by Cari Quinn
“Yes. Move along, Ms. Copeland.”
I tamped down on the urge to growl and opened the drawer on my right. Just papers. I went for the other side and found a host of toys. IPad, mini-notebook—one I’d been drooling over for months—as well as cords galore.
I grabbed the laptop and opened it, balancing the lightweight machine on my palm as I quickly tapped in my details. God bless networks. My information opened a matching desktop, linked to what I’d just been doing.
The door was open, and he was looming over his desk with three monitors making a U-shaped work station. A large projection on the glass flickered to life. The familiar logo for business conference calls came up and then a video feed.
My little IM box popped up, Mr. Carson’s fingers flying over the keys.
Send all research through here. Pertinent details only.
Like I knew what pertinent details were? I was an artist, for God’s sake.
A stunning blonde woman came into focus on the projection screen. Huge china-blue eyes were lightly enhanced with makeup, and her almost too lush mouth was downplayed with barely there lipstick.
“Nice to see you, Blake. Sorry for the change of plans. Donovan has to attend a meeting in London.”
“Not a problem.” He nodded to me. “Lila Shawcross, meet my new assistant, Ms. Copeland.”
“Welcome to the madness, Ms. Copeland.”
“Thanks, I think.”
Lila’s cool, professional smile widened and bumped into almost warm. “Don’t worry, Donovan only bites on Tuesdays.”
“Today’s Tuesday,” I replied.
A small smile tugged at her lips, and she looked down at the iPad in her hand. “Fancy that.”
My lips twitched, but I managed not to smile back. Especially when Mr. Carson shot a look at me. I perched on the edge of the same chair I’d interviewed in, my fingers flying over the keys as I scanned the business trade articles for mention of Donovan Lewis and any new projects he was getting involved in.
“Sorry for the rush, Blake. Thanks for fitting us in.”
My gaze snapped to the screen. British, cultured, and deep—Donovan’s voice was equivalent in touch to cashmere. He had a similar look to Mr. Carson, only more lean and elegant. He didn’t seem to be as tall either, and his suit was definitely less rumpled.
Instead of getting more buttoned up, her boss took off his jacket and slung it over his chair. He had a small iPad in his large hand, and he cradled it like a freaking phone. “Just means I can actually go home before dark for once.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Donovan murmured.
Mr. Carson’s mouth tipped into a fleeting grin. “The installation of the security glass on Ms. York’s house is progressing nicely. The architect contacted me last night and ordered another dozen panels for her veranda.”
There was my cue. I quickly brought up the York file and all the emails he tagged. My boss was scarily efficient. I followed along with the conversation and sent him a few updates from the job site.
Lila seemed to be doing the same thing. Her fingers were flying and swiping over her iPad.
“Are you onboard with the re-facing of your New York office?” he asked.
Donovan leaned against a conference table. “We’ve crunched some numbers, and between the look of Lindsey’s place and my own discussions with a few of your established clients, it’s a go.”
Mr. Carson’s hand tightened on his chair, but otherwise there was no reaction to the news. I didn’t have time to pore over any other details since the discussion got intense from there on out. I was trying to keep up with my boss’s numbers and notes for the session to make sure what he said actually came to pass.
I had a feeling the entire conversation was being recorded, but this also felt very much like a test. And I really needed to get an A+.
“The last question I had was an aesthetic one.” Donovan’s posture eased a little, and he clasped his hands behind his back. “Your product is phenomenal, but I work with people who value their image as much as their security. More than, in all honesty.”
Mr. Carson’s spine went straight as a ruler.
“Ms. York has expressed interest in a patterned glass for the front of her house - more of a showcase, instead of strictly for security. But she does like the fact that she can get that privacy and no loss of light.”
“Yes,” I answered automatically.
Blake shot a look at me.
“We’ve been experimenting with artistic avenues as well.”
Donovan’s eyebrow went up and a small smile softened his angular features. “Excellent. I’ll have Ms. York’s architect set something up.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lewis,” I said when Mr. Carson continued to stare death rays into the back of my head. “If you need anything, your assistant can contact me.”
Mr. Carson came up beside me at the end of his desk. “We appreciate your business, Donovan.” His voice resonated through my bones, leaving a shiver in its wake.
“You have a good staff, Blake. Jack Hollister has been in contact with me for some follow-up visits to make sure the security is sound. I appreciate that level of attention, especially from you. I won’t forget it.”
I frowned. Especially from Mr. Carson, why? My boss didn’t seem like he normally took shortcuts.
Mr. Carson’s fingers curled around the thick glass of his desk. The side of his hand brushed mine, and I fought to stop the blissful teenage flutters from filling up my chest. “I’ll check in next week.”
“Perfect.” Donovan nodded, and the screen went blank.
Blake took a step forward and then turned to stand in front of me. “You overstepped, Ms. Copeland. We aren’t set up for that kind of work. Mass-produced glass cut-to-size is one thing, but aesthetics are a whole different kind of work. The profit margin—”
I swallowed. “I saw that clock. It might not be as easy to do the beveled and the cuttings, but the design is worth it.”
“Oh, and you know all about profit and loss?”
I stood taller. “No, but I know about the wealthy people who spend ridiculous amounts of money on the beautiful. I know you checked me out. I’ve worked in a gallery most of my life, and the amount of money people will spend on the pretty far outweighs what they will on security.”
“I think I know my business.”
“I don’t think you do.” I wanted to snatch my words back. I didn’t know crap about business. Not really. I knew enough to get by, and sooner or later, Mr. Carson would probably figure out that I was full of shit, but right now, I knew I was right.
He tilted his head, and the arctic was back in his eyes. “Is that right?”
“What’s your poison, Mr. Carson?” At his frown, I hurried on. “When you made your first million, what did you spend your money on? A car? A house? A rare album?”
“My first house,” he said tightly.
“And that first house, did you do anything extravagant? Something you’ve always wanted?”
The muscle in his jaw jumped, and he still loomed over me. Still so very close. He was citrusy today. Fresh enough that I wanted to step into him and put my nose into the center of his chest and see if he was as warm and delicious as I thought he’d be.
“That clock that’s in your showroom.” Suddenly, I knew. “That’s in your house.”
His nostrils flared, and I knew I was right.
“That’s what people want.” My heartbeat thundered behind my eyes and tried to leap out of my chest, but I rushed on. “Your name is already synonymous with distinction and beauty within the security circles. Add in the art side, and it would push your company over the top. I understand people with money, but more importantly, I know they want status above all else.”
“There’s no security in art.” He stepped back and walked out of the office without another word.
I slumped back against his desk. Then, because I knew he couldn’t see me, I leaned over to take a breath. Holy crap. What the hell
was I thinking? This really wasn’t my job. I was supposed to be ingratiating myself so he’d be more inclined to talk to me about the house. This was not going to help my case in any way.
I straightened up and looked out to the main area where my desk was. Blake was talking to Jack, and his hands were in his hair. God, I could see everything from this vantage point. The entire office was on display and my desk—that was the focus.
Was that so he had absolute control to micromanage his little kingdom, or was it more? He hadn’t come out to talk to me all damn day until Jack had come to my desk with food.
I shook my head. That line of thought was as stupid as it was dangerous.
I gathered my laptop and went to join them in the outer office.
“That’s brilliant. Do you realize how much we can make on those crazy LA people? They’ll pay thousands of dollars to have their freaking cars detailed with a simple pinstripe. Do you have any idea what they’ll do for a one-of-a-kind window that lets them see out, and leaves the world dying to know what they’re doing?”
I hid a smile when Mr. Carson’s fingers fisted again. I decided silence was probably a better idea than an “I told you so.”
I tucked my laptop into the drawer and plugged it in. I was going to look for an outlet for the charger when I saw the little green light go on. My boss really was the most organized man ever.
Jack came around my desk and dragged me into a hug. He lifted me off the ground. “Genius.”
I squeaked and couldn’t help but laugh. “Put me down.”
“I’m a security guy. I would never have thought to make the stupid glass pretty.”
“Stupid glass?” Mr. Carson asked incredulously. “That stupid glass bought you a house in Hawaii and that asinine collection of old trucks that you love.”
“This is true.” Jack wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “But now I can buy more trucks because this is going to be money, buddy.”
Mr. Carson tipped his head back and seemed to be counting to ten. “Both of you get out of here. I need to crunch numbers.” He pointed at me. “You, I need here before seven tomorrow. It’s going to be a very long day.”
I nodded. A long day with him tomorrow? Yeah. I was absolutely losing my mind, but I nodded anyway. “Yes, Mr. Carson.”
He stalked to his office and started rolling back his sleeves. Before I could get a good look at the sepia-toned ink climbing his forearm, he was hidden behind his glass.
Dammit.
Chapter Nine
“Don’t mind him.”
I glanced up at Jack. “I sort of threw him under the bus with Mr. Lewis. I didn’t mean to, but there seemed to be a moment there where Donovan was going to either play it safe, or really get invested in the company.”
“You’ve got good instincts, Blondie.”
“Not you, too.”
“Vi started it. I can’t help it. Now it’s stuck in my head.”
“What if I change my hair color?” I asked.
“Don’t. You’ve got that perfect beachy gorgeousness mixed with class. It’s extremely appealing.”
My eyes widened.
“Don’t worry, I’m not hitting on you. It’s just an observation. I don’t pluck babes out of the work pool.”
“That’s probably more because you just called me ‘babe’.” I grabbed my small purse out of the drawer.
“Maybe.” He flashed a rakish—yes, in this instance, it actually fit—smile at me. “Probably not though.”
“Incorrigible.”
“Yeah, that’s a word Vi uses too.” Jack waggled his brows. “Ready to blow this joint?”
I nodded. “I’m dead on my feet.” Sleep had definitely not been my friend for weeks now, but I was going to have to figure out something, or I’d never keep up with Mr. Carson.
We rode the elevator down, and George and Violet were both at the desk when we got to the lobby.
“Love of my life, what are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“Anyone and anything except you, pal.” Violet threw him a bright smile. “I actually have a date.”
“Holy shit. Is the world ending?”
Violet went to a small safe behind the desk. “Keep it up, Jack. I know how to break into your cell phone. The damage I could do would be epic.”
Jack pressed his hand to his chest. “You wound me.”
“I speak truth.” Violet held out a badge and a keycard of some sort to me. “Here you go, Blondie. Make sure you have that badge on you at all times, or you can’t get into the building or the elevator. It’s chipped for certain areas of the building only.”
“Thanks.” I flipped around the badge, and the picture wasn’t too horrible. “What’s the card for?”
“Parking.”
“Oh, really? Bless you.”
Violet grinned. “Since you work with the boss man, you get to have parking. Mostly because he’s going to kill you with the hours.”
I laughed. “So I’ve gathered.”
“Do you want a ride to your car?” Jack asked.
I looked out the window. Dusk was fast approaching, but the rain had stopped. “I think I need the walk. I’ll see you in the morning, though.”
He nodded and waved. “Good job. You’re just the shakeup we needed.”
“Thanks, I think.” I got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’d never really mattered this much from a business standpoint. Organizing a tiny, family-run gallery was a whole lot different than a multi-billion-dollar company.
This felt a lot more real, and a helluva lot more terrifying. Because it wasn’t going to last. I wasn’t meant for this job. Boston wasn’t my life—Marblehead was. The ocean was. And I had to keep reminding myself of that.
I headed down Atlantic to the park-and-ride area and found my car. Traffic wasn’t quite as hideous since it was a little after six by the time I got on the road. It still took more than an hour to get home.
As I pulled up the drive, I noticed a strange car parked out front. The foreclosure sign had been traded out for Sold. Already? It took everything inside me not to run inside. Instead, I maneuvered into the small paved space near the garage.
With the gas and electricity turned off, next would be eviction. It made sense. It just hurt too much for me to breathe at the moment.
How the hell was I supposed to do this? I knew what the man was going to say. All I wanted to do was plug my ears and curl up into a ball.
But I wasn’t six years old. I was a grown-ass woman.
When the man stepped out of the car, I crossed my arms and followed the walkway to where he stood.
“Ms. Copeland?” I’d been hearing a lot of that today, but this man’s voice wasn’t nearly as delicious as Mr. Carson’s. In fact, this man’s was quite nasally and high-pitched. It really didn’t match his tall, broad stature at all.
“Yes. That’s me.”
He pushed his hand through his hair. I could see how uncomfortable he was, but I wasn’t going to be meek about this. He was going to have to say it plainly. My eyes stung, and I was never so glad for the dimness of the solar lights on the path. There was no electricity to prove the dampness of my cheeks.
The tears were leaking before I could order them not to fall.
He was here to tell me I had to leave.
Didn’t he understand that it was too soon? My grandmother hadn’t even been interred. I hadn’t had the heart to put her away in that cold mausoleum just yet. All those ornate jars lined up, one by one. My grandmother didn’t belong there, even if that had been in her will. All that life and beauty—gone.
“Um, well, I’m here to advise you that the bank has finalized the purchase of this house by a new owner.”
“Blake Carson,” I said angrily.
He smoothed down a cowlick of hair. “I’m, um, not at liberty to disclose that kind of information.”
“Everyone in the Cove knows.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I still can’t speak about that.
I’m here to let you know that you have seventy-two hours—a bit less actually, since the day is about to end—to evacuate the premises.”
“All the furniture?” There were eleven rooms in the house. Where was I going to put all of that? I couldn’t afford moving, let alone a storage facility to hold that kind of inventory.
He opened his car door and took out a large envelope. “You have a few options. You can have an estate sale. The new owner will allow the furniture to stay for a sale in the near future.”
“How kind of him.” My voice wobbled a little, but I swallowed down the tears.
Blake Carson had no idea just what he was doing. All the history and memories. God, the memories. And I hadn’t been able to tell him. Even now, I didn’t know if he’d care about my story.
He’d bought the property on the cheap—at least for him and his billions. When the lawyer had told me the amount of the mortgage, I’d literally gasped. It had started as a reverse mortgage and grown from there until my grandmother had owed millions. The land, the house, and the private beach were worth so much.
Why had she needed so much?
I’d never really know. My grandmother had seen fit to take those secrets to the grave. Not even her will gave me an indication. In fact, her will hadn’t been updated since I was in high school.
And now this. I tipped back my head, praying that the tears wouldn’t flow so hard they brought the running nose and sniffling with them. Too many people had seen me cry now.
“Ms. Copeland?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” I took the envelope he was holding out.
“Do you understand the information I’ve given you?”
“I’m not an idiot,” I snapped.
He straightened his shoulders. “Yes, well, I have to make sure. The realtor will be here with a lock box for the front door on Friday morning.”
“I understand.”
He patted down his stubborn cowlick again. “I’ll be going now.”
“That would be lovely.”
He waved at me awkwardly and backed down the lane, gravel popping under his tires. When I was certain he couldn’t see me anymore, I sprinted for the hill and down to the beach.