Crazy in Love

by Lani Diane Rich

  “She has a system? What, you don’t have computers?”

  Jake grinned, amused that she took the joke literally. “Yeah, we have computers. But it’s this weird program Annabelle’s, like, uncle or cousin or something wrote. It’s linked with the bookkeeping, and the last time I tried to reserve a room for someone, twelve thousand dollars went missing from the books and it was kinda bloody. Annabelle put a password on it and she’s the only one who can get in.”

  Flynn stared at him. “We’ve got one person doing reservations for this entire inn?”

  “The inn is historic, but not typically overbooked. Winters, we don’t even use the west wing. Most of the money comes from the bar and restaurant, which are top quality, highly rated, and well worth keeping to the lucky person who inherits them.”

  She didn’t look impressed. “So that’s a long way of saying . . . ?”

  “Yes. We’ve got one person handling reservations for the entire inn.”

  “Great.” Flynn downed the last of her drink and pushed off her bar stool. “Fine. Okay. Whatever. I’m an adult. There’s no reason I can’t go back to the cottage and just deal with my dead roommate.” She looked at him, tucked a strand of wild caramel hair behind her ear. “It was just a dream, right?”

  He couldn’t help but smile. For some reason, the weirder she got, the more he liked her. “Yeah. It was just a dream.”

  She took a step toward the door, then turned around, nibbling on the edge of her lip. “What if she starts talking to me again?”

  “Talk back?”

  “Oh, right. What would I say? ‘Bummer you’re dead, I hear the white light rocks, go find it’?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, holding her gaze. “You could start with the ditzy Daddy’s girl thing. It’s effective material.”

  Flynn cocked her head to the side, as if deciding how to take that, then finally allowed a small smile.

  Jake smiled back. “Give me ten minutes to close up here and I’ll walk you back.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She released her breath and her shoulders slumped in relief as she sat back on the bar stool. Jake chuckled and tossed the bar rag into the bucket of bleach water by his feet. This was working out better than he’d ever thought.

  He was going to have to be careful around that smile, though. It knocked him over every time.

  Chapter Four

  Flynn rubbed the towel over her wet hair and took a deep breath of the sweet morning air coming in through the window. The bedroom, not half as creepy now as it had been last night, was aglow in the tree-filtered rays of the autumn sun, and Flynn felt much more confident than she had the day before. She gave her damp hair one final rub and tossed the towel on the rocking chair, which she’d turned around to face the corner the night before. She was pretty sure the visitation from Esther had been her imagination, but there was nothing wrong with sending a message, was there?

  She turned and checked herself out in the big standing mirror in the corner. Her jeans were a bit wrinkly, but her oversized cable-knit sweater hung low enough to cover most of it, and since the professional wardrobe Freya’d ordered wasn’t in yet, it would just have to do.

  Flynn worked on pulling a stray piece of yarn into her sweater as she walked out into the living room. Her eyes registered the two male legs sticking off the edge of Aunt Esther’s prim little love seat, but her brain took a moment to catch up. When it did, she jumped back and screamed, then put her hand over her pounding heart as she gripped the wall for support. Tucker let out a startled bellow of his own and jumped up off the sofa, landing squarely on his feet.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “How drunk was I last night?”

  “Hmmm?” He looked at her blankly for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Oh. No. Not very. But . . . um.” He yawned and shook his head quickly. “Yeah. Remember the whole ghost thing?”

  Flynn recalled clutching the back of his jacket in her fist like it was a tether rope on a rock wall as she made him open the front door for her.

  “Yeah. Little bit.”

  “Well, you seemed kind of freaked. I thought I’d just sit here until you fell asleep. You know. Make sure you were okay.” He ran his hand through his hair. It didn’t do much good. “Guess I must have passed out.”

  Flynn watched him standing there with his hair sticking up and couldn’t help but smile. She lowered her hand from her chest and took a deep breath.

  “Thank you. That was sweet.”

  “What can I say? I’m a sweet guy.” He grimaced, rubbed his neck, and nodded to indicate the tiny sofa. “Wow. I had no idea Nazis made love seats.”

  Flynn laughed before she could stop herself, then tried to tighten up her expression when he looked up.

  “Can I . . . uh . . . make you some coffee?”

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “That’d be nice.”

  His smile looked better this morning than it had yesterday. So did he, even with the rough shadow that was claiming his jawline, and the fact that he was rumpled from head to foot and his hair was shooting out in a thousand different directions. He was . . . cute.

  Cute. Good God. She hadn’t thought of a guy as cute since the ninth grade. She smiled. “I’ll just go make some coffee, then.”

  Tucker nodded, but then waved his hand in the air to stop her. “Actually, forget it. Esther didn’t have a coffeemaker.”

  Flynn felt a tinge of horror strike her heart. “She didn’t? Oh, how sad.”

  “Well, it’s not the last ten minutes of Old Yeller, but sure.”

  Flynn let out a little laugh, which was followed by a toe-scuffing silence. She wasn’t sure how to deal with Jake Tucker. They were clearly from different worlds. He was her employee, technically, but he was also the closest thing to a friend that she had so far in Scheintown. Still, seeing him this early in the morning was strangely intimate, especially considering she’d known him for less than twenty-four hours.

  So many reasons to feel awkward, she thought. How to choose just one?

  “Well,” she said, “I guess they’ll have coffee at the inn, then? Maybe we could go there?”

  He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Well—”

  “I mean,” she said quickly, holding her hands up to stop him before he could misread her and think she was asking him out, “unless you want to go home and get some real sleep. Which, of course, you do because you’re a bartender and this has to be crazy early for you.”

  “Actually,” he said, the edges of his lips twitching up in a smile, “I think coffee would be nice. There’s kind of something I want to talk to you about, anyway.”

  She watched him warily. “Does it have to do with whether or not I’m selling this place?”

  “A little. Maybe.” He let out a long breath, and something in him seemed to tense up. “There’s this guy. Local businessman. He’s probably going to contact you today, and I just wanted to warn you about him.”

  “Warn me?”

  “Yes. He’s . . . uh . . . he’s not a good guy. You need to watch your step around him.”

  Flynn wanted to laugh, but Tucker didn’t look like he was joking.

  “And what exactly do you think this man is going to do to me?”

  The line of his mouth went flat, and there wasn’t the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Just don’t trust him.”

  For the first time since she’d met him, Jake Tucker was actually dead serious. It was a little unsettling.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “I just got here. What would this guy want with me?”

  “It’s not you he wants,” Jake said. “It’s the inn. He wants you to sell the inn.”

  Flynn allowed her annoyance to seep into her laugh. “I knew it. This is what all that ‘this place is so great, don’t sell it’ stuff was about? It’s about you wanting to stick it to this guy, right?”

  “No.” Tucker took a step toward her. “This is a great place, and you shouldn’t sell it
. But this guy has an agenda—”

  Flynn had to laugh at that. “Pot calling the kettle, sounds like.”

  “Look, I just . . .” He sighed heavily, and turned plaintive eyes on her. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Funny,” she said, “because I think this actually has very little to do with me.”

  Tucker opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Flynn kept her eyes on his.

  “Gee. I wonder who that is?” she said flatly.

  Tucker cleared his throat nervously. “Hey, mind if I use the bathroom?”

  “Sure, go right ahead,” she said, but he had already disappeared through the bathroom door before the words were out.

  Okaaaaay. She went to the front door and pulled it open.

  “Good morning. Flynn Daly, I presume?”

  The first thing she saw were the teeth, smiling at her so brightly that she swore she could hear that little tink sound like in the toothpaste commercials.

  Next, she caught the eyes. Blue and crystalline.

  Then the suit. Armani.

  Finally, the hair. Black, naturally shiny, and graying just a touch at the temples.

  This was possibly the most classically handsome, well-groomed man she’d ever seen in her life. How the hell did a guy like that end up in a place like Scheintown?

  Or more specifically, on her doorstep in a place like Scheintown?

  “Good morning,” he said again, a little louder. He held out his hand. “My name is Gordon Chase. I hope you don’t mind me dropping in on you so early in the morning, but Annabelle told me you’d be out here and I wanted to introduce myself.”

  “Hi.” Flynn shook his hand, which was big and strong and warm and softer than a baby’s bottom. He must manicure twice a day. “I’m Flynn Daly.”

  His smile tinked at her again. “I know. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much.”

  “Really?” she said. “From whom?”

  His smile faded into an expression of sincere concern, and he covered their joined hands with his free one. “I was so sorry to hear about Esther’s passing. Your great-aunt was a treasure in this community, and she’ll be sorely missed.”

  Hard to miss her if she won’t go away. “Yes, she sure will.”

  He finally released her hands, digging his own into his pockets in an affected boyish manner, which put Flynn instantly on her guard. Anyone who’d muss an Armani line to appear boyish was not to be trusted.

  “Anyway, I’m the president of the Historical Preservation Society, and I was hoping you’d let me treat you to breakfast this morning. I think we’d have so much to talk about.”

  Tink.

  “Actually, right this minute isn’t that great for me . . .” Flynn started, but was interrupted by what had to be the world’s loudest toilet flushing. If there was any doubt in her mind that Gordon Chase was the man Tucker had been warning her against, it was gone.

  Meanwhile, Gordon Chase’s eyebrows rose an easy quarter inch.

  “Oh,” he said, a look of confusion washing over his face for a moment. “I see. Well.” Tink. “Maybe some other time. Are you free for lunch, perhaps?”

  “Oh, sure, why not?” Flynn said, just as an incredibly loud and unmistakably male belch emanated from her bedroom. She acted as if she hadn’t heard it. “Why don’t I meet you in the lobby at noon?”

  Gordon’s smile faltered, then widened. “Perfect. I’ll see you at noon.”

  The second the door was shut, Tucker emerged from the bathroom, without even the slightest look of contrition on his face. He was amazing. She just wanted to sit and watch him for a while, like a zoo animal.

  “Ready for that coffee?” he asked brightly.

  “As soon as you tell me what that performance was all about.”

  He had the nerve to look surprised. “Performance? Oh, you mean the . . .” He trailed off, the picture of delicacy. “Sorry about that. Must have been the enchiladas I had for dinner last night.”

  Flynn watched him for a moment. “That was Gordon Chase. At the door.”

  Tucker nodded, and his face looked uncharacteristically tense. “I figured.”

  “Yeah, I figured you figured. I didn’t appreciate the soundtrack, by the way.”

  “Hey, sorry, I was just—”

  “I don’t care what you were just,” Flynn said, advancing on him. “I don’t care what your agenda is, or what Gordon Chase’s agenda is. I came here to do a job, and I’m going to do it. And I won’t be target practice in whatever little pissing contest you’ve got going on with him. Are we clear?”

  Tucker let out a hard sigh. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

  Flynn put her hand on her forehead and sighed. “At any point in our association have I ever asked you to look out for me?”

  He smiled smugly. “You mean, aside from last night when you needed a bodyguard to protect you from your dead aunt?”

  Flynn clenched her teeth until they hurt, her emotions evenly split between anger and embarrassment. Tucker lowered his head a bit until his face was in her eye line, his expression infuriatingly playful.

  “One toke over the line, huh?”

  “You know what?” She grabbed a fistful of his sleeve and guided him toward the door. “Go.”

  “Because I did think about not pointing the ghost thing out, but you really left yourself wide open.”

  “Good-bye, Tucker.”

  He shrugged out of her grip as they reached the door, then turned to face her. “So . . . what? Rain check on the coffee, then?”

  “You still have your job,” she said, trying to keep any hint of amusement out of her voice, although it was hard not to smile a little. “Maybe now’s a good time to take stock. Count your blessings.”

  “Okay. But just to let you know, firing me would be a huge mistake,” he said, leaning against the door. “I’m very popular here. Everyone loves me. It’d be hell on morale.”

  She yanked the door open, knocking him slightly off balance as she did. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  He sighed. “Okay. Fine. Just . . .” His eyes met hers, and once again, they were serious. “Just watch your step with Chase, okay? I’m not sure he’s not dangerous.”

  Flynn stared at him for a moment. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Tucker shrugged and looked out the door, then back at her. “It means what it means. Look, if you don’t believe me, talk to Mercy. She’s your chef, and she’s a completely unbiased source of information.”

  She stared up at him, her anger and annoyance fading away under the warmth of his smile, and she was forced to admit the truth to herself. Despite her best efforts, she’d let him charm her. The only defense she had left was to make sure he didn’t know it.

  “Good-bye, Tucker,” she said firmly, holding the door open for him. He winked at her, and she chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling back, then finally he left. When she closed the door behind him, though, she allowed herself one smile.

  Just one, she thought, pulling the edges of her lips firmly down again. You’re a professional.

  Jake whistled to himself as he jaunted smoothly along the path to the Arms, willfully ignoring the edgy buzzing in his limbs. This was okay. This was all right. This was workable. So, Flynn was going to lunch with Chase. It was fine. If she was anywhere near as prickly and defensive with Chase as she’d been with Jake, it would actually be perfect. Flynn going out with Chase was in The Plan. It was the crux of The Plan.

  So why did the thought of it bug him so much? There’d been a moment when Jake had been sitting on the edge of Flynn’s bathtub, listening to Gordon Chase getting his smarm all over her, that he hadn’t wanted her anywhere near Chase. He’d almost let that protective instinct get in the way, but then he remembered The Plan. Get Flynn close to Chase, stay close to Flynn. It was still a good plan.

  It just needs a little tweak, he thought as he turned on his heel and headed t
o the front door of the Arms. One small tweak, and it’ll be perfect.

  He pushed through the front door. Annabelle smiled when she saw him approach the desk, and he pulled on the most charming, carefree smile in his arsenal.

  “Good morning, lovely Annabelle,” he said, leaning one elbow on the desk.

  “Hi, Jake,” she said, her blond curls jiggling along with the rest of her. She was a cute girl, Annabelle, but every part of her seemed perpetually in motion, and it got a little unnerving sometimes. “What are you doing here so early?”

  “Oh, just checking in, helping out, doing my part for life, liberty, and the American way.” He casually straightened a pile of brochures on the counter. “Hey, have you seen the niece yet?”

  Annabelle’s eyes widened. “Nope. Nobody’s seen her. Except you, right? You picked her up, right? What’s she like? Is she beautiful, you know, like that big-city beautiful, you know, all exotic with Manolo Blahniks and Gucci? Jake?”

  He blinked. Whenever he talked to Annabelle, he always felt like that dog in the cartoon, the one that only hears, “Blah blah blah Jake blah.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said. “She’s great. Anyway, she asked me to take care of something for her. She’s having lunch with Gordon Chase at noon.”

  Annabelle’s eyes widened to tennis-ball size. “Here?”

  “Yeah. Here.” He blinked innocence. “Why not here?”

  “Because he never comes here. He knows we all hate him,” she said.

  “Everybody in town hates him. Man’s gotta eat somewhere.”

  Annabelle sighed. “And the last time he was here Mercy tried to kill him.”

  “Pffft,” Jake said, waving his hand in the air dismissively. “That chef’s knife slipped from her hand. Total accident. Speaking of Mercy, be sure to let her know to serve him something berry special.” Jake leaned forward. “Write it down. Berry, with a b.”

  “Berry special?” Annabelle said. “Seriously?”

  “It’s a Tucker thing.” He grinned. “And when have you ever known me not to be serious?”

  Annabelle smiled and jotted Berry Special down on her notepad, then raised her eyes back to meet his.