McClellan Billionaires: The Complete Series

by North, Leslie

  The significance of the house's history had weighed on him when he first started planning the renovation. Would he be able to divorce himself from nostalgia enough to do a good job? That thought had kept him up many nights before he’d arrived here just yesterday. But now that it was happening, it was easy to slip into the role of architect, rather than the role of worried homeowner. He made the rounds, introducing himself to the foreman and the various crew heads, shaking hands and double-checking they had all they needed. This was the fun part, the hopeful beginning of any project, when everyone was still under budget and the deadline was still far enough away to seem perfectly doable.

  He whistled to himself as he came around the corner of the house, then stopped short at the edge of the jetty and stared.

  Maggie stood ankle deep in the foaming surf. The stiff, post-storm breeze pressed her T-shirt to her body in a way that made Vane's throat go dry. She pointed down the shoreline and then laughed as Annabelle hurried over, laden down with buckets and shovels.

  They were collecting seashells washed up by the storm, Vane realized with a smile. He'd done the same thing after every stormy night, returning home with a sandy, stinky collection that his mother would coo over proudly. The best seashells always collected in the little inlet just south of their private beach, but they wouldn't know that.

  He jumped down from the jetty and hurried across the sand to tell them.

  “Hey there!” Maggie shielded her eyes from the sun and smiled at him. “You sure do get an early start.”

  “So do you two,” he said with a smile. He gently touched Annabelle's shoulder. “Mornin'. Can I get a hug?” he asked her.

  “Okay.” Annabelle rested her head against Vane's chest and accepted his greeting. “We're finding seashells.”

  “You know, the best ones are always down there. See where the water comes in a bit down that way? That's a tide pool. I bet if we go there, you'll find a bunch.”

  “Not you!” Annabelle commanded. “I want to do it by myself.”

  Vane pressed his lips together. “I'd like to watch you.”

  “Watch from here,” Annabelle ordered. “You, too,” she said to Maggie. “Stay right here. I'm going by myself.”

  “Off you go, then,” Maggie said with a smile. Annabelle tore across the sand and then whirled around again. “We're staying here!” Maggie laughed. “Don't worry!”

  “Sit down!” Annabelle called. “Right there!”

  “Here?” Vane asked, dropping down into the sand. Annabelle folded her arms until Maggie laughed again and followed his lead, sitting in the sand.

  Right next to Vane.

  Her arm brushed his, electrifying the places that were still smoldering from her touch last night. He coughed into his hand and then gave her an apologetic nudge. “Sorry about that,” he said. “The therapists all say its important for her to have a sense of control.”

  Maggie nudged him right back. “Don't apologize. I loved the way you asked before you hugged her.”

  He smiled. “So are you telling me to ask you before I do this?” He nudged her again, a little harder this time.

  She dimpled prettily. “That might be a good idea.”

  “Hey Maggie, can I...”

  “Try to knock me over? Is that what you're doing?”

  In truth, Vane had no idea what he was doing. “Go on,” he teased her. “You're not a wimp, I can tell.” He pressed against her arm. She laughed and braced her leg in the sand, then pushed back with enough force that he had to fling his arm out. She crowed in triumph. “I wasn't expecting that,” he admitted with a laugh.

  “Good. I never want to be predictable.” She gathered her hair and twisted it up from her neck.

  She was the sexiest woman he'd ever seen.

  Vane licked his lips, ready to ask if he could press other parts of his body against other parts of hers, but was cut off when Al shouted from the house. “McClellan!”

  With a groan, Vane hopped to his feet. “I've gotta go see what he wants.”

  Maggie nodded. “Annabelle! Want some breakfast?” she called.

  “Five more minutes?” Annabelle pleaded.

  Maggie wrinkled her nose. “Fine!” She smiled at Vane. “This is really for my own benefit. If I don't eat in the morning, I get pissy.”

  “Vane!” Al called again. “Permit guy!”

  “Oh, shit.” Vane ran his hands through his hair. City inspectors showing up on site were never a good thing, and surprise visits were even worse. “Coming!”

  He hurried up to the house, vaulting over the jetty instead of taking the stairs. He tugged at his shirt and then extended his hand to the inspector. “Vane McClellan. We weren't expecting you.”

  “I know, that was intentional.” The inspector accepted Vane's handshake like it was an offer of a dead fish. “This is a historical property on the register....”

  “I am fully aware of that, it being my family's history.”

  The inspector eyed his clipboard. “Then you'll understand why I have an obligation to make sure no unauthorized construction is going on.”

  Vane swallowed down his irritation. “Of course. Come with me.”

  He'd dealt with bureaucrats enough to know that they fed off a mix of flattery and feigned ignorance. If he told this man the sky was blue, he would huff in exasperation and rattle off exactly which paragraph in the city ordinances stated it was green. With people like this, it was best not to volunteer any information. They were happiest when they could discover the problems all on their own.

  The inspector had happily pointed out the rotted beams and weathered shingles that he and Al had already accounted for. Vane made the proper noises of acknowledgment, and the inspector was just starting to wrap up when Maggie padded up to join them.

  “Hey!” she said with a bright smile. “I'm Maggie.” She pointed to the house. “Are you here to do something about that water damage?”

  Vane froze. Al swore under his breath. The inspector clicked his pen. “I'm sorry. Who are you?”

  She smiled winningly. “I'm the nanny. But I used to work with a handyman. Well, I mean, not exactly work, since I was like... ten.” She waved her hands in the air. “That doesn't matter, the point is that I learned a lot, which is why I can tell that there's water damage to the foundation right there.” She pointed.

  “Holy hell,” Al grumbled.

  “Your nanny,” the inspector sniffed out the word like it smelled bad. “Is right. Water damage to the foundation means there's probably—”

  “Mold,” Maggie supplied cheerfully. “And that's a real bitch to get rid of. The whole basement wall will need to—”

  “Be replaced,” the inspector finished with an evil smile. He made a note on his clipboard and then nodded at Vane. “I will need a new set of permits on file for this.”

  Vane eyed Maggie. She was still smiling, unaware of the trouble she'd just caused. A new set of permits would take time to acquire.

  Time he didn't have.

  5

  Maggie hummed to herself as she cleaned up the remnants of Annabelle's dinner. The light was rapidly fading from the room, but she didn't feel like turning on the lights yet. The sky still gleamed magenta and orange in the west, the remnants of a truly spectacular sunset. A perfect end to a perfect day, she thought to herself.

  It had been one of those days when everything just seemed to line up. She'd come here to help, and by gosh, that was exactly what she was doing. She'd fed Annabelle and gotten her to bed with no trouble, and so far there were no sign of night terrors. She paused in the middle of the kitchen and listened just to be sure. No screaming. She smiled with relief.

  She was doing good things here. She was sure of it.

  Footfalls on the stairs made her turn eagerly to the doorway. Vane had been working in his office nearly all day. In fact, she hadn't seen him since the inspector's visit.

  She twisted the dish cloth in her hands. She'd been waiting for this moment. A chance to talk
with him, one-on-one, about what she'd seen with Annabelle today.

  There was no denying that Annabelle outside of the classroom was an entirely different child. In the three months she'd had Annabelle as a student, she'd gotten to know her as a quiet, eager-to-please child who was slow to warm up to people but gave them all the love she had once she knew them. She had a little group of friends that she moved with, and she was eager to share everything with them, seemingly out of the goodness of her heart.

  But here she was different. She seemed frustrated and prone to outbursts, and whenever Maggie's attention was caught up in something else, like preparing meals or even going to the bathroom, Annabelle would act out. Maggie knew that for a lot of kids, negative attention was just as good as positive attention, so she tried not to react when Annabelle openly defied her requests. But there was something almost... desperate in the way she campaigned for Maggie's attention.

  Maybe that's it, she imagined herself telling Vane. She needs more undivided attention from you. It could just be that simple.

  She was pretty sure she'd hit on it, and that would be another way she'd have helped in her short time here. And nothing was better than being appreciated.

  She really wanted Vane to appreciate her.

  But the footsteps had stopped. She listened carefully, then chided herself for being ridiculous. “Vane?” she called out.

  He appeared in the doorway, and Maggie had to mentally restrain herself from letting her mouth fall open. His hair was rumpled and sticking out crazily, as if he'd been running his fingers through it. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, and his eyelids looked heavy with exhaustion, which tugged at her heart, but the way his soft gray lounge pants hung low on his hips tugged at a whole other part of her. She pasted on a bright smile. “There you are.”

  “Here I am.” He didn't smile back. He just looked at her. His gaze felt heavy with significance, but for once Maggie couldn't tell what someone was thinking. Was he amused? Angry? Tired? Intrigued? That inscrutable look could mean anything, and the fact that she couldn't nail it down made Maggie feel unstable. Like she was trying to keep her balance on a wobbly stool. A little warning bell sounded in her brain. Careful.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” she said.

  “Come sit, then.” He led her into the great room, with its wide bay window facing the sea, and sank into the buttery soft leather couch with a sigh. “I opened a bottle already if you want some.” He indicated the open wine bottle on the glass-topped coffee table.

  “Two glasses?” She was strangely touched. Maybe she didn't have to tread carefully after all? Maybe her gut was wrong? Maggie leaned over the table as she poured the deep red liquid to hide her indecision. She wasn't used to feeling so unsure about what another person was feeling. “Thank you. Since I'm not on the clock any more.”

  He chuckled into his glass. “Your boss would have to be a real dick not to let you have some time off once in a while.”

  She grinned and sipped. And then tried and failed to suppress a moan of pleasure. “Oh God. This is really good.”

  “I buy it by the case whenever I fly east. I actually prefer New York wines over our California ones. The grapes are more... honest.”

  Maggie raised her eyebrows at him.

  He grinned. “What? Go ahead and laugh, but some very famous sommeliers agree with me.”

  “I don't even know if I fully understand what sommeliers do, but I will say this is a good wine.” She sipped carefully, resisting the urge to gulp the bright nectar down.

  Vane eyed her over the rim of his glass. “You look like that's not the only thing you will say.”

  She set her glass down and then folded her hands primly in her lap. “How could you tell?”

  “Every thought you have shows on your face before you even say it. I bet you're a terrible poker player.”

  “I've never played poker.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “I've never had enough money that I could feel comfortable throwing it away.”

  He raised his glass. “Touché. But come on. Out with it. I can tell you're itching to lecture me on something.”

  She gulped down her wine to hide her hurt. Lecture? Is that how he thought of her advice, as lecturing? She turned away and kept her eyes glued to the line of light that still clung to the horizon. “Well, I was wondering why you never took me up on my offers to see Annabelle in the classroom setting.”

  “Work,” he said shortly.

  “I know. Lots of parents have that issue. You're not the only one,” she soothed. “But I think that if you'd come, you might have seen how we handle,” she paused and considered her words carefully. “Discipline in the classroom.”

  “Are you saying I don't discipline Annabelle correctly?”

  “Not in the slightest,” she corrected quickly. This wasn't going how she'd envisioned it. She'd pictured him being a lot more open to her input. But he kept cutting her off. Even his body language was closed up tight, much more than it had been on the sand earlier today, when they'd playfully shoved each other. She'd been sure she was getting through to him. “The first thing I do is make sure a child knows they can come to me with their problems and concerns. They can tell me anything without worrying about my reaction.” Vane snorted into his glass. Maggie frowned but pressed on. “No matter how mundane and unimportant it might seem to us, to a child, it's important. Something like the wrong bus driver picking them up because their regular one is sick could derail their entire day, and they need to feel like they can tell us. Open up to us and say anything.”

  “Just like you?”

  “What”

  “Never mind.” He pressed his lips together and looked away from her.

  Irritation flashed in Maggie's veins. “See, this is exactly what I'm talking about. You want to tell me something. I can tell. I'm really good at reading people.”

  “You are, huh?” The amusement in his voice only made her irritation heighten. “You really believe that?”

  “I do. And a whole lot of the world's problems would clear up overnight if people just said what they meant instead of keeping it all bottled up inside.” She nodded, slowly at first, and then faster. “Annabelle clearly has a lot of feelings bottled up inside, and she needs to feel safe with you to voice whatever’s on her mind.”

  “Like she does with you. Like you do with everyone.”

  Maggie blinked. “Well, sure.”

  “You think she should be allowed to just say the first thing that leaps into her head?” He leaned back and cleared his throat, clearly struggling to keep his voice down. Maggie was bewildered by the anger in his voice. “See now, that's where we differ, because I think it's pretty damn important to learn that sometimes you need to keep your mouth shut and not just spout off without thinking.”

  Maggie crossed her arms. “Why do I get the feeling you're talking about me?”

  “Do you get that feeling? Wow, you really are good at reading people,” he scoffed. He leaned forward again and drained his wineglass in one gulp, then reached for the bottle.

  Maggie grabbed his arm. He froze and stared at her, looking shocked. “No,” she protested. “Keep talking. Say it.”

  He laughed and yanked his hand back. “You're unbelievable.”

  “So are you!”

  His eyes blazed. “Do you have any idea how badly you screwed me over today?”

  Maggie sagged back. His words were like a knife, stabbing her in the chest. She clapped her hand to her heart. “Me? What did I do?”

  He laughed again, a derisive snort. “Your inability to keep from saying the first thing that came to your mind just cost me huge.”

  Her mouth fell open. “The water damage?”

  “You were right, of course. But did you have to say it in front of the permit guy?”

  “I didn't—” Under her hand, her heart skittered and jumped like a frightened animal. “I wasn't—”

  “Thinking? No. You just said the first thi
ng that came to your mind.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Well, so what? You said yourself that I'm right. You were going to have to deal with that water issue sooner or later. Best to get it done now.”

  “Really?” He looked at her like she had three heads, which only made her madder. “So you really don't see the problem here?”

  “No.” Of course she did, but he was being a real jerk right now. “I see no problem.”

  “So, you wouldn't find it annoying if say—” He traced circles in the air with his long finger. “I came into your classroom while the principal was observing and pointed out that you were teaching the kids wrong?”

  “No. In fact, I would be grateful for your input.”

  “You are something else. Okay. So you really believe people should just blurt out what they're thinking?” He leaned in dizzyingly close. Maggie wanted to draw back, but she didn't want to give ground for even for a moment. “You probably wouldn't like it if I told you what I was thinking right now.”

  “Can't be worse than what I'm thinking,” she snapped.

  “Oh yeah? Tell me, please.”

  “I think you're sarcastic and stuck-up.”

  He leaned in closer. “I think you're naive and stubborn.”

  She swallowed. He was close enough now that she could only take him in in pieces. Dark hair, sculpted cheekbone, a dark swirl of stubble along his jaw. She'd thought his hair was straight, but now she could see that the end curled up where it grazed his ear.

  “Your hair is too long,” she blurted.

  “Your hair is pretty.”

  “What?” He'd complimented her. But looked angry about it. She touched her hair on instinct.

  He caught her wrist. “And your hands are so small—how do you hold anything?” Maggie held her breath as he inspected her fingertips with an expression of fascinated wonder. “They aren't much bigger than Annabelle's.”

  “I know,” she babbled. “I can wear kids’ gloves, and rings never fit me, so I have to wear them around my neck if they mean anything to me—”

  “You're beautiful. And right now, I'm thinking I really want to kiss you.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Tell me what you're thinking.”