She wrinkled her nose. “I hate sexting.”
Connie grinned and nodded. “Yeah, it’s much better to reach out and touch someone. So reach out. Touch. A lot.”
Maggie playfully elbowed her friend. “You’re incorrigible.”
“It’s why you love me,” Connie said and slipped her arm through Maggie’s. She urged her out of the park, down the block, and to the footbridge that ran across Forty-Second Street.
They paused in the middle to take in the view of Queens and Long Island on the East Side and turned to see all the way westward along the street to the Palisades in New Jersey.
With a sigh, Connie said, “I love this view. Sometimes, I imagine I can see my place in Jersey from here.”
Connie’s condo wasn’t all that far as the crow flies. Just right through the Lincoln Tunnel and to her place in Jersey City. Not all that far from Union City, where her grandparents had settled after escaping Cuba and where she and her mother had both been born and bred.
“Always a Jersey girl,” Maggie teased.
“Always, just like you. You may live here, but your heart is in Sea Kiss.”
Since she couldn’t deny it, she said, “Yes, it is. Maybe we can head down there this weekend for a girls’ retreat.” She drove from her mind that those weekends might come to an end if she couldn’t repay the mortgage on the home.
“You say the word and I’m there,” Connie said with a smile as they walked across the rest of the footbridge and down to the street below. They strolled slowly up toward the Chrysler Center and their offices.
“In the meantime, I need your help with the stores.”
Her friend stopped short and stared at her shrewdly. “You really want to know what you can do legally?”
“I do. I need to be able to run the stores in the way I think will work, and I’m tired of giving in to my dad. I need to seize the moment,” Maggie said, and inside her, something broke free. Her spirit grew lighter at the thought of finally doing what she knew in her heart to be right, as painful as it might be.
Connie nodded. “Okay. I’ll take a look at everything and call you to discuss.”
Maggie nodded firmly. “That sounds like a plan.”
They walked along in silence, but when they reached the lobby of Connie’s building, her friend faced her, smirking.
“You know what else you have to seize, don’t you?” Connie said.
Maggie shot her hand up to foreclose any further discussion. “Call me when you’re ready to talk about the stores.”
Connie pointed at her. “And you call me if there’s any MagOwen action going on.”
She rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, we’re not a celebrity couple.”
“You’re rich and beautiful, so you’re tabloid worthy. Would you prefer OwenMag? Or what about SinPierce? Maybe…”
Maggie raced off, leaving Connie playing around with mash-up names while she waited for the elevator.
As she reached her own bank of elevators, she decided no mash-up was necessary. Just Owen. Very seize-worthy, sexy Owen.
But as she had told him just that morning, the two of them together just didn’t make any sense, and she prided herself on being sensible and responsible. Plus, if there was one thing about which she intended to defy her father, it was the stores.
Carpe Owen would just have to wait for another diem.
Chapter 9
Since Maggie had basically told him to leave her be, he had done just that when he had run into her at the gym the last few mornings. Just a casual greeting before each went their separate way to either the weight room or cardio center. Although he had to admit to positioning himself at one of the treadmills where he could watch her do her strength training.
He allowed himself an office daydream about the sight of her toned but lushly curved body. Thoughts of her were just too hard to resist. A loud, gravelly cough and the sharp exclamation of his name dragged him from his workplace reverie faster than you could say, “Hello, Father.”
Owen planted his feet firmly on the floor and swiveled to face his dad, who stood before his desk, bony, age-spotted hands clasped before him tightly. Those telltale markings made him take a moment to scrutinize his father, and when he did so, it occurred to him that his dad had aged quite a bit in the last few years. Even though he had just turned sixty, he looked far older thanks to his thinning hair and the sallow complexion of his skin. The forward hunch of his head and shoulders had shaved a few inches off his six-foot-plus height. The dark, lifeless suit he wore not only worsened his complexion, but also hung loose on him, increasing the impression of sickliness. It showed what bitterness and unhappiness could do to a person physically.
“Are you feeling okay, Father?” he asked, genuine concern pushing aside any anger he might have about the way his dad generally behaved. No matter what, family should come first, which just added another reason to why he had to make sure everything worked out. He could risk his own assets in a new company, lose his place in a business he’d helped build, but he couldn’t walk away if his father was not well.
“I’d be a lot better if I knew what was going on with you and that Sinclair girl,” he said, impatience dripping from every word.
Deep breath, Owen, he told himself and braced his hands on the arms of his chair. After a second deep inhalation, he slouched back into the leather and adopted what he hoped his father would see as an “I don’t give a shit” posture.
Tone neutral, features displaying what he trusted was calm restraint, he said, “Nothing is going on at the moment, Father.”
Head dancing up and down on his scrawny neck, reminding Owen of one of those bobblehead dolls they gave away at baseball games, his father smiled smugly. “I guess you’re not as charming as you thought, Owen.”
He dug his fingers into the arms of the chair and resisted the urge to wipe that arrogant smile off his father’s face. After another controlled breath, he said, “If I came on too strong too fast, Maggie would get suspicious. She’s not a stupid woman.”
“No, she isn’t. She’s a lot like her mother. Bright. Stubborn,” he said almost wistfully before anger hardened his features once again. “Do you think I’m a stupid man? Or that I won’t go through with tossing you out on your ass if you fail?”
Barely restraining himself, Owen said in a strangled voice, “I understand your expectations and the risk of failure.”
His father harrumphed and sank into the chair in front of Owen’s desk, clearly in no rush to leave. Unlike Owen, who was itching to be away from his father and his condescension.
“Talk on the street is that Maggie’s trying to find some financing, but if she is as smart as you say, she’d realize no one is going to give her that kind of money.”
“Contrary to what you believe, there are some people who might be willing to lend her the funds.”
His father sniggered. “Like who?”
Owen steepled his hands before his lips and weighed what he thought were Maggie’s possible options. He could personally loan her the money without any of the consideration his father might think would be appropriate as collateral, but he didn’t tell his father that.
Owen was sure he’d be disinherited if his father found out the truth about his feelings for Maggie or if he lent her the money outright: his father wanted not only the Sinclair properties, but also to watch the Sinclairs grovel.
He was beginning to think that such anger held on to for so long was about something more than a friend’s betrayal. He kept that to himself as he said, “There’s Ryder Pemberton. Maybe a few other personal friends Maggie could reach out to.” In their social circles in New York and New Jersey, Maggie had the connections necessary to drum up the money she needed.
“Pemberton is too smart to pour money into the Sinclair money pit,” his father said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
&nb
sp; “Ryder wants those properties as badly as you do. He’d take the risk if it meant getting them.” It was a worry that had been bouncing around in his head since seeing Ryder at Tracy’s wedding. The other man had casually mentioned Maggie’s problems, clearly trying to elicit some kind of response from Owen, but Owen hadn’t taken the bait. Much like when they occasionally played poker together, Owen wasn’t one to reveal his hand and always kept his cards—and his thoughts—close to the vest.
With another harrumph, his father stood and said, “Then maybe you should be more like your brother for a change.”
“Be like Jonathan?” he asked, slightly dumbfounded that his father would mention the son he’d already disowned. Even more so because there had been a hint of pride there toward Jonathan.
Firing a final salvo, his father said, “At least he has the balls to go after what he wants.”
Owen was too taken aback to respond and could only sit there, mouth open, as his father stormed from his office.
Be like Jon, he thought and couldn’t help but chuckle. Wouldn’t his brother get a kick out of that?
As much as he hated to admit it, his slow approach toward Maggie was possibly progressing a little too slowly, while Jonathan never took anything at other than breakneck speed. Even as a kid, Jonathan had always been the one to accept any dare, whether it was racing down a hill on his tricycle or surfing the biggest wave.
On some level, Ryder Pemberton was like his brother. His old friend and sometime nemesis wouldn’t hesitate to go after both Maggie and the Sinclair properties, but unlike Owen, Ryder wouldn’t give two shits if doing so would hurt Maggie.
He couldn’t allow that to happen. He yanked his smartphone from his jacket pocket and hit the speed dial for his brother.
Jonathan answered after the first ring, slightly out of breath. “Yo, Big Bro. How’s it going?”
“It could be better. How are you doing, or maybe I should ask, what are you doing?”
“Just finished a jog on the beach. I needed some time away from a certain lady who was getting too attached. Came down to Sea Kiss so I could avoid her. Want to come for a visit?”
Since their father hadn’t returned to Sea Kiss in years, Jonathan stayed at their shore home often when he needed a break. Just like Owen needed to get away. It was early enough on Friday to accept his brother’s invitation, but he still had a load of work on his desk and a staff meeting in an hour. It would take him a few hours to finish the more important items, but with a quick detour to his condo for some clothes and his car, he could be on his way before six.
“Definitely. I’ll be there in time for a late dinner.”
“Beer and meat will be waiting for you, Big Bro.”
He grinned. “Knew I could count on you, Jon.”
“Always,” Jonathan said before disconnecting.
* * *
Maggie braced her hand on the dashboard and muttered a curse under her breath as Connie narrowly avoided the car in front of them when it jerked to an abrupt stop.
“Sorry. So close and yet so far,” Connie kidded as traffic slowly crawled along on the Garden State Parkway. Not typical for a Friday at noon, but the day was gorgeous, and the weekend promised to be just as nice.
“Not to worry. I called ahead, and Mrs. Patrick is prepping the house. Emma can’t join us until close to eight. We’ve got plenty of time to get there.”
Connie blew out an exasperated breath. “Now I know why they call it a ‘park’ way,” she said, taking her hands off the wheel to add some bunny quotes for emphasis. “We should just leave the car here and walk the rest of the way.”
Maggie laughed and good-naturedly jabbed her friend in the arm. “It’s probably just an accident.”
“Or road work. There’s always some kind of frickin’ road work going on,” Connie complained.
“At least we saved some time by meeting at your condo. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like to get through either of the tunnels later today.”
“True that,” her friend confirmed and changed lanes when a break in traffic gave her a little space. That lane moved a trifle faster, and before long, the bright-orange cones and portable traffic signs confirmed that an upcoming lane closure was responsible for the gridlock. Once they had done the Jersey merge and cursed a New Yorker who cut them off, they cleared the bottleneck and were moving along nicely.
Soon, they were leaving behind the industrial areas close to New York City and the sprawl of suburbia farther south. Up and across the massive Driscoll Bridge over Raritan Bay, and little by little, the area grew greener, leading to the wetlands and the marina close to Cheesequake State Park. Another thirty miles or so and they were pulling off for Sea Kiss and the smaller roads rambling eastward to the shore. Homes and businesses spread fairly far apart until the first of the Victorian homes welcomed them to the edges of Sea Kiss.
As they entered town, Connie took her time, mindful of the pedestrians strolling in and out of the many small shops on Main Street and across the street before heading to the beach. At the end of Main Street, she turned onto Ocean Avenue with its mix of Victorian homes and inns across from the boardwalk. As they moved farther away from the heart of Sea Kiss, the dunes loomed ever taller, with their seagrass and beach roses. Once the boardwalk ended, the homes grew more scattered and varied, with a mix of small beach cottages tucked in between the larger mansions and inns. After Sandy, some of the homes in the areas hardest hit by the hurricane had been rebuilt on stilts to prevent future flood damage. Many of the small beach cottages still needed work to get them back into livable shape.
In the early 1800s, the Pierce and Sinclair family mansions had been small beach cottages much like those nearby. The larger mansions had gone up in the early 1900s. During Prohibition, the homes had expanded immensely, prompting some to speculate that the two families had used ill-gotten gains from selling liquor during that time. Especially since the Jersey Shore had been a favorite spot for bootleggers to unload alcohol from Canada, Ireland, and the Caribbean.
Over the years, the homes had been lovingly preserved, but restorations shortly after Maggie’s mother’s death had forever changed the look of the two homes.
While her father had opted to bring back the bright colors that had earned Victorians the name of “painted ladies” in honor of his wife’s vibrant love of life, the Pierce mansion restoration had painted the structure in deep eggplant and gray tones, almost as if the home had gone into mourning.
The landscaping of both homes matched the moods of their colors. Serious and meticulously groomed boxwoods and other bushes adorned the Pierce home, while the beds of Maggie’s family home were a riot of colors thanks to various annuals and perennials, as well as an assortment of flowering trees and bushes.
As Maggie and Connie pulled into the driveway, it was impossible to miss the lovingly restored, vintage Willys Jeep that Jonathan Pierce had been driving for as long as Maggie could remember and that was now sitting in the circular drive of the Pierce home.
Connie mumbled something beneath her breath, but Maggie couldn’t quite make it out.
“Problem?” she asked.
Connie shook her head vehemently. “Not at all, but what are the odds that Jon would be down this weekend?”
“It could just be his car,” she said, but not a second later, Jonathan walked out the front door, grinning, a happy bounce in his step until he caught sight of their car and stopped short. The cheerful disposition that had been there just moments earlier fled the way the summer sun did with a coming storm.
He forced a stiff wave before he hopped into the Jeep, gunned the engine, and tore off down the drive.
“Boy, he was not happy to see us,” Maggie said, wondering at the chilly reception. Things had always been civil between the two of them and…
She paused in her thoughts and carefully examined her friend. �
��Something up with the two of you?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” Connie replied and jumped out of the SUV.
Clearly something is up, Maggie thought, but she didn’t press. When Connie was ready to talk, she would. Her friend never kept secrets from her and Emma.
She exited the car and grabbed her bag from the back. As they neared the front door, Mrs. Patrick opened it and stretched her arms wide, welcoming them home.
“My girls,” she said, wrapping a meaty arm around each of them and dragging them close for a group hug. She was doughy soft and smelled of vanilla from the sugar cookies she always baked for them. Tightening her hold on them, she added, “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“We’re glad too,” Maggie said and kissed the old woman on the cheek.
Mrs. Patrick had been at the Sea Kiss house as long as Maggie could remember. The housekeeper had been a young girl when she had first started working for Maggie’s paternal grandparents and had stayed on after Maggie’s parents married, and Maggie had come along a few years later. Maggie’s grandmother had outlived Maggie’s mother by nearly two decades, and in all that time, the two women had resided in this beachfront home. Maggie had come to spend every summer with them as well as an assortment of holidays and weekends during the rest of the year.
After she had met Connie and Emma in college, all three would transplant themselves to the Shore for the summer months and take part-time jobs. Her grandmother and Mrs. Patrick had made sure that they had good meals and toed the line to avoid any kind of trouble.
Maggie would make sure that if the mansion had to be sold, Mrs. Patrick would have a safe and comfortable place to live and work with either her, if she didn’t also lose the town house she had mortgaged just a week earlier, or her dad.
As they broke the embrace, Maggie held out a gift bag to the woman who was like a second grandmother to her. “We brought your favorite.”
The older woman eagerly took the package and peered inside at the bottle of Irish whiskey. “Thank you. You girls are always so thoughtful.”
One Summer Night Page 7