Sea of Love: A Bayberry Island Novel

by Susan Donovan

  She happened to be funny, as well. And charming. Polite. And Ash hadn’t expected to find that she was any of those things, let alone all of them, and it bothered him. He hadn’t come to Bayberry to be smitten by the Flynns’ only daughter. He’d come there to seduce her, twist her mind, and get her to do what he needed her to do, which was convince her family to sell. And though an argument could be made that it was more enjoyable for a man to seduce a lovely and charming woman than a homely and annoying one, Ash wasn’t there to find a date. He was there to make Jessop-Riley, and himself, a boatload of money. This was just business.

  Looking out at the choppy sea and menacing sky, he made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t lose sight of that this week—no matter how much Rowan Flynn appealed to him.

  After a blessed ten minutes of silence, an older woman to Ash’s right cleared her throat, and he knew that was his signal to speak. He turned in his chair. “Good afternoon,” he said. “I hope I didn’t intrude.”

  All six of the senior citizens answered him, assuring him that he had not, and then stared him down with quizzical expressions. He glanced at himself and laughed, deciding to angle the chair into the room again in order not to appear rude. “I had to run all the way here from town square. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything to change into at the moment.”

  The eyebrows of all three older women rose in unison. Ash realized too late that he’d probably wandered into TMI territory.

  Or perhaps not.

  “Absolutely nothing?” The woman who asked this sat frozen in her chair, teacup stopped midway between her saucer and her mouth.

  “Well, no. My belongings are locked away in my sailboat, which is at the marine yard getting repaired. I’ll need to get my things once the storm passes.”

  “Did you kiss the mermaid’s hand and ask that she grant you true love?”

  Ash laughed. “I wasn’t given much of a choice. I was kidnapped.” He watched the group exchange knowing glances.

  “You’re this year’s Man Grab?”

  He smiled at the woman who’d asked. “So I’ve been told.” There was another round of knowing glances.

  “You’re a guest here?”

  “I am,” he answered the man. The group seemed inordinately curious about him, and he was about to learn why.

  “The six of us have been coming here for festival week since 1974, and we’ve stayed here at Safe Haven since it opened twenty-some years ago. We’ve never seen you before.”

  “This is my first visit to the island.”

  “What room are you staying in?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been checked in yet.”

  “Do you have dinner plans?”

  “Uh, not at the moment.”

  “Are you here alone?”

  “Well . . .”

  “We’re nudists.”

  Ash had been looking forward to enjoying a hot cup of coffee since Miss Flynn had so kindly offered, but it was a good thing he hadn’t yet received it—because the coffee would have just been spewed across the sunroom.

  “There’s a nude beach here, you know.”

  He knew, but he seemed to have lost his ability to speak.

  “The textiles aren’t the only ones who have fun around here during festival week, let me assure you.”

  Ash felt his hands grip the rattan armrests. He must have looked lost, because the third woman laughed and waved her hand around languidly.

  “Oh, that’s what we call people who wear clothes all the time,” she explained. “You know, textiles are fabrics, and clothes are made of fabric, so the people who wear clothes are textiles.”

  Ash cracked his neck and tried to keep that polite smile in place because, really, this was some wicked funny shit. These people had to be in their sixties at the very least, still running around naked in their retirement years! It was times like these that he missed Brian the most. He would have loved this.

  “You seem shocked,” one of the men said.

  He shook his head.

  The laughing woman waved her hand around again. “Then you should join us at the beach tomorrow. We’re having our own version of the parade, just without the costumes.”

  Ash swallowed hard.

  At that exact moment, Rowan Flynn arrived with a coffee tray and placed it on the small wicker side table next to Ash. He had never been so glad to see anyone in his life.

  “Here you go, Mr. Wallace. Sorry it took so long. I made a fresh pot.”

  The lights suddenly flickered, then went out completely, leaving them in the dark for several seconds. When the power came back on, Ash gazed up at Rowan as if mesmerized by her face. She was absolutely adorable. That’s the only word that came to mind.

  “Sorry about that. The wiring in this place is pretty old.” She looked at him quizzically. “Everything all right?”

  When she tipped her pretty head to the side and blinked, Ash felt something stir in him. It was a need, a longing he couldn’t name, and it spread from his chest up to his head and then down through his whole body, ending in the soaked leather of his Sperry Docksiders. Oddly enough, the sensation wasn’t as much about getting something from her as giving something to her. Where had that come from?

  “Mr. Wallace?”

  He snapped to. “Yes. Yes, everything is fine. Thank you so much for the coffee.” Ash gladly turned his attention to the tray, noting that she’d provided both cream and sugar for him. She’d remembered.

  Rowan turned her attention to the others, asking if they wanted more tea, and Ash took advantage of the opportunity to really check her out, leaning just a bit forward in his seat. She was on the short side, maybe about five four, and her curves were on full display in those jeans. She had a perfectly beautiful booty and graceful arms that had been kissed by the sun. And she held herself with elegance. Her feet appeared delicate, even in sport sandals.

  “We’ve got everything we need,” answered one of the women.

  “All right then, if there’s nothing else?”

  Rowan turned toward Ash again, and he nearly fell off his chair. When had he scooted so close to the edge like that? “While we’ve still got power, let me go prepare your room, Mr. Wallace. If you need anything, Imelda is in the kitchen.”

  Ash purposefully stared at his shoes so that he didn’t stare at Rowan’s backside as she left the room. Then he poured himself a cup of coffee, added sugar and cream, and took his first sip. The taste was nothing less than blissful. He couldn’t help but let go with a sigh of satisfaction as he sat back in his chair.

  His new friends shared yet another round of knowing glances between them. When they turned and smiled at him in unison, Ash felt uncomfortable. It was almost as if they knew something he didn’t.

  * * *

  “Have we heard anything from Wallace?”

  Though Kathryn Hilsom was team lead on the Mermaid Island project, she decided to let someone else answer Jessop’s question. She didn’t want to appear to take pleasure in how Wallace had dropped the ball, even though she most certainly did.

  “Nothing. But the day’s not over. Plus there’s a wicked storm headed that way.”

  Kathryn gazed out the row of tall windows surrounding the luxurious Jessop-Riley conference room and tried not to smirk. Brenda Paulson was probably the most impressionable member of the J-R acquisitions team, and she’d had a crush on Wallace for years. So of course she’d cover for him. It was embarrassing, really. Every time they hired Wallace to slither in under the radar and close a property deal by whatever means necessary, Brenda fawned all over him. It was like she worshipped him. Her behavior was a sloppy, career-busting weakness.

  “Also, it’s Friday afternoon.” Brenda smiled and shrugged. “Ash is probably preparing an update for us first thing Monday morning.”

  Oh, dear God. Kathryn looked down at her precise manicure, annoyed that there was already a tiny chip on the nail of her right pinkie finger. That was exactly why she always chose a barely tinted nat
ural polish color instead of something loud and bright. One tiny chip or crack in a bright color and even the best-dressed woman suddenly looked messy, unkempt, and even a little sluttish. Kathryn couldn’t afford a misstep like that.

  Jerrod Jessop took a loud sip from the straw of his customary extra-large 7-Eleven cherry Slurpee, then leaned back in his chair at the head of the conference table. “Yeah, well, he’ll come through for us. He’s bagged every deal he’s ever been hired to close.” In his usual ADD style, Jessop suddenly launched himself forward again and rested his elbows on the table. “I’d hoped to hear from him by now, but Wallace has his methods, and frankly, I don’t give a damn how he does it, as long as he does it.”

  It was difficult, but Kathryn managed to hold her tongue. She knew she was just as capable of closing this deal as Wallace, but her boss couldn’t see that. So what did Jessop do instead of allowing her to close the deal in-house? He offered Wallace nearly a quarter million to wrap it up as a consultant. Jessop even approved Ash’s ridiculous scheme to mosey out there by sailboat. All of it was nothing but a colossal waste of time and money, in her opinion. Kathryn knew she could have been there in a matter of hours—a short trip on the company’s private plane to Martha’s Vineyard, a quick helicopter connection, a few choice words with the locals, and bam! Done. It wasn’t quantum physics, for God’s sake. She had the same killer instinct for negotiation as Ash Wallace. She had the same brains and the same cunning . . .

  She began to seethe in silence. Damn Jerrod Jessop. Damn this company. Damn this job that was beneath her talents.

  But most of all, damn Ash Wallace for not taking her on as a partner when she’d offered three months ago. Not only would working with Wallace have gotten her out from under Jessop’s twitchy thumb; it would have been the perfect fit for her skill set. There would have been no limit to what they could have accomplished together. So who did he think he was turning her down the way he had, with that arrogant look, that insipid response? “No. I work alone.”

  God, she hated that man.

  “Anything you’d like to add, Kathryn?”

  She set her face in a pleasantly bland expression. “We are paralyzed without the thumbs-up from Mr. Wallace. Our legal team is on standby, and the bank is simply waiting for the numbers. But despite our detailed vision of what would arguably be New England’s premier seaside multiuse resort, we can’t make another move until we own the land. Bayberry Island is by far the best location, but unless Wallace succeeds, we will have to rethink the entire project.”

  Jessop began rocking back and forth in his chair, his agitation kicking into high gear. “You don’t sound particularly confident in our boy.”

  “Oh, that’s not my point at all,” she said, keeping her voice calm and even. “You asked if there was anything to add, and there isn’t. But we have eighty million in outside capital and fifty million of our own on the line, and if we don’t get that land, we’ll have to settle for a less than ideal location. And we all know that nothing comes close to the charm of Mermaid Island. That is a fact.”

  Jessop scrunched up his nose, sniffed repeatedly, and drummed his fingers on the conference table. Kathryn had been dealing with her boss’s infamous “manic genius” for seven years now. It was a mystery to her why he didn’t just get medicated like everyone else. “All right, people.” Jessop stood up. “I guess that does it for now.”

  Kathryn shut her compact laptop and tucked it away in her bag. She smiled and chatted with her team as they wandered into the central hallway of the J-R corporate suite. She broke away from the others and was heading toward her office when Brenda Paulson pulled up alongside, matching her stride.

  “Why are you so hateful toward Ash?” She pretended not to be having a conversation with Kathryn and kept her gaze focused in front. “You know his friend Brian died in a private-plane crash not too long ago. Cut him some slack.”

  “I am not hateful toward anyone, but my job does not include making excuses for overpaid consultants.” Kathryn increased her speed.

  “What did he ever do to you?”

  “The real question is why you have a puppy-dog fixation on that man. You aren’t doing yourself or your career any favors.”

  “You’re just jealous. Ash doesn’t like you.”

  Kathryn laughed. “I have actual work to do, Brenda, and no interest in helping you through your unresolved self-esteem issues. But do yourself a favor and face reality—he doesn’t even know you exist.”

  “That’s not true!” Brenda caught herself before her voice rose above a frantic whisper, and both women smiled at their coworkers as they approached Kathryn’s office door. Brenda waited until they were out of earshot of other employees to continue. “He’s nice to me when he comes here. He always stops by my office and asks about my daughter. He gave me Red Sox tickets earlier this summer. They were box seats, too!”

  Though it would have been far more satisfying to rip poor Brenda Paulson to shreds, Kathryn decided the kinder approach would be to feel sorry for her. After all, she’d been knocked up out of wedlock and was forced to attend night school instead of real college. She was at least fifteen pounds overweight, and her skin looked like it could use a good exfoliation. Her wardrobe choices weren’t the wisest selections possible, even within a limited budget.

  Kathryn stopped before they reached her door. “I hate to break this to you, but Ashton Louis Wallace the third gives Red Sox tickets to everyone. He’s a consultant. He uses tickets to schmooze his clients and then writes them off as a business expense. It has nothing to do with him liking you, or thinking you’re cute, or wanting to take you to prom. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

  Brenda’s face blanched. She looked like she might cry. Or throw up. “You are such a bitch.” With that, she spun around and ran off like she’d had her feelings hurt in gym class.

  Kathryn entered her private sanctuary and gently shut the door. She removed her suit jacket and hung it on her solid cherry suit valet. She approached the three potted plants on her credenza and spritzed them with equal amounts of distilled water.

  Then she balled her hands into fists and bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood.

  Ash had never stopped by her office. Not once. He barely spoke to her. It was if he didn’t even see her. She’d had no idea that his best friend had died, or even that his name had been Brian.

  And she’d certainly never received Red Sox tickets, not once in the four years J-R had been sending Ash out to do their dirty work.

  So that was that, then. Kathryn knew what had to be done.

  Ash Wallace had to fail to close the Mermaid Island deal, and his failure had to be so spectacular that Jerrod would turn to Kathryn to pick up the pieces. And afterward, not only would she finally get the recognition she deserved, but no one in New England would want to do business with Ashton Louis Wallace III again.

  Served him right.

  Chapter Four

  “I’m telling you—he’s beautiful. I mean a Greek god, otherworldly kind of beautiful.”

  “Uh-huh.” Annie didn’t sound overly enthusiastic. “So how many of those cranberry-vodka thingies have you had?”

  “This is only my second.” Rowan propped her bare feet on a kitchen chair and crossed her ankles. “Besides, this has nothing to do with cocktails and everything to do with raw, potent sexual attraction. I’m telling you, when I showed him around the carriage house, I almost had an orgasm just saying, ‘and here’s the bedroom.’”

  “I still have power at the house and the shop. How about you? Do you still have power up there?”

  “You’re trying to change the subject on me.”

  Annie laughed. “You bet your ass I’m trying to change the subject! The last thing you need is to fall in lust with a rich and handsome Safe Haven guest during festival week. Ring any bells?”

  “This guy is nothing like Frederick.”

  “Okay, so does the Greek god have a name?”

  “Don’t laugh
.”

  “Why would I laugh? Unless his name is Zeus or Poseidon or something, and in that case, it would be against the law not to laugh.”

  Rowan took a sip of her drink for courage. “His name is Ashton Lou-wee Wallace the third.”

  Annie guffawed so hard that Rowan had to hold her cell phone a good ten inches from her ear. Since the laughter showed no sign of slowing, she placed the phone on the butcher block, dropped her feet to the floor, and went to get some fresh ice. While she was there, she added another splash of cranberry juice. Which meant she needed to add another splash of vodka, if only to preserve the cocktail’s integrity. When Rowan retrieved her phone, got back to her chair, and propped her feet again, Annie was still chortling. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

  “Okay, okay. Sorry, Row.” She took a deep breath. “I’m done.”

  Rowan and Annabeth Parker had been best friends since preschool, and in those twenty-five-plus years, they had come to know each other quite well. That’s how Rowan knew Annie was, in fact, not done laughing. She sipped her drink and waited patiently while her friend laughed some more.

  “Whew! God!” Annie paused to collect herself. “Okay. I’m serious this time, sweetie. I’m done. I apologize.”

  “See, here’s why you shouldn’t laugh at me, Annie. You’ve got a man. He’s a wonderful man. Nat is sweet and fun and is so in love with you that he can’t see straight. He moved across the continent to be with you. He proposed to you in front of the mermaid fountain and half the population of the island.”

  Her friend sighed with contentment. “I know. I’m the luckiest woman on earth.”

  “Yes, you are. So don’t gloat. Let’s look at what I have by comparison, shall we? Nothing. I have no man. No money. No SoHo condo. No career. No sex! Not since the feds showed up and dragged Frederick out of our bed, which was almost two years ago. In fact, I don’t even have the bed anymore.”