy’s face turned an adorable shade of pink.
“If you ask me, it’s about how well he looks in a tool belt.” Connie gave one more slow look, then winked. “I say you’re hired. Have a seat next to me.”
Gage winked back and Darcy rolled her eyes, but not before taking a thorough once-over of her own. Lingering extra-long, he noticed, on his tool belt.
“Unfortunately, Gage isn’t on Belle Mont’s approved list of service providers,” Darcy said, her smile sweet as icing, her gaze dialed to castrate. “And he needs to get going. I’m sure he has a busy day ahead of him.”
“Actually, I cleared my morning for our appointment.”
“What appointment?”
“The one where we talk about me getting on your approved service provider list,” he said, loving how she refused to laugh. Her lips were straining, she was so determined not to give in. “I’ve been trying to sweet talk my way onto that list for quite some time now, with no luck.” He sat at the table, making himself comfortable. “Maybe you ladies can give me some pointers, help me figure out exactly what Darcy’s looking for.”
Connie patted down her hat and hair. “Well, aren’t you determined and diligent. And absolutely delicious.”
Gage winked again—this time at Darcy. “I aim to please.”
“Ladies, would you excuse us?” Darcy asked, walking towards the house and snagging Gage by the elbow on her way. “The dog stays.”
Fancy huffed in defiance, but didn’t dare follow as Darcy led Gage silently through the back door, across the ballroom, not stopping until they were standing in the kitchen.
“Nice place,” he said, taking in the room. It was large and open, the deep sunken farm sink and vintage cooking utensils adding the right amount of charm to the sleek, professional work areas, which could rival some of the top restaurants in Portland.
“Cut the crap, Gage.” She folded her arms, which did amazing things to her blouse. Pulling the material, and tightening the buttons until all it would take was a simple flick of the finger for one to pop. “We didn’t have an appointment, so why are you here?”
He pulled his phone out, swiped to his email, and read, “I am open to discussing the possibilities at your earliest convenience.” He pocketed it.
“I thought you’d email back, not just show up before I could—”
“Make other plans?”
“No,”
she said, but for the first time since he’d arrived, she broke eye contact. “To check my calendar. I’m in the middle of a meeting.”
“You said at your earliest convenience, and I conveniently had this morning open.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. “I don’t mind waiting.”
Gage had sat at Darcy’s table a thousand times on a thousand different occasions. But there was something about him sitting at this table that had Darcy on edge.
She narrowed those sharp, brown eyes at him then pulled out her own chair, and sat. “I have a meeting directly following this one. Now will be fine,” she said, not sounding the least bit fine with her current predicament.
Gage prided himself in his ability to control even the most stressful of situations while putting people at ease. His mother claimed his need to please was a direct result of middle child syndrome. Darcy had once told him that it stemmed from having a big heart. Which was why he’d started to take her uneasiness with his presence personally.
“I didn’t come to make things worse. I came because we need to talk.”
She let out a big sigh and sat back. “I know. And you were right, I would have kept postponing this, and if we intend to find a solution that works for everyone, we need to actually discuss it.”
A small spark of hope swelled in his chest. He’d come in here expecting some kind of argument, but her body language, although tense, was very open. “Are you’re considering our offer?”
“Parts of it,” she said, and he just prayed that Kylie was the part that was going in his favor. “First off, the wedding and Kylie. Two separate things, never again to be talked about in the same discussion. Me agreeing to this wedding has no standing on my decisions about Kylie’s life.”
“Got it,” Gage said, forgetting how sexy Darcy looked when she was ticked. And the offer had more than ticked her off, it had riled her up.
“As for the wedding, I can’t believe you’d think I’d consider that offer.”
“I knew it would offend you.” Gage smiled, wondering why it was so important that he’d been right.