Flipped (Better With Prosecco Book 1)

by Lisa-Marie Cabrelli

  “Dean!”

  He had to get back to Sara’s house, but this hill suddenly looked like a mountain. He breath was coming in shorter and shorter gasps. He walked faster.

  “Dean! Dean!”

  They were gaining on him. He should just turn around and talk to them. It would take five minutes of well-practiced schmoozing, and they would be satisfied and walk away, taking this anxiety attack with them, but when he willed his feet to stop, they refused. His body was on autopilot, and it was programmed to escape mode. Just a few steps ahead he spotted a left turn. He turned quickly and continued on. Could he lose them? Not a chance. The street he’d turned onto stretched before him endlessly. How could he get away? There, across the street was an old iron gate into a ramshackle house that looked deserted. Perfect. They’d never guess that’s where he had gone.

  14

  Hazel

  Hazel awoke with a start. What was that noise? As she jolted upright, a cloud of dust from the old sheet covering the sofa burst into the air around her. She’d been so tired she hadn’t made it upstairs to bed and hadn’t even noticed the layer of dust, just crashed onto the covered couch. She’d been wandering and admiring through the rooms with a glass of warm tap water in her hands. She’d meant to go up to find her bed but had decided she would just take a quick rest on one of the sofas. That was where she found herself now, heart pounding and the dream still rolling around her head. She’d been back in that meeting room again, but this time Samuel had presented blank concepts. Giant cardboard presentations with nothing on them. Both Shannon and Liz had been going crazy with praise over Samuel’s nothing, and Hazel had lost it. Her dream self had been grabbing the empty poster-boards, throwing them around the room, then picking them up to throw them some more. The crashing sounds of revenging Samuel’s betrayal were spurring her to further vandalism until she realized, on the brink of waking up, that the noise wasn’t coming from the dream meeting room at all. The knocking sound was coming from the back door. Had the lawyer arrived?

  She rushed out of the living room and came to a halt at the kitchen door. There was a man in the kitchen. He was leaning over the table with his hands resting on the paperwork her mother had left on the table. Her heart slowed. She couldn’t see his face, but this guy didn’t seem like a burglar or a rapist.

  He straightened and turned toward her, and she caught her breath. Now this was an attractive man. She usually didn’t take much notice of the men around her, since she had no intention of distracting herself from the pursuit of her career by getting involved with someone. But this guy would be hard to ignore. If she’d ever met a man before who looked as yummy as this one, she couldn’t remember it. He was distractingly sexy. He was dressed casually, but expensively, in grey linen pants and a black, button-down shirt, his chest heaving slightly with his breathing. He was out of breath - she empathized, that hill was a killer. He must have been raking his hands through his hair because the thick, black locks were sticking out from his head at every angle. He had a chiseled jaw covered in a light, sexy stubble, but his eyes were what made her thumping heart beat even faster. They were the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and right now they were looking at her in confusion. Then the penny dropped. He must be the lawyer. He’d probably come for the signature but had been expecting Indigo. Man, this town had some good-looking lawyers.

  “I thought there was no one here,” he said. He didn’t sound Italian. He must have had an incredible English teacher.

  She lifted her hands and smoothed down her own hair, suddenly conscious of her appearance. She hadn’t showered for nearly two days. “I was sleeping. You surprised me. Could I get your signature?”

  Irritation flashed quickly across his face but was quickly smoothed away by a professional smile. “Of course you can.” There was a babble of voices on the road outside, and he shot a panicked look at the back door. When the voices passed and then faded, his shoulders dropped and he sank into a chair. “Can you give me a minute?”

  That was fine with her. She wouldn’t mind just standing and looking at him for a few more minutes before she showed him out and put him completely out of her mind. She also had a job to do here and hadn’t changed her mind about avoiding distractions, no matter how attractive that distraction might be. The guy still had his hands on the paperwork, but Hazel realized he didn’t have a pen. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll grab you a pen.”

  Hazel crossed back into the living room to dig for a pen in her carry-on and realized she had a smile on her face.

  I don’t think so, Hazel, she chided herself. You have enough to worry about without adding another problem to the mix. And as you know, men are always a problem.

  She crossed back into the kitchen and slid the pen across the table. He looked up and seemed to see her for the first time. He smiled at her again. This time it was less professional and filled with a warmth that she felt wash over her from five feet away.

  Oh no you don’t, buddy. I’m in control here.

  “That was scary out there,” he said. “I was getting mobbed.”

  “Mobbed by whom?”

  “Oh, you know. Just women. I don’t love it. But, it’s part of my life, I guess.”

  He sighed and shook his head and all the fizzy warmth she’d just been feeling toward him dissipated. What an arrogant ass!

  She pointed at the paperwork. “Yeah well, I just need your signature.”

  His frowned at her and picked up the pen. “What would you like me to write? Your name?”

  Huh? What was this guy talking about? He was hella hot, but seemed a little dim for a professional. She folded her arms across her chest. “Why would you write my name? I only need your name.”

  Now he looked a little pissed. Hot, slightly dim and with a very short fuse. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “You’re not a fan. You’re just going to sell it?”

  “Well, I’ll have to fix it up first. You know that it’s not worth much in its current state, but I do plan on selling it.”

  The lawyer stood and tossed the pen down on the table. “It’s current state, huh? What state would that happen to be?”

  She stepped back and put a bit more distance between them. This was a very weird reaction. Maybe he had some attachment to this house, and she shouldn’t have been so dismissive. It was a great house after all. “Well, you must know it’s just not worth much right now? You’re not blind to the mess it's in are you?”

  “Hey! Okay, so clearly you’re not a fan, but what do you know?”

  If she thought his fuse was short before, it was now officially lit. He was mega pissed, and she was dismayed to discover that his heaving chest and flushed face actually kind of turned her on.

  Get a grip on yourself, Hazel.

  He moved toward her, and her heart raced faster. She did not feel in control of this situation, and she did not like feeling out of control. She made a note to stay clear of lawyers’ offices while she was in town. She didn’t fancy running into this guy in a dark alley, and could not be held accountable for what might happen in said alley.

  “What do you know?” he said, standing a little too close for comfort. “Who’s been talking about me?”

  “Talking about you? My mother said you were coming, but we weren’t talking about you.” God this guy was arrogant.

  “Your mother? Who’s your mother?”

  “Indigo!”

  And that was the moment her mother decided to walk through the door.

  “Holy guacamole!” Indigo walked up to the lawyer as though he was made out of gold and reached out a tentative hand to touch him. “Are you real? What are you doing here?”

  Even in her flustered state, and even though she didn’t like the arrogant man standing in front of her, Hazel still managed to feel embarrassed for her mother. Would that ever change? “Of course he’s real. It’s the lawyer," she hissed. "What’s wrong with you? Are you high?”

  Indigo didn’t say a word but stared at the lawyer in wonder. Th
e room went quiet. Indigo just kept staring as the hella hot guy who turned slowly back toward Hazel, his eyes no longer angry but filled with confusion. “Wait…, “he said to her, running his hands through his bed head of hair. “You mean you don’t know who I am?”

  Hazel looked at her mother for help and realized she would be getting none. Indigo was still standing there with her tongue hanging out. She felt a rush of irritation with the way this day was turning out. A hellish journey, followed by her crazy mother and some random young guy, an interrupted, dusty nap, and now this lawyer who thought he was God’s gift! Okay, so maybe he was God’s gift, but still, she’d had enough.

  “God, could you be more stuck up?" Hazel said to him, hands now firmly on hips. "I just arrived in this stupid town, okay? So I don’t know all of the local worthies who get mobbed by hordes of women on a daily basis. Okay? So shoot me. I mean I’m sure you are an excellent lawyer but, to be honest, you could use a dose of humility.”

  Amazingly her little speech hadn’t made the lawyer guy angry. In fact, he looked thrilled. He was smiling and staring at her in a bizarre way. All of that warmth she’d felt from him earlier had come back into his eyes and was shooting across the two feet between their bodies causing some very unwanted reactions. She straightened herself to her full height and stared back.

  Finally, Indigo found her voice. She moved closer to Hazel, never taking her eyes from the lawyer and said, “He’s no lawyer, baby-cakes. That’s Dean McLean, in the flesh. And, oh man, is he even more delicious in person.”

  Hazel gave a shocked, “Mother!” and the guy flushed as red as the china teapot sitting on the counter behind him. So his name was Dean McLean, so what? She still didn’t know who he was or enjoy having him around. It was entirely too uncomfortable. She didn’t break her stare, but said, “Well, Dean McLean. If you’re not the lawyer, then you have no reason to be here. See ya!”

  “Hazel!” Indigo’s mouth dropped open like it had come unhinged. “Didn’t you hear what I said? That’s Dean McLean!”

  Oh boy, this was getting out of control. And if there was anything that Hazel was tired of right now, it was feeling out of control. She was so done here.

  “Sure, I heard you, Mother. Dean McLean. Why should I care? That name means nothing to me. If he’s someone important, I’m sure you’ll explain it to me at the same time you explain what’s happening with this house. Which you need to do. Please. I’ve had enough of waiting, and I’m fed up with feeling lost.” She finally broke her stare and moved to shuffling papers on the table, trying to cover how much she already missed those blue eyes. “So, Dean McLean, off you go,” she said. “If you’re a friend of my mother’s she’ll catch you later.”

  Hazel dropped the paperwork pile and put her hand on a hard shoulder to give him a shove toward the back door. Huge mistake. The man’s muscles rippled under his shirt as he reached up to cover her hand with his own. She made the mistake of looking up into those eyes again and nearly fell in. Something was happening between them. His hand was trembling slightly on hers, and her heart gave a little skip before racing again. This was so not good. She needed him out of here. She didn’t say another word, just removed her hand and pointed toward the back door. A still flushed Dean McLean didn’t say anything either, just tripped backward down the entrance steps, gave a half-hearted wave, and left through the back garden.

  Her mother was at her elbow immediately. “Hazel, honey? Are you telling me you have no idea who that man was?’

  Hazel sighed, “No, Mother. Should I?”

  Indigo clicked her tongue and shook her head, looking extremely exasperated. “You work too much, young lady, and are completely out of touch with the world. Your sister would kill you for what you just did.”

  15

  Dean

  Dean stepped out onto the road outside of the not so empty house. The coast was clear. He was hot, sweaty, exhausted, and had a stupid grin on his face. That woman was something else. What did her mother say her name was? Hazel? Well, if Dean had ever met a woman like Hazel at any point in his life, he couldn’t remember it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever met a woman who didn’t know who he was, and more importantly, didn’t care. Especially a woman who looked as good as she did. He had never been one for blondes, especially because LA was swamped with both the real and aspiring kind, but this blonde was a knockout. Even her irritation couldn’t hide her natural beauty; in fact, it enhanced it. She was confident, brutally honest (read “not fake”), and enticingly fiery. She was his kind of girl. Just thinking about that glossy hair tumbling from her efforts at a bun, and the snap of connection he’d felt when she’d touched him made his grin widen.

  What had she been talking about when he’d first arrived? Now that he knew she didn’t mean him, what had she meant when she said something needed work? What was she planning on selling? It must be the house. It was a grand, old beauty but needed some tender, loving care. A scent rose up from deep in his memory, and his adrenaline-fueled charge up the hill slowed as memories washed over him; grass-cuttings, wood-chips, and sweat. He was back in that time and place in an instant. He saw himself pushing on the old door with the rusty hinges that leaked bright orange stains onto the pale wooden slats that made up the door. The bottom of the door would always get stuck on the grass that had grown up and over the bottom of the sill of the old rickety shed. The scraping noise made old Mr. Tanner look up from his work and give him a welcoming grin. Every time.

  “Come on in, boy. Let’s get started.”

  That had been the best summer of his life. He’d been the ripe, old age of seventeen and Old Mr. Tanner, his favorite and final foster father. He had taught Dean skills more useful than any he’d ever learned in school. It was those skills that landed Dean his construction job. Mr. Tanner had died from a heart attack and Mrs. Tanner had fallen to pieces. Just a few weeks later he’d turned eighteen, aged out of foster care, and left Mrs. Tanner to her grief. Six months later he started a job in construction. He’d been helping to restore an old mansion when Adam had “discovered” him after meeting him in the coffee shop where he bought his daily doughnut. He often wondered what his life would have been like if Adam hadn’t convinced him to do a Skype audition with the casting agent for a film called “Rolling Thunder.”

  He’d just reached the front door of Stella’s house when his memories faded and the image of Hazel's flushed skin and flashing eyes popped back into his head, unbidden. It was time to call Isabella. After all, he had a beautiful girlfriend. What was he doing giving another woman so much space in his head?

  “Good walk?” Sara was standing at the kitchen stirring a pot on the stove with the baby in a baby pack on her chest. They had just eaten; how could she be cooking again?

  “Yeah, thanks. It really cleared my head.” He walked over to the pot and peeked inside. Pasta sauce it looked like. Sara smiled at him and held out the wooden spoon with a dab of sauce on the end.

  “Mama’s special sauce. I hope you like anchovies because she loads them in. We think her great-great-grandmother was Sicilian or something.”

  Dean blew lightly at the sauce. It was thick and rich and the basil, with the underlying saltiness from the anchovies, enhanced the tomatoes. The flavors exploded in his mouth, and his stomach rumbled. It was dangerous that he was looking forward to dinner when they had just finished lunch. He’d need to be diligent about his workouts while he was here or the Rolling Thunder action hero was going to be an extremely chunky one. Not a problem that he wanted to add to his growing list.

  “It’s amazing,” he said. Sara smiled and adjusted the baby on her chest.

  “Hey, do you know that house down the street? The big one. It looks empty, but it isn’t?”

  Sara returned to stirring the pot. “You must mean the Zanre house.” He shrugged. “Yep. Maria Zanre just passed a few weeks ago. I heard there was some relative coming over from the U.S. to look after it, but, unusually in this town, it’s all been a li
ttle hush, hush. It’s a beauty, isn’t it? I always thought it was such a shame for only one person to live in that big house and have it fall apart around them. Why do you ask?”

  “Yeah, It’s a beauty all right.” Hazel popped into his mind again. He had a feeling that was going to happen often. Time for an emergency intervention. “Hey, I’m sorry, but I’m having trouble with my cell phone. Could I use the house phone to call Isabella? I’ll make sure to reimburse you guys.”

  Sara frowned but didn’t take her eyes from the bubbling sauce. “Sure. It’s in the living room. On the side table in the corner.”

  Isabella hadn’t mentioned when she might join him. Maybe he should push the issue. Try and get her out here over the next few days. He dialed the cottage, and the phone rang for a while before Isabella finally picked it up with a breathless, “Yes?”

  He could picture her running in from the pool, the white beach and teal blue ocean stretched out behind her as she headed toward the patio doors, and felt a pang of homesickness.

  “Hey, Izzy. Were you swimming?”

  “Ugh, I hate when you call me that. No, I wasn’t swimming. How're the outer edges of the universe? Does anyone speak English?”

  Dean surprised himself with a wave of protectiveness for this little town. “It’s not exactly the outer edges of the universe. It’s stunning and quite sophisticated. You’re going to love it.”

  “When?”

  “When what?” he said, confused.

  “When am I going to love it?”

  “What do you mean? You’re coming, right? I thought I could look for flights this week.”

  Isabella’s snort came across the miles. “I’m not coming there. I thought we decided that before you left.”

  He moved to the window and gazed across the road. There was a field in front of a lovely, coral red villa. A couple had spread a blanket in the lush grass and were lying together laughing and feeding each other cherries. It made his heart hurt. How had he missed that tone of irritated derision that always seemed to accompany all of Isabella’s sentences? Had he not been paying attention?