by Lily Santana
“Well, he’s got it in for you. I think he was the only person in Bella Del Mar who wasn’t devastated after Stefan passed away.”
“That’s an awful thought. How could you even think that?”
“It’s true. How long after did he come sniffing around you?”
It had only been eleven months, and the thought of going out on a date with Tim, even though she’d known him for most of her life, had seemed like such a betrayal to Stefan. It had been the one and only date she’d had in eighteen months.
She wrapped her arms around her middle. “Tim wouldn’t hold a grudge against something like that. We’re talking about a business opportunity for his bank. He stands to make a profit.”
“That may be true, but you know these bankers are risk-adverse.”
“What about all the federal programs to help out small businesses? It’s all over the news. He’d be an idiot to refuse us a loan.”
Dorinda choked back a laugh. “I recommend improving your demeanor before your meeting.”
She frowned. Maybe she needed to stick to one cup of coffee a day. The caffeine was making her jumpy...and mouthy. She was still cringing from the awful confrontation with McKenna. Even though most of her points were valid, she regretted calling him a vulture who took advantage of the sick and elderly. The words had felt vile as they came out of her mouth. Shame hung over her head like an intractable halo.
“It’s McKenna. He brings out the worst in me. I just want him out of my sight, out of my life.”
“That’s a shame, because he isn’t too bad on the eyes, is he? A bit young, but maybe...”
“Are you serious? What is the fascination with this man? He looks like a boy toy. Like he should come with instructions.”
Dorinda’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “My dear, you need a new pair of glasses.”
Emma adjusted her butterfly-shaped reading glasses. “Can we get back to my life-and-death issue here?”
“No, you’re not overreacting at all.”
She managed a weak smile and buried her face in her hands.
Dorinda walked over and draped her arms around her shoulders. “I want you to prepare yourself for the worst-case scenario. Have a plan B just in case.”
She raised her head slowly. “I don’t have a plan B. I need this loan not only to expand the business but also for Sammy. She’s leaving for San Diego tomorrow to check out the campus. I can’t disappoint her. I swore to Stefan I’d follow through on all of his promises.”
“Emma, Sammy will understand if you share with her the truth about your finances. Stefan, bless the man, was irresponsible and selfish for promising all those things, knowing he hadn’t planned appropriately for you and Sammy.”
Tears welled in her eyes upon hearing her own shameful thoughts spoken out loud. “He was just being Stefan. He thought—we all thought he’d have more time to...” Her voice sounded defeated.
She hated worst-case scenarios. She’d lived through one for the four months Stefan had battled pancreatic cancer. Her chest constricted as disappointment and guilt vied for space in her heart. If only she’d paid more attention to the finances, but Stefan had insisted on being in charge of their bills. And then there were other more important things to worry about.
Eighteen months ago, she barely knew a thing about profit margins or lines of credit. But now, she was a single mom with a mortgage, a daughter about to go to college and a business she loved but had yet to show a profit.
Dorinda looked out the window toward the construction site across the street. “I know you may not want to hear this right now, but have you thought any more about Mitch’s offer?”
Emma blinked in surprise. “Have you lost your mind?”
“I haven’t lost my mind and if you weren’t so stubborn, you’d realize he offered you a way to finance your business.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her.
Dorinda took her silence as a pass to keep talking. “He was right to want to help your business get off the ground and rehab your home. It would be mutually beneficial for both of you, since he doesn’t want an eyesore right next to his snazzy condos. Okay, maybe he didn’t quite say the last bit exactly like I just did. But you know what I mean. It was a very generous offer.”
Emma folded her arms across her chest. “There is no way I’d trust anything that came out of that man’s mouth. Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been saying? Mitch McKenna is a slick...greedy...arrogant... What?” Something in her friend’s expression halted her diatribe midstream. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
A curious smile played on Dorinda’s face and her eyes twinkled with mirth. “If you’re not going to consider Mitch’s proposal, then I’d be careful not to piss off that bear of a man any more than you’ve already done. He seems like he can get pretty dangerous when poked.”
“I own a Taser.”
Dorinda rolled her eyes. “God help him.”
She ignored her friend’s worried face and returned to the task at hand. Take Mitch up on his offer? She’d rather be eaten by a shark. It’d be less painful.
She saw through him, even if no one else did. Plus, how dare he call her home dilapidated? Sure, it needed some cosmetic repairs, but the vintage bungalow was practically a historical landmark. A family heirloom.
Bulldoze over her home? She gritted her teeth. She’d just see about that. Her fingers itched to wipe the grin off McKenna’s face.
She glanced at the wall clock. It was almost noon. She reached for her cell phone and dialed the building official’s office.
* * *
Mitch pulled his truck into the parking lot of the Surf & Sand Tavern in downtown Bella Del Mar. The torrential rain that had pummeled them all morning had eased, leaving dark, moisture-laden clouds in its wake. Being a Friday, he wasn’t surprised the lot was already half full.
He ran his hands over his prickly face. He’d give an arm and a leg for a hot shower right about now, but the jobsite trailer he’d ordered hadn’t arrived. Add that to the other shit that had gone wrong, and the feeling that his project was cursed hung over him and his crew.
Maybe his brother was right about Bella Del Mar not being the right location for an upscale retail project, not with existing businesses with names like Paws on the Beach, Moon Over Taffy and a hair salon called Cutter’s Away. Shane had warned him about Bella being stuck in a nostalgia wormhole, but Mitch had ignored him and look where they were now.
The project was six months behind schedule and almost a quarter million over budget. Every day he wasn’t building, it cost him three thousand dollars. If it wasn’t Emma LeFleur, it was the weather.
He knew damn well that the forlorn expressions he’d seen on his men’s faces meant they were worried he wouldn’t get the financing to continue with the project and he’d have to lay them off.
He pounded the back of his head against the headrest as frustration mounted and shut his eyes at the very real possibility he’d lose everything if the neighbors decided to further delay his plans.
His phone vibrated against the truck’s leather console. He glanced down, grateful for the interruption, until he saw the caller ID.
Son of a bitch.
“Catch you at a bad time?” Shane’s voice sounded weary on the other end.
Mitch’s stomach clenched, anticipating his brother’s bad news. “You heard from Lansford?”
Burt Lansford was an avid fisherman and a wealthy venture capitalist. He’d agreed to put up the seed capital for Coastal Development for a hefty chunk of future profits.
“He’s calling me every hour on the hour.”
Mitch cursed under his breath. “Your job is to appease him, right? My job is to run the project.”
Shane grunted. “Project’s behind s
chedule, bro. It ain’t a clambake trying to appease a fat cat like Lansford. He’s a fucking bean counter and all he cares about is seeing the results.”
“Tell him we’re back on track. I can’t fucking control the weather, can I? And I won’t let the guys handle heavy machinery when it’s not safe. He got a problem with that, he could go fuck himself.” He imagined his brother’s grin on the other end of the phone.
“Now I’m reminded why I deal with the front-end money guys and you deal with the meatheads in construction,” Shane said, his voice coated with humor.
“Go fuck yourself,” Mitch joked. “How long can you hold him off?” The seriousness was back in his tone.
Shane sighed audibly. “I can hold him off for a couple of days, but we need to have the final go-ahead from the Planning Council on Monday for him to feel good. If not, we might as well kiss the two million dollars adios.”
The two million dollars would fund operating capital for about a year, giving Mitch enough time to attract other investors to the project.
“Should be no problem. The citizen task force has its final meeting on Thursday. Next Monday’s meeting is just a formality. The Planning Council pretty much verbally approved the plan. Could sure use some positive press.”
A long silence ensued. Mitch was hoping Shane would suggest he call Olivia. Shane’s ex-wife was now a newscaster in San Diego. He held his breath, knowing full well he’d have better luck catching Bigfoot than having Shane suggest such a scenario. The five-year marriage had ended badly.
“What about that crazy broad across the street? She give you any more trouble?”
Bingo. Evade and distract. Shane’s defenses were honed to a razor-sharp edge.
Mitch recalled the confrontation he’d had with Emma LeFleur that morning. He rubbed the tension from his neck. The woman got under his skin like nobody’s business. “She’s a crusader. But like I said, it’s as good as a go. Monday’s vote is just a formality.”
“I guess the threat of a lawsuit scared them.”
“That it did.”
Several seconds passed before Shane asked, “What’s she like, anyway?”
“Who?” For some reason, discussing Emma with his brother annoyed him.
“Emma what’s-her-face.”
“What the hell does it matter?”
Mitch recalled Emma in her colorful pajamas and oversized fleece jacket. His eighty-year-old grandmother had better fashion sense. All that big hair dwarfing her face made her look like a throwback pop rocker from the ’80s.
Granted, her skin was flawless and her eyes turned fiery green when she was furious. Which he concluded was often. But it was her lips that mesmerized him. Her lips swelled full and pink when she was excited. Pissed-excited, not good-excited. It was like all the blood rushed to her lips, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her other...Jesus.
He was losing his fucking mind.
His brother let loose a loud whistle that pierced Mitch’s eardrum. He held the phone away from his ear but still heard Shane’s loud moan. “Aww, no way! Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve got the hots for this chick?”
Mitch stared at the glass vial of sand hanging from his rearview mirror. “Hell, no!” He heard laughter on the other end.
“Yeah? What she look like?”
“Tall, big hair. I wouldn’t say she’s hot. She’s a pain the ass is what she is. Why the hell are we having this conversation again?”
“I must have dropped you on your head when you were a kid.” Shane groaned before continuing, “Because you can charm a nun out of her habit, but this widow and single mom has got you by the balls.”
Mitch shook his head, a grin tugging the corner of his mouth. “This conversation is over.” He cut the connection and the truck’s engine in one quick move.
* * *
Inside the tavern, Mitch waited a few minutes for his eyes to get accustomed to the dimness. The shadow of a smile was still playing on his lips until he came face-to-face with his mug shot thumbtacked on a corkboard. He cursed under his breath as he ripped the photo off and crumbled it in his fist.
“Mitch, over here!” Nestor, his foreman, called him over from the edge of the long, narrow bar.
Mitch threaded his way through several couples swaying to Garth Brooks on the small dance floor. The smell of stale beer and peanuts mingled with sweat and cheap cologne.
He and Nestor took to coming to Surf & Sand for lunch and dinner once they’d figured out the waitress at the diner was one of Emma LeFleur’s lackeys. Besides, they’d gotten to be quite friendly with Jack, who owned the joint.
Mitch slid onto the bar stool next to Nestor and then waved to Jack to bring him his usual.
“You hear from your brother?” Nestor asked with trepidation. Nestor Crow, with skin like rawhide and gray hair weaved neatly into a single braid that went down his back, was a genuine Sioux descendant of a great warrior chief. With over thirty years in commercial construction, Mitch relied on his foreman’s expertise to help him run the project.
“Just got off the phone.”
Before he could elaborate, Jack sidled over, carrying a Pabst Blue Ribbon. Jack Callahan looked like he belonged behind the bar with his easy smile, stocky build and Irish accent on demand. “Lads, I hear Thursday’s the big day. You win over the neighbors, and everything’s gravy from then on.”
Nestor played with the phoenix insignia on his key ring. “Yeah, like that could happen. It’ll be up to the Great Spirit now.”
Mitch squeezed the bridge of his nose. “What’s with these people? We’re just trying to make a living. This town can age a guy twenty years.”
Jack laughed and handed them each a menu. “Why do you think I look like this? I was a pretty boy once too. Now you know what it’s like for the rest of us.”
Mitch grinned. “Burger, rare. Asshole.”
Nestor chuckled. “Make that two.”
“You got it,” Jack said, still laughing as he walked away with their menus.
“So?” Nestor took a sip of his Coke.
“Lansford’s tightening the noose. We need that go-ahead from the neighbors on Thursday or we’re dead in the water.”
“Bullshit is what it is. What do they got against condominiums and some fancy stores? It can only help their economy.”
“You’d think. We gave in on important concessions, but I won’t give up the goddamn parking lot.” Mitch tossed the crumpled flyer on the table.
Nestor raised a brow before picking it up and unfolding it. He choked back a howl. “Ain’t your best picture.”
Mitch rubbed the weariness from his eyes. “Does anyone look good on a mug shot?”
“How long ago was this?”
“Seems like forever. I’d just turned twenty-one, could finally go to a bar and then ended up sleeping the night in jail.”
“Why?”
“Same old shit. My old man was in the bar and he got it in his head that he was going to show his kid that he was a big shot. He started mouthing off to some dude and next thing you know, this guy throws a bottle at my old man. I went nuts. Decked the guy. He ended up in the hospital with a broken nose, cracked-up rib and was pissed as hell.”
“And you ended up in jail. How about your old man?”
Mitch shrugged. “He was all right.”
The way Mitch’s body had hurt on the outside hadn’t compared to his inner disappointment when it had been his brother who’d picked him up from jail the next day, not his father. Apparently, Mitch butting in to his old man’s fight had made his father look less of a man around his logging buddies. In his father’s line of work, there was no room for the old and the weak.
Nestor crumpled the flyer in his calloused hands and tossed it to Mitch. “Can’t choose your folks.”
Mitch’s throat tightened and he swallowed a familiar knot. “Having my mug on the wall is bad enough. Having it alongside a psychic woman who promises to heal all my inner wounds for fifty bucks is just plain wrong,” he joked, eager to lighten the somber mood.
Nestor chuckled, his sharp black eyes creasing around the edges. “Well, I told the guys we’d either be starting back up first thing Monday morning, or they can pretty much start looking for other work. The way I see it, we can’t keep ’em employed with nothin’ to do. You’re bleedin’ cash.”
Mitch nodded. His stomach clenched at the thought of laying off the guys who’d been so loyal to him. They’d hung around, even when they hadn’t always gotten the steady pay. “I’m optimistic.”
“Yeah? What about Mrs. LeFleur and what happened this morning?”
“What about it?”
Nestor squeezed the bridge of his nose. “She looked pissed as hell. She’s up to something. I know it.”
“I’ll handle Emma LeFleur. You make sure we’ve got what we need to start first thing Monday.”
His foreman groaned. “Whatever you say, boss. But I tell you, that woman is trouble.”
“She won’t be trouble to us.” Mitch looked down at his own calloused hands on the table and hoped he was right about his last statement. Emma had done enough damage. There was no way her citizens’ task force could stop the progress with the mayor on board.
After a minute of silence, Nestor cleared his throat. “Speak of the devil. No trouble, you say? Then what’s she doing getting cozy with the building official?”
“Son of a bitch.” Mitch turned his head slightly to get a glimpse.
Emma and David Bruin sidled over to a four-person booth kitty-corner from Mitch and Nestor. Mitch noticed how Bruin kept a hand on Emma’s back while she slid into the booth. The man obviously felt protective of Emma, or maybe possessive.
Bruin’s shaggy blond hair and spray-on tan reminded Mitch of an over-the-hill surfer dude. What was the relationship between the two? If they were an item, it would explain why she had him wrapped around her finger.
Son of a bitch.