by Stacy Finz
They broke for lunch and the girls slipped their shorts off to dry in the sun while they lay on the beach in their bikini bottoms. He wanted to take a picture and send it to Win with the message: “Eat your heart out, sucker.” But he resisted. Barely.
“Hey, Colt, you should take off your rash guard,” Dimples called to him, and flashed him a naughty smile.
In unison, the women began chanting, “Take it off, take it off.”
If he did, he’d be looking at a lawsuit. “Not gonna happen, ladies,” he said as charmingly as he knew how.
They got back in the water at one and he spent much of the afternoon fishing his boaters out of the drink. He was pretty sure they fell out on purpose just so he would rescue them. By four they were beat from the sun and asked to go back. He assigned Dimples the job of agile bow, meaning she had to jump out on shore with a line and hold the raft while everyone got out.
“Will you put lotion on my back, Colt?” the bride’s maid of honor, a smoking hot brunette, asked. He rolled his eyes but took the proffered container and did what she asked.
“What about me, Colt?” One of the others batted her eyelashes.
He shook his head. “All right, ladies, enough. Let’s pack up.”
“Not before we get a group picture,” the bride said.
“Everyone get next to the boat and I’ll take it,” he told them.
“No, we want you in the picture, too.”
One of the girls got a selfie stick from her bag in the van. They gathered next to the boat, close enough so everyone would be in the photo.
“On the count of three,” the bride said. “One . . . two . . .”
When they reached the magical number all five women lifted their bikini tops and flashed their tits. And there he was like a dumb-ass, standing in the middle of five topless babes.
“You want me to e-mail the picture to you?” the bride asked him.
He was sorely tempted. If nothing else he’d like to flaunt the photo in Win’s face, but said, “No thanks.”
By the time he got home he was ready for two fingers of Jack and a cold shower. As he turned up the easement road he saw Delaney watering her flowers. Her Tesla was parked on the pad and he silently cursed her. At least he wasn’t on call tonight; Brewster had him covered. Still, she didn’t know that.
He drove to the top of his driveway, parked the truck in the garage, and decided to have a few words with his pesky neighbor.
Chapter Four
Delaney watched Colt approach in board shorts and rash guard, looking better than any male model she’d ever had the privilege of dressing. But as her gaze landed on his face, her stomach sank. He wasn’t coming over for a neighborly chat, that was for sure, and her sour mood from Robert’s call came roaring back.
He pointed at her car. “We’ve got to work this out, Delaney.”
“As far as I’m concerned, there is nothing to work out.” She was tired of being pushed around. By Robert, by Colt, by anyone. “While the easement allows you to drive over the road, it doesn’t give you the right to park on it. End of story.”
“Actually, the easement doesn’t distinguish what I can or cannot do. It simply says the road is to be shared by both of us.” He folded his arms over his chest and waited for her to challenge him. There was a gleam in his eyes and she got the impression that he was enjoying this.
“I’ll have my lawyer look at it,” she said. “In fact, if I have to I’ll go to court over it.” She was bluffing, of course, and a small part of her knew she was taking out her frustration with Robert on Colt.
“No can do. It’s grandfathered in. I honestly don’t get why you’re being so difficult about this.”
“I’m tired of losing, that’s why,” she blurted. Crap. She hadn’t meant to say that. It made her sound petulant and even a little hysterical, but it was the truth. In the last year she’d lost everything.
His demeanor suddenly changed, probably because her lips were quivering and he didn’t want to deal with a sobbing female. “This isn’t a competition, Delaney.” His voice was softer now. Gentler. “I’m not trying to best you; I’m just trying to do right by the town I’m charged with keeping safe.”
Okay, now she really was going to cry . . . for being a bitch and for everything else going wrong in her life. To preserve her dignity and to keep him from seeing the emotional wreck she’d become, Delaney marched off, went inside, and slammed the door shut.
Now he’d think she was crackers for sure. But it was better than falling apart in front of her arrogant neighbor.
Earlier, Robert had delivered the coup de grâce. He claimed the divorce decree required her to take the Delaney Scott name off her handbags and shoes—the ones already manufactured and in stores as opposed to just future products. It being Sunday, she couldn’t get a hold of her attorney. But if there was any truth to what Robert said it would cost her a fortune to have her name removed, not to mention that the merchandise would be worthless without it. Consumers paid three times as much for a product with a designer label.
Work was the only thing that would take her mind off impending bankruptcy. She headed for the stairs, and halfway to her studio the doorbell rang. Crossing the front room to the foyer, she gazed through the peephole. Colt stood there, holding up a six-pack of beer. For a second, she considered ignoring him, turning off the lights, and pretending she wasn’t home. Silly, because he knew she was. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and opened the door.
“I come in peace,” he said, and handed her the beer. “I don’t know what just happened out there, but I have a feeling it has nothing to do with me or the easement road. But maybe I’m wrong.”
“No, you’re not wrong.” She let out a sigh, opened the door wider, and moved aside so he could enter. “Come in.”
He stepped over the threshold and swept his gaze around the room. “Big place you’ve got here.” She wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not.
Leading him into the kitchen, she got down two pilsners from the cupboard and poured them each a glass. The beer was cold. Straight from his refrigerator, she presumed.
“It’s a local microbrew,” he said, watching her examine the label. “A couple of friends of mine make it.”
She nodded, pushed the glass across the center island, and offered him a seat at the bar. “I’m sorry about before. I may have overreacted.”
“May have?” He quirked an eyebrow, then immediately checked himself. “You know, I don’t think we ever did the new-neighbor thing, like maybe I was supposed to bring you a cake or something when you moved in.”
That was nearly a year ago, she thought to herself. “You bake?”
“No.” He chuckled. “I meant it just seems like we bypassed ‘hello’ and went straight to fighting over parking. So, can we start over? I’m hoping beer is an acceptable substitute for cake.”
“Okay.” She flashed a small smile and held the glass up to him in a toast. “Today . . . was difficult. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
She suspected he wanted to ask her about it but settled for “I get it,” instead.
“It doesn’t mean I’m ready to cede the parking space to you, but I’m usually less ... emotional.”
“Would you let me use it when you aren’t charging your car, at least when I’m on call?”
“When’s that?”
“Pretty much always. The assistant chief takes half the week and I take the other half. But if it’s something big, I always go out.”
“What counts as big?” It was a relatively small town and there didn’t seem to be much crime, not like in LA.
“Anything that involves a fatality or in some circumstances a violent crime, big car accident, or a suspicious fire.”
“Are there a lot of those?”
“There aren’t a lot, but it happens, and when it does I have to get there quickly.”
“We might be able to work something out.” She just didn’t want to argue with him anymo
re. It was exhausting. But she also didn’t want to commit to giving him the parking space.
“Thank you,” he said halfheartedly, as if he had expected her to completely surrender.
Colt obviously wasn’t used to having to grovel to get what he wanted, so she gave him credit for doing it now. Okay, maybe not groveling, but he was definitely sucking up. Obnoxious, but she was quite enjoying it.
“You planning to live here full time?” he asked.
“For the time being, yes. My husband and I split up. I’m using this time to regroup.” That was an understatement.
“I’m sorry to hear about your breakup.”
“Thank you,” she said. She could tell he meant it, even though he hadn’t known them as a couple, not really. She and Robert had been in and out to oversee the building of their house and, after it was finished, visited occasionally. Colt had waved from his yard or as they passed each other driving, but that was about it.
Eager to change the subject, she noted that he was still in his swimwear. “Were you at the lake earlier?”
“The river. I took a group white-water rafting for Garner Adventure.”
“You work there as well?” She’d known that his three brothers did but figured he was too busy working at the police department.
“When they’re shorthanded I fill in, which seems to be all the time now.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I do.” He grinned. “But I already have a full-time job.”
“I’ve always wanted to go white-water rafting.” It had always looked fun to her and not too scary, nothing like bombing down a mountainside on skies.
“It’s awesome. Garner Adventure offers trips all summer long.”
“Good to know. I’ll have to sign up for one.” She got up to refill his glass.
“Did you design that?” When she looked at him, clueless, he said, “The outfit you’re wearing.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at herself, not remembering what she had on. “Uh, I did. Several years ago.” It was part of her summer 2013 Every Day collection, one of her favorites.
“It’s nice.”
“Thanks.” She’d take “nice.” The fact that he’d noticed at all was somewhat surprising. Colt struck her as one of those alpha guys who only noted what a woman was wearing if it was short, tight, and obscenely low cut. But she supposed she was stereotyping.
“My brother says your clothes are in every department store in America.”
“I don’t know about every store, but we have a lot of retailers. That company now belongs to my ex, though. He got it in the divorce.”
He angled his head to look at her. Really look. “I’m guessing you’re not happy about that.”
“No, I’m not. But there’s not much I can do about it. He also gets to keep the name, Delaney Scott.” She didn’t know why she was telling him this. But he was here and listening and she supposed she needed a shoulder to cry on and he had broad ones capable of absorbing a lot of tears.
“How the hell did that happen? It’s your name. Why doesn’t he use his own?”
“Because my name is an established brand.”
“That you put on the map, right?”
“Well, to be fair, we both put it on the map. My designs, his business acumen.”
He nodded understandingly. “That sucks.”
That was putting it mildly. She poured more beer for herself. Usually a wine person, she found that the hoppy flavor of the microbrew was growing on her. And honestly, she could use a good buzz but never would’ve considered drinking alone. “How long have you been chief?”
“This is my sixth year. Before that I was a cop in San Francisco for a while.”
“Why’d you leave?” It seemed like a great gig to her. San Francisco was one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the West.
“I’m not a city guy and frankly, I missed home.... Couldn’t wait to come back. I hated Los Angeles when I went to UCLA.” He stopped. “No offense.”
“None taken. I’m from the Midwest so LA feels pretty exotic to me, but I realize it’s not for everyone.” Her parents couldn’t stand it. But her whole life she’d wanted to live in a big, exciting city. Show that she’d made it.
“It must be the epicenter of the fashion world, huh?”
“London, Paris, Milan, New York, and to some extent LA. It’s always been part of my brand ... Hollywood, glitz, and glamour.”
He listened to her as she yammered on about the industry and design. It occurred to her that he was actually paying attention to a topic that no doubt bored him. It also struck her that he was even better looking than she’d originally given him credit for. In the nine months she’d lived in Glory Junction, she hadn’t paid too much attention to Colt’s physical attributes, only to his crabby personality. No wonder the women all went gaga for him. Dark hair, thick brows, sharp cheekbones, and dreamy, deep brown eyes.
“What happened to the man who punched you yesterday?” She didn’t want to monopolize the conversation by talking only about fashion design.
“Arrested and will presumably be charged with assaulting a peace officer.”
“And the woman?”
“Unfortunately, there’s no law against projectile vomiting on a peace officer.”
She laughed, even though the incident had been beyond disgusting. Poor Colt. She supposed it was part of the job, though. Clearly, he had a lot of integrity to brush it off the way he did. If someone had intentionally thrown up on her, she didn’t know if she could be so forgiving.
“And even though she was belligerent, her husband decked her.” He shook his head. “She’s a victim.”
He finished his drink and got up from the island. “Thanks for the beer and conversation. It’s getting late and I should get going.”
“Hey, it was your beer. Thanks for bringing it over.”
“We good on the parking?”
Of course that had been his main objective for coming over. Their visit had been so pleasant that she’d nearly forgotten that he had an agenda. She felt a pang of disappointment, but what had she expected? It wasn’t like they were going to become bosom buddies. “I’ll stick to the top of my driveway when I’m not charging my car,” she said reluctantly.
“I appreciate that, Delaney. And like I said, I’d be happy to foot the bill for an outlet in your garage or wherever.”
“Don’t press your luck, Colt.”
His lips curved up into a full-fledged smile and it took her breath away. Chief Hottie from Hell could melt ice with that smile. It would be wise for her to remember that.
She saw him out, cleaned up in the kitchen, and went up to her studio. After an hour or two of drawing she realized she’d come up with exactly the same outfit she was wearing. “Argh! How long is this dry spell gonna last?” she asked herself aloud, fearful that she’d never get her mojo back.
* * *
The next day it was more of the same. Around noon her attorney finally called.
“Sorry, I was in court,” she told Delaney. “Robert’s interpretation of the ruling is not mine at all. While it’s true that your future bag and shoe designs cannot have the Delaney Scott label, the idea that the ruling was retroactive . . . I don’t think so. I could ask the judge for a clarification, but why make it easy on Robert? Let him pay his attorneys to do it. If he calls again, tell him to go through his lawyers and hang up.”
That worked for Delaney. She wanted to have as little to do with her ex as humanly possible. After the phone call, she made herself lunch and got on the Internet to take a look at the trades. Being away from Los Angeles, away from the industry, had left her out of the loop. As she scanned The Business of Fashion’s top stories of the day, she spotted a headline that made her stomach drop: OLIVIA LOWELL TO TAKE TOP DESIGNER POSITION AT DELANEY SCOTT. She jumped over to her Twitter feed, and sure enough, the news was everywhere, including another story in Women’s Wear Daily.
Olivia was young, innovative, and seen as a ris
ing star in the industry. She was also gorgeous, and according to rumors, had more in common with Robert than fashion. The staff must be buzzing and Delaney was tempted to call Karen, who made the trains run at Delaney Scott. But it wouldn’t be appropriate. For all intents and purposes they were competitors now. Oh, but to be a fly on the wall.
She turned off the computer, more depressed than ever. Olivia Lowell had extraordinary talent and, harnessed right, could take the company to the next level. Not so long ago Delaney had been Olivia Lowell. But look at her now. If she didn’t get her act together soon, her career in fashion would be over.
Her cell rang and she hesitated until she saw the caller’s ID.
“I was just thinking about you,” she told Karen.
“I’m guessing you saw the news.”
“I did. Congratulations. She’s a great hire. Robert must be paying her an arm and a leg.”
“I’m sorry, Delaney. I was shocked when you guys broke up. But honestly, I was even more surprised when you left the company ... your company.” Under the circumstances she couldn’t have stayed. “I know it’s not any of my business, but isn’t there a way you two can still work together?”
“I’m afraid not.” Delaney was tempted to tell her why, but it was too personal ... too mortifying. “Olivia will be good for the company; she’ll infuse it with fresh ideas.” Because Lord knew Delaney didn’t have any.
“I don’t know.” There was a long pause. “She seems high maintenance, prone to tantrums if she doesn’t get her way.”
That was her reputation, but who knew if it was true?
“We’re all like that,” Delaney said, trying to stay objective. Her differences with Robert had nothing to do with Olivia.
“That’s the thing—you never were. You were a dream to work with, even keeled and open to suggestions. And it was fun when you were here.”
“It’s not fun anymore?” Robert was a lot of things but he wasn’t a tyrant. He believed in creating a good work environment as much as Delaney did.