Say You're Mine: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Southport Love Stories Book 4)

by Sarah J. Brooks

  What am I talking about? I still have zero patience.

  “You’re a hot piece of grade-A meat, babe. You shouldn’t be hiding all that at home,” Lena complained.

  “Way to make me feel objectified,” I muttered.

  “What our lovely Lena is trying to say is we want you to be happy. You haven’t really dated since Mac. We thought you and Rob—” Meg started to say and I threw her a warning glance and she changed her track. “What I’m trying to say is there are a lot of great guys out there. Don’t shut yourself off because one of the bad ones wormed his way into your life.”

  I let out a long, tortured groan. “Jesus Christ, Meg, this isn’t 1950. I don’t need a man to feel complete. I’m happy you and Adam finally got your shit together and are happy. And I’m stoked that Web and Whit are together and Lena is playing happy family with Jeremy, but that’s just not me. And that’s okay, guys.” I looked at each of my girlfriends pointedly.

  “Yes, we know you’re a super awesome, empowered woman, but what about Brad Sawyer? I’ve known him for years. He’s super cute, has a great job—”

  “Brad from Sweet Lila’s?” I asked with a snort.

  Lena frowned. “Yes, that Brad. What’s wrong with him? He bought the bar from Lila last summer with his brother Seb. He’s a catch.”

  “Didn’t he used to date Hannah?” I asked her, referring to Hannah Quinn, Lena’s best friend from high school. Hannah was a handful. She was loud and brash and drank more than most sailors, which was pretty funny given that she was an elementary school teacher in town.

  Lena flicked her hair again. “That was ages ago. He’s been single for years, though no one can figure out why. He’s such a great guy.”

  “Probably because he’s been too busy sleeping through all the women in town, which is why Hannah dumped him,” Meg pointed out.

  Lena’s frown deepened. “Oh right. Well, what about his brother? Seb is one tasty-looking man.”

  “Aside from the whole scary-biker thing he’s got going on. You aren’t setting Skylar up with a guy who has neck tattoos,” Whitney insisted.

  “You’re so judgy, Whit. When did you get so judgy? My friend Cat says he’s a big softy. That whole tough guy thing is just an act. Jenna’s car broke down outside of town this past winter and Seb stood with her in a near-blizzard until the tow truck came and then gave her a lift back to Philly,” Lena said. I was amused at the thought of Seb Sawyer with his massive muscles and scary tattoos helping out meek and mild Jenna Phelps, Lena’s college roommate. I imagined Jenna freaking out at the sight of the burly guy pulling up alongside her.

  I held up my hands. “Enough already. No one is setting me up with anyone. If I want to date a guy, I’m more than capable of finding one myself. I’m not interested in Brad or his brother. So drop it.”

  Lena sat back in her chair, none too happy and the other two looked chagrined. “Sorry, Sky,” Meg apologized.

  “Whatever. Can we watch the movie already? I’m more than happy to spend my evenings with Mr. Swayze.” I turned on the movie and smiled as the opening credits of Dirty Dancing rolled across the screen.

  Whitney chuckled. “One thing’s for sure, our girl has good taste.”

  “True,” Lena conceded.

  There was nothing like a good movie, booze, and friends to make your life feel almost full.

  Almost.

  Chapter Two

  Robert

  I had barely come up for air since I got in the office that morning.

  Just as I liked it.

  It had been back-to-back clients, then an eleven o’clock arraignment for a new client who had been arrested for being drunk and disorderly and had parents with very deep pockets. I came back to jump on a call with the district attorney’s office about discovery for an upcoming case and had only just stopped to eat lunch—at three-thirty.

  “Knock, knock.” My law partner, Jeremy Wyatt, stuck his head into my office. He wrinkled his nose. “Man, open a window. It smells like stale coffee and cigarettes in here.”

  “Mr. Jones was just here. I think he smoked a pack before he showed up,” I told him, getting to my feet, and opening the large window that overlooked the town square. Mr. Jones was an elderly gentleman that happened to own a third of Southport. He had come to the law firm to get some title work done for a new property. He usually dealt with either Adam or Lena, who he knew personally, but both had heavy workloads and young children, so it came to me—Mr. No Life.

  Jeremy waltzed in and sank into one of the two leather chairs on the opposite side of my desk, stretching his legs out casually. I knew from years of experience that if Jeremy was in a talkative mood, I’d never get rid of him. I had known both Jeremy and Adam since law school. I had been friendly with Adam, who I shared several classes with, but had always found Jeremy to be obnoxious, even if he was one of the best students in our year. When Adam approached me about starting our firm, I had been on the fence. I was working for a firm in the city, but being a junior was only being thrown scraps. It would take me years to make a name for myself that way.

  I had promised myself, for the sake of my family, that I’d find a way to be a success, no matter the cost—so that’s exactly what I did. I threw my hat in the ring with two of the best lawyers I had ever met. And sure enough, we built one of the best firms in the state.

  I was proud of what we had accomplished—even if the success felt a little hollow sometimes.

  “Please, make yourself at home,” I remarked dryly. But Jeremy wasn’t the kind of person to take offense or allow himself to be brushed off. He was a man who was used to getting what he wanted and taking charge. And I was the kind of guy happy to operate under the radar. I counted on obliviousness.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Jeremy reached across my desk and took a handful of mints I kept in a bowl. He opened one and popped it into his mouth. “I got my check from South River Development today. I came by to thank you again for that nice six-figure bump in my wallet.” Jeremy sucked on the mint noisily.

  I purposefully didn’t look at him. “You don’t need to thank me. I didn’t have time for it, you did. It all worked out.”

  Last year the firm had received a call from someone interested in purchasing a large plot of land on the south side of town near the river. They planned to build a massive development that would mean a lot of new housing and businesses could come to the area. Southport wasn’t exactly thriving so the possibility of an influx in revenue was exactly what the town and surrounding areas needed. The work would be intensive. Lots of paperwork and meetings. Lots of long hours.

  And the retainer was massive. More than any of us had secured on our own yet.

  Jeremy and Adam had been doing flips over the possibility, but then came the kicker—the new client had requested me specifically. Insisted on it.

  It wasn’t until I saw the name of this new client that I knew why.

  And I turned it down without a second’s hesitation.

  Both Adam and Jeremy told me I was an idiot. They didn’t understand why I would give up the chance to earn myself so much money. Sure, the firm would get a percentage of the retainer, but the majority would be cash in my pocket.

  I couldn’t tell them why I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.

  Jeremy cocked his head as he regarded me. “I still don’t know why she requested you and why in god’s name you turned it down. It’s not like you’re Adam with his five million cases.”

  Jeremy had been trying to wheedle the truth out of me for over a year. And getting nowhere fast. He should have known by now that if I didn’t want to share, I sure as hell wouldn’t. I couldn't be cajoled and coaxed to reveal more than I wanted to. I didn’t operate that way.

  I made keeping secrets an artform.

  Something that had ruined more than one thing in my life.

  “Did you only come in here to flaunt your paycheck? Because if that’s the case, I’ve got a deposition to prepare for,” I replied sh
ortly, already turning back to my computer.

  “Of course I did,” Jeremy laughed, getting to his feet. “And I wanted to make sure you were okay with me taking on more work from Ms. Hardwell.”

  I froze. Every inch of me. No sudden movements. A blank expression. “More work? I thought you were all finished. They broke ground on the plaza two weeks ago.”

  Jeremy grabbed another mint. “Yeah, well she called earlier to set up a conference call. Says she has plans to buy a house here in Southport. She seemed pleased with the work I did so she asked me to handle this as well. If you were still busy, that is.” Jeremy rolled his eyes. He didn’t take being second-best well. Never had.

  I barely paid his bruised ego any mind. “She’s buying a house here?” My voice sounded weird. Even though I tried to sound normal, I knew I didn’t. How could I?

  What the fuck was she playing at?

  Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “I guess. She has her eye on the old Carmichael place on Willow Street. It’s been on the market forever, mostly because it’s out of most people’s price range. I mean, who has the disposable income to buy up an old mansion on a half-acre plot in a town with little to offer?” He watched me closely. “But it seems she saw it online and ‘fell in love.’” His lips quirked. “Is that a problem?”

  Is that a problem?

  Yes, it was a fucking problem.

  But I was good at pretending things didn’t bother me when they did. I lifted a shoulder in a laissez-faire fashion. “Why should it be?”

  Jeremy scrutinized my reaction. It felt like I was being examined under a microscope, which was a problem when your only real friends were attorneys. They were always looking for your dishonesty. “It’ll be nice to finally put a face with that sexy, smoky voice,” he went on and I felt the urge to vomit. In all the time Jeremy had been working with Tiffany he had yet to meet her. She was playing a game. Of course, she was. I expected nothing less.

  “You better not let Lena hear you talking about some woman’s sexy voice,” I warned, knowing he was only trying to get a rise out of me. The truth was no woman could ever turn his head. He was slavishly devoted to his wife, the fourth partner in our law firm. He’d crawl over broken glass for her and their children. At one time he was a card-carrying manwhore, but those days were far behind him.

  Jeremy smirked. “Lena was the one who commented on it first. Said Ms. Hardwell’s voice alone could get her pregnant.”

  Of course, she did.

  “Okay, well this deposition is in an hour—”

  “Are you ever going to tell me how you know this woman?” Jeremy interjected before leaving.

  I swallowed, my dry throat clicking. “There’s nothing to tell,” I lied. Oh, how I lied.

  “Remember, I can bullshit with the best of ‘em.” He wiggled his fingers. “Toodles.” And then he was gone.

  Sometimes talking to Jeremy was like going to war. You ended up battered and exhausted. I sat back in my chair, staring blankly at my computer screen, but not seeing it.

  What the hell was Tiffany playing at? This wasn’t the first time over the years that she sought to insert herself into my life. I had learned that she liked to keep people on their toes, me included. She hadn’t taken the severing of our...relationship particularly well, but she was first and foremost a businesswoman. She served her interests. The thoughts and feelings of others didn’t enter into it. Especially mine.

  In some twisted, dysfunctional way, I respected her tenacity. Her ability to make situations work out best for her. I had grown tired of her games a long time ago. But it seemed she wasn’t ready to concede defeat.

  So here we were.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I knew by rote. It rang. And rang. And when her sensual, smokey voice filled my ear it was the automated tinniness of voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. I knew better. I hung up, not prepared to hold my breath as to when she’d call me back. She wouldn’t. She’d make herself known at her own time.

  I tried not to be inundated with dread.

  I did the only thing I knew how to do when confronted with emotional panic. I suppressed it. I tamped it so far down that it would take a backhoe to dig it up again. And I threw myself into my work.

  Because when everything else in my world let me down, my work was all I had.

  **

  I had just turned the light off on my desk when Adam appeared in the doorway.

  “I heard the judge agreed to dismiss the charges on Gary Milton this afternoon.” He leaned against the jamb, hands in his pockets.

  “Yeah. The DA’s office never really had a case, to begin with.” I shoved a few files into my already overstuffed briefcase and struggled to latch it shut. The hinges strained and looked ready to break. I was hard on briefcases, mostly because I took so much home with me every night. I may leave the office at six but most days I worked from home as well. I had never learned how to “leave work at the door.”

  “That’s ten for ten in the last three weeks. At this rate, Jeremy, Lena, and I don’t have a chance keeping up with you,” he joked.

  The four partners Lena, Jeremy, Adam, and I had a running monthly contest to see who could win or close out more cases. I had won the last six months running.

  “I hope you aren’t here to ask me to take a dive so you can catch up,” I laughed.

  Adam held his hands up. “I’d never do that. When you do well—” he spread his arms out. “We all do well.” He grinned and I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. Adam and I had always gotten along. He was much easier to deal with than Jeremy, but both were good guys, otherwise, I would never have gone into business with them in the first place. He watched me as I finished gathering my things. “I think you should come to get a drink with Jeremy and me tonight. Lena’s gone home, so it’ll just be us guys.”

  “I’ve got a lot of work to do—” I started to say but Adam stopped me.

  “You know you say that every single time right? It’s okay to do something other than work once in a while. I seem to remember a few times back in law school that involved too much tequila and a lot of vomiting,” he chuckled.

  Adam and Jeremy had devoted a lot of our friendship to trying to get me to ‘hang out.’ It hadn’t slowed as we got older and they acquired family lives. If anything, they’d become more vocal about my need to chill out more. To cut loose. To get a ‘life.’

  I knew how they viewed me. To them, my closest friends, I was a bit of a snooze. The dependable guy, but not the one you’d call for a spontaneous trip to Atlantic City. They thought because I didn’t usually have a lot to say that that meant I didn’t have a lot going on. That I was a “what you see is what you get” kind of person.

  They had no idea.

  “Yeah, that trip down memory lane won’t exactly sway me,” I commented, giving the room a final sweep of my eyes. It was impeccably neat. Not a thing out of place. It was a far cry from my shit-hole undergrad dorm room. Once I had money, I found that I took more pride in my surroundings. I didn’t want to go back to living in dumps surrounded by junk.

  “Okay fine, how about I’d like to spend time with my friend outside these walls? It’s been at least six months since I’ve coaxed you into an evening out. Meg’s already given me a hall pass until 10, so come on. Help a guy out.”

  Adam’s hangdog expression had me laughing. “The pouting thing may work on Meg, but it won’t work on me, buddy,” I chastised, herding him out of my office.

  Adam slung an arm around my shoulders and made kissy faces. “You know it works on you too.”

  I grunted a monosyllabic response and pushed him away good-naturedly.

  Adam laughed, pleased with himself as the two of us walked the two blocks to Sweet Lila’s, the only decent watering hole in town.

  As usual, the place was busy. It had recently undergone new management and you could tell. Sweet Lila’s had always been a decent place, characterized by its old-world charm. Lila had modeled it after an old English pub, but
the interior hadn’t aged well. One could forgive the less than appealing interior because the cocktails were decently priced, and the food was palatable.

  When Lila decided to sell the bar that she had been running for the past forty years and move to Florida, I handled the transaction and title work. I hadn’t been the only one surprised when Brad Sawyer, the bartender, had ponied up the cash. He and his recently paroled brother, Sebastian had decided to pitch in and buy the place. Everyone in town had figured the brothers would run the place into the ground. After all, what could a college dropout and his ex-convict brother know about running a business?

  The two had proven every single person wrong—and I, for one, was glad to see it. I liked Brad. He was a hard-working guy and Seb, his brother, while the scary silent type, was cut from the same cloth. They had turned the tired, worn Sweet Lila’s into a modern sports bar that had definite upmarket appeal. It was clean and brightly lit with flat screens on the wall and local microbrews on tap. The food had even gotten an upgrade thanks to the new chef they hired from Pittsburgh, who turned standard bar food into a classy affair. Even though you could still find wings and burgers on the menu, they were interspersed with tastier stuff if you were wanting a nice evening out.

  And the citizens of Southport had rewarded the local boys by happily frequenting the newly renovated bar in droves.

  Brad, the new owner, was behind the bar when we arrived. He waved in our direction and indicated a free booth in the back. There were definite perks to being the law firm responsible for most of the real estate transactions in Southport—you were everyone’s best friend.

  Adam pulled out his phone once we were seated and tapped out a message. “Meg says hello. She’s putting Tyler to bed. I want to make sure I get to say goodnight before he goes down.” I waited while he spoke to his son. His entire demeanor changed when he talked to Tyler. His voice became softer, and he said things like “Daddy says goodnight to Billy the Brontosaurus too.”