by Joya Ryan
He was in his wife’s home, small town, and bed. And yet, he was alone.
“This will not do,” he mumbled to himself. He missed her. After last night he was sure she missed him, too, and the rest of these two weeks would fly by. Because he remembered how quickly things had heated up between them the first time.
She was stubborn. She made him work for it. For her. And he liked that. The woman had refused to even meet him the first night on the ship. He’d had to go track her down, and even then, she’d pegged him. From moment one, she saw something deeper in him that no one else ever acknowledged. And from moment one, she was a pain in his ass. But he saw the sadness in her eyes. It was a match made in hell, on a ship, and the best thing to ever happen to him.
Because Hannah was everything. There wasn’t just one moment that made him know that. It was all moments. Even down to the way she melted for him . . . depending on her mood. Oh, she always melted, but the level of aggression was always measured by her needs. Needs he loved fulfilling. Whether it was making love; hot, passionate sex; or full-on, dirty fucking. Whatever she was in the mood for, he’d do it all, because it was all good with her. And then he’d convince her to come to New York with him, and the rest would be history. Love and happiness for all.
Boom.
Done.
Good plan.
His cell phone rang from the bedside table, and he lunged to grab it.
“Grant Laythem,” he answered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up in bed.
“I’ve left two messages and stopped by your apartment yesterday. Where are on earth are you?” the familiar shrill voice barked from the other end of the line.
“Hello, Mother,” he said. “I’m out of town.” He made sure to leave out details, because while he was required to love his mother, he also wasn’t blind to her motivations. Which were money. Particularly his late father’s money.
“Well, we have a company to run. I need to discuss the logistics of your father’s will, and your lawyer hasn’t called me back.”
“That’s because he can’t talk to you. Your lawyer needs to talk with him, and honestly, Mother, there’s not much to talk about. Dad left everything to me. You two haven’t been together in years.”
“But we’re not legally divorced. You know that,” she said. Grant could almost hear her pearls shuffling around her neck.
And yes, he did know that. Though his parents had split up over ten years ago—due to his mother’s infidelity—his father kept paying her expenses after their separation because he was a good man. And his mother took full advantage of that. Something she would not continue to do with him. No matter how big a fit she threw.
“I’m not going to discuss the company with you,” he said. “I’ll be back in New York soon.”
“I’m your mother, and you’re treating me like some common employee.”
“No, I’m not at all. My employees show up and actually work for a salary.”
“Oh, I put in my time with your father, and he knew his part in the separation. I’m still his wife. Now his widow. And that counts for something.”
Not to Grant, it didn’t. How could she be that entitled? She’d never cared about anyone’s feelings but her own, and her top priority was money.
Grant closed his eyes and tried to think of one good thing about his mother. Just one.
She was always around for me growing up . . . nope, that’s not true.
She taught me how to treat a woman . . . no, that’s not true, either.
She loved me . . . no.
Grant was certain that his mother was only capable of loving herself. His father had been responsible for how he turned out. He tried every day to be the best man he could to make his father’s memory proud. Because he owed everything to him.
His mother was the kind of woman Grant never wanted to know, and yet, he was surrounded by that kind of woman. Fake, ruthless, entitled. Which was why he’d fallen in love with Hannah so quickly and easily. The only commonality she had was the ruthlessness. But she used that for good instead of evil.
“The will stands, Mother,” he said curtly.
“Don’t you dare hang up on me,” she said.
“Talk to your lawyer, and he’ll talk to mine.”
And he did hang up. Because he couldn’t bear to deal with the woman who’d given him life, then sucked it out of him.
How could someone be so evil? She didn’t love his father. Grant wasn’t even convinced she loved him. His mother loved money. And Grant had to make sure that the one thing his father had left behind would stay intact. His company was all he had left of him. And Grant wouldn’t let anything happen to it. Including having pieces sold off to his mother due to the technicality that she was now legally a widow.
He shook his head. The timing wasn’t on his side. His phone buzzed again, and it was his lawyer. He sent it to voice mail. Surely his company wouldn’t fall apart in the time he was gone. He still checked in. But his board only had one meeting later this month, and they weren’t voting on anything life changing. Two weeks for him to take a breather to get his wife back was reasonable. He wouldn’t let his mother get his father’s company, and he wouldn’t let anything go to ruin. He also needed to get Hannah on board in the two weeks he’d planned, because he couldn’t take much longer than that away from the city or his responsibilities.
He got up out of the best rest he’d had in a long time and felt the sting of morning air hit the welts on his back. His wife was a feisty one, and he loved feeling her even though she was gone.
He walked out into the living area, which was small but homey, looking extra-long at the couch. He already loved that couch and had fond memories of his wife bent over it just last night. That would put a spring in any man’s step.
He went to make a pot of coffee and saw a pink sticky note.
Left early for work. Don’t be a bum today.
~H
He smiled at Hannah’s flowy script. The woman worked hard. Or she was avoiding him. His money was on the latter. But she couldn’t stay gone forever. He’d proven that. And there was no way he’d bum around when he had his woman’s heart to re-win and plans to remind her how good they were together.
Judging by last night, his recall was sorely lacking, because she was better in every way than his poor excuse for a memory. She was wild and passionate, and he felt her love for him. Whether she admitted it or not. Just like he’d felt it six months ago. And that was what he’d remind her of. Because he’d had his share of cold women. Women who always had an agenda. Women who wanted something from him. Not Hannah. Never Hannah. She just wanted him. She also didn’t know exactly what he could offer—like a fuck load of money—but that was best kept secret for now.
But he’d show her just how good having a husband around could be. Starting with a stroll into town.
Hannah dunked two martini glasses in the sanitizing solution behind the bar, then put them in the mini dishwasher. Then repeated the task with small tumblers. The owner clearly didn’t give a crap about cleaning up after closing last night. Rudy Bangs was almost useless. Other than being a fairly nice guy and coming in for Hannah when she needed a break—like last night, so she could leave by dinnertime to go get her dad out of jail. But as an owner, or even a bartender, he sucked. Didn’t do shit.
Which was why he was looking to sell and Hannah was looking to buy. If only he’d just commit to actually selling the bar instead of talking about it.
She kept washing dishes, taking advantage of the slow late-afternoon shift.
She thought about the sticky note she’d left for Grant this morning.
Did he read it?
Was she mean for ducking out at 6:00 a.m. and hiding at Laura’s house until now, when she hid at the bar? Work. She was working, not hiding. And she’d keep telling herself that until she believed it.
How had things gotten so complicated? How had she gone from single and miserable, to married on a cruise ship, to wife on th
e run, to wife for two weeks? Grant had a knack for complicating her life, but he also had a knack for making her happy.
And there she was, thinking of him.
Thinking about last night.
She wanted more already. She was forcing her brain to recall every detail, every touch, every move. She tried to remember the exact way it felt when he slid inside her the first time. How the couch cushion had scratched against her mouth when she screamed into it.
She wanted to relive every second over in slow motion.
And that was the problem with Grant. It was always better than good and over too soon.
“Is it always this dead in here this time of day?” Rudy said, walking through the front door, his big Santa Claus belly sticking out from his blue jeans and covered in a stained white T-shirt. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.
Hannah glanced around. “Yeah, this is pretty typical between lunch and happy hour,” she said. Sure, Rudy covered for her now and again, but only when the other backup bartender wasn’t able to work the part-time shift.
“Well, I’m glad you know,” he said, coming to sit on the bar stool. Hannah knew his drink, and owner or boss or whatever he was to her, right now it was clear he was a customer, so she grabbed the gin and poured him a few fingers.
“I do know about this place, right down to the smelliest customer and tiniest crack in the floor.”
Rudy nodded and took a sip. “Well, then I suppose you should own this place,” he said.
Hannah almost dropped the glass she was holding. Her eyes darted to Rudy.
“What?” she asked, too scared to hope.
Rudy smiled. “You’ve been squawking for months that you want to buy this place. I’m selling, and I’m coming to you first,” he said.
Hannah’s mouth dropped open, and she lurched over the bar and hugged her boss.
“Whoa. Easy there, girl. You start handing out free hugs, and business will boom!” Rudy said, chuckling.
Hannah scooted back off the bar and stood, her heart racing in her neck.
“It’s mine? It’s really mine?” she asked, needing to hear once more that she was finally going to own Goonies Bar. Finally have a career, something of her own. Something she’d worked for.
“I know you’ve been wanting to buy this place for a while, and I promised you’d get first bid.”
She wanted to hug him again, but Rudy continued before she could.
“There’s just one catch,” he said, and Hannah knew there always was. That happy heartbeat in her throat stilled while she watched Rudy’s mouth, waiting on his every word.
He let out a breath. “The bank is set to foreclose on this place and put it up for auction unless I can pay off what I owe. Well . . . back owe.”
Hannah’s eyes went wide. “You never told me the bank was going to take the bar. And what do you mean, ‘back owe’?”
“I haven’t exactly paid on this place as well as I would have liked.”
Hannah frowned. “This place makes great money. We come out in the black every year. Even in our slowest months we’re still ahead.”
Rudy nodded and took another drink. “Yeah, I know business is good. I just . . .”
Hannah knew the rest of that sentence without Rudy saying it. He had a gambling problem. And a being-lazy problem. Hannah wouldn’t make him say it, but she knew it. She also knew this bar could be great under the right ownership. Which was why she wanted it so badly. She could do a good job. But if the bank got it and auctioned it, she didn’t stand a chance at owning it. Highest bidder usually had cash—or more of it than Hannah had, at least.
It was her turn to let out a breath. “How much do you have to pay off?” Hannah asked.
“Twenty thousand in ten days.”
“Jesus Christ, Rudy!” She looked around. Gus was three stools down and glanced her way. Hannah leaned closer to Rudy and lowered her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought I could handle it,” he said. And it was that expression, that tone in his voice, that always got Hannah. The look and sound of sorrow. Rudy wasn’t a bad guy—he was just bad at running a business. And she didn’t want to see this place go under or into the hands of someone else. She didn’t want to see Rudy go under, either.
But his “handling it” entailed him drinking and going to Seven Feathers casino two towns over, like he always did when he had a problem.
“Anyway, I know you’re good for the loan and can get that through the bank,” he said. “So you can still buy the place.”
Yeah, that’s because Hannah had gotten preapproved last month, when she and Rudy had started talking seriously about it.
“But there’s going to be nothing for me to own if the bank takes it and auctions it.”
“So pay them off first,” Rudy said, like it was that easy.
“Rudy, I don’t have twenty grand to bail you out, then to put money down for the loan.”
He took another drink and sighed. “I’m sorry, Hannah, there’s nothing I can do, then. If I don’t pay, this place goes up for auction late next week.”
There was no way she could outbid anyone. She was sensible, and getting a loan was already hard enough.
She only had fifteen thousand, and that was her life savings. She still needed five grand in ten days just to pay off the delinquent balance. Then she’d have nothing to put down. She’d have to hope the bank would finance the entire loan . . .
“I’ll make it work,” she said. She looked Rudy dead in the eyes and meant every word.
Rudy, however, looked ecstatic. He clapped his hands once. “Good girl! Then the bar is yours.”
“I’ll have the balloon payment by the due date. But I want the papers drawn up that this place is mine.”
He nodded. “Deal’s a deal.”
She nodded and shook his hand. Now she had to get really creative about how to raise five grand in roughly a week.
As if she didn’t have enough on her plate.
So far Grant had taken his time getting ready and wandering around town today. Though he missed Hannah, he loved being among her things, in her town. He’d sat at her kitchen table and drunk coffee out of a mug he’d gotten out of her cupboard.
He felt closer to her. Anticipating that she was nearby, and that while he’d woken up without her this morning, she couldn’t escape him. He would see her again. Tonight. And then the next night. And then the rest of his nights, forever.
“One step at a time,” he said to himself, walking down Main Street.
He came up to a cute little home goods store that looked like it had a massive warehouse behind it. He looked the establishment over. The business was clearly working a hometown angle—he liked it.
He’d spent the last hour checking out the small coastal town and had learned that most of everything relevant was on Main Street and within walking distance. The entire town was modeled to look cute and clean, with the same curb appeal.
From the looks of—he read the sign on the store he stood in front of—Baughman Home Goods, this could be the perfect stop for a new screen door for Hannah. And there was a ton of flower displays in the front window. Getting her a bouquet of fresh flowers would be a husbandly thing to do. She could walk in after a long day, and he’d have them waiting for her.
Yes, that was the husband he’d be. One who appreciated his wife. One who wanted to show how much he thought of her. First, he just needed to get her to like him. Hence, the flowers.
He opened the front door of Baughman Home Goods and was greeted by a large man. Grant’s height, but built like a tank. Not the kind of guy he’d expected to see running a flower shop. The kind of guy he’d expect to see running in the NFL.
“Hey, friend, how are you today?” the man asked with a genuine smile.
Grant read his shirt—the stitching spelled out “Jake.” Looked like the guy worked there. Couldn’t get service or kindness like this back in New York. Grant liked the guy already.
“Pretty good, just hoping to get a few things,” Grant said.
Jake nodded. “Great. Well, let me know what I can help you with. We have everything from outdoor to indoor home repair and lawn care.”
“Ha, good slogan,” Grant said.
Jake frowned, as if replaying what he’d just said, then finally smiled. “I didn’t even realize that! I should write that down. You in marketing from the city?”
From the way Jake looked Grant over, he could tell Grant was not local. Maybe he needed to ditch his slacks and button-downs. He mostly wore suits every day and just left the jacket off. But maybe he could take it down another notch.
“I’m just visiting. I’m in business, but marketing is a big part of it.”
“That sounds cool,” Jake said. “So you just consult with businesses?”
“I own my own business, and the main goal is under that umbrella. There’s several small businesses.”
“That’s awesome,” Jake said. “I own this place with my wife, Laura. That’s her name on the sign out there. It’s great having something of your own, isn’t it?”
Grant thought of his father’s business. Thought of how it had never really felt like Grant’s. He’d inherited it, but he wanted to add to it. Wanted to contribute. Build on his own branch and make something of himself with the opportunity he was given.
“Yes, it is,” he said to Jake. Curiosity got the better of him and he zeroed in on the one word Grant wanted to use himself: wife. “So you work with your wife?” he asked. Like discussing this matter with a nice sales guy made him part of this special husband club. A thought he enjoyed.
“Yep, I do.” Grant could see the pride coming off Jake.
“How’s that work out?”
“Great for us,” Jake said. “You hear those horror stories about husbands and wives working together, and how one will end up killing the other.” Jake leaned in and lowered his voice. “Honestly, in the beginning, I thought my sweet Laura might accidentally hit me over the head with a shovel, but those days are behind us.” He straightened and smiled. “Plus, it would have been worth it just to watch her walk around in a skirt all day.”