SecretsontheSandKobo

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Then you don’t know that she’s not at all like what those other employees assumed.”

  She toyed with the card key, sighing. “They’re not only employees,” she said. “They are actually the winners of a bid I put out a few months ago. I’m planning to outsource my housekeeping function to one company, and they’ve got the job. I need to trust them.”

  Realization dawned. “So that’s why Amanda told me she’d be fired shortly.”

  Lacey’s eyes flashed. “Why would she assume...really?” She tapped the plastic key against her hand, thinking. “I didn’t know this situation was brewing,” she admitted. “And it makes me all the sorrier I couldn’t help Amanda when she came to me.”

  “Instead, you fired her.”

  “No, no. Not today. Awhile back. She wanted the outsourcing business,” she said. “And she seems to have the brains and ambition, so I told her she’d be in the running if she could get a business off the ground. But, sadly, it does take working capital to start something like that, and she couldn’t—”

  “How much?”

  She lifted her brows and gave a shrug. “I’m not sure, but the proposal she’d put together looked like she’d need a cash infusion of about five thousand dollars, so more than she has, I’m afraid.”

  Five thousand would do the trick.

  Her words played on his memory. “Can’t she get a small-business loan?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, Zeke, I really don’t know her personal situation, but—”

  “Don’t you think you ought to know an employee’s personal situation before you fire her?”

  She drew back, her shoulders square. “She was found in a villa undressed with a guest. I’m running a first-class, five-star resort, and I make no apologies for my business decisions or employee relations.”

  In the entryway behind her, a man appeared, holding a baby who couldn’t have been a year old. “Everything okay out here?”

  “Yes,” she said, indicating him. “This is Zeke Nicholas, our guest in Bay Laurel. Zeke, this is my husband, Clay Walker.”

  “The architect?” Zeke asked.

  He nodded. “I designed the resort.”

  “I’m a fan of your work. I...I thought you were older.”

  Clay smiled, his blue eyes glinting with understanding. “My father’s an architect, as well, and much better known than I am.” He gave the baby a little pat. “And this is Elijah. We’re hoping he picks up a drafting pencil soon, too.”

  Lacey laughed. “Not that soon.”

  Zeke gave the little guy a wink when he turned big blue eyes exactly like his daddy’s on him. “Cute kid. And, look, about today? My side of the story is the truth.”

  “Thank you,” Lacey said. “I appreciate you stopping by and returning the card key.”

  “I’m sorry to have interrupted your family time.”

  “I’m always available for guests,” she said.

  He started to leave, but stopped midstep. “Can I ask you one more question?”

  The couple nodded in unison.

  “Is your decision about the outsourcing of that business final?”

  They shared a look, the kind that told him they talked about everything and didn’t make any decisions in a vacuum.

  “We’ve made a verbal agreement,” Lacey said. “But nothing’s signed. Why?”

  “If Amanda were able to finance that business, would you give her a shot, in spite of what happened today?”

  Lacey sighed, slowly shaking her head, but her eyes said she knew what he was suggesting. “Oh, I don’t know. That would be—”

  “Oh, Strawberry.” Her husband shifted the baby to his other arm to get even closer to her. “How soon we forget.”

  “What?” she asked him.

  He gave her a half smile and swiped a hand through near-shoulder-length, sun-streaked hair, an earring twinkling in his lobe. “I seem to recall a young woman who, not so long ago, had to do some pretty creative maneuvering to get her own business, and there were plenty of people who thought her track record didn’t merit a second chance. Not to mention her relationship with one of her business partners.”

  Her face softened as she smiled at him, the connection between them palpable. After a second, she turned back to Zeke, her eyes shining. “Everyone deserves her shot, I suppose.”

  Zeke nodded. “That’s all we’d ask.”

  A few minutes later, he was halfway down the beach on his way to his next stop before he realized he’d said “we.”

  Chapter Five

  Amanda had a good shower cry. Ugly, hard, and stinging, even though she didn’t get soap in her eyes.

  When the water heater gave out, she finally dried off, slipped on a tank top and sleep pants and poured a glass—okay, a vat—of wine before heading into her room. Her old room, not the master she’d slept in for her year of free rent in exchange for house-sitting. Mom had long ago turned Amanda’s teenage-girl room into a den/guest/catch-all combo, which had turned dusty and musty from lack of use. In every corner, the fading light left shadows...and memories.

  This room might look different than it had when it was a teenager’s sanctuary, but Amanda had left plenty of herself in here. Sleepovers, studying, and hours of...admiration. The closet doors were sliding full-length mirrors, trimmed in brass.

  How many hours had Mandy Mitchell spent in front of her own reflection? God, she’d been self-absorbed. No wonder Tori hated her. Along with everyone else she’d probably treated like second-class citizens.

  Except Ezekiel Nicholas. Had she really thrown that “class” comment at a bully? She didn’t remember having a caring bone in her body back then. But that’s not how he saw her. And she didn’t even remember the book-bag and bully incident.

  Without taking even a glance at her reflection in the mirrored door, Amanda rolled it, searching the floor for the plastic container Mom had used to store what had been on the bookshelves.

  Spotting the box, Amanda slid to the floor, taking a deep drink of wine before setting the glass on the nightstand. She had to find that yearbook.

  As she dug through pieces of her life packed into a bin, she refused to let the nostalgia get to her. They were things from her bookshelves, that’s all. Not her. A tiara from homecoming, a framed picture of her in her cheerleading uniform, a dried corsage from prom, the program from the Miss Teen Florida pageant—they were distant, ancient memories of a girl who no longer existed.

  She should probably thank Doug for humbling her in their marriage, for years of put-downs and insults and reminders that he had the power and she was nothing but a wife. It hadn’t taken long for Amanda’s confidence to crumble. Now she was building it back up, but this time, she would leave the arrogance behind.

  When she lifted the graduation cap, her fingers hit the hard edge of a book cover.

  Mimosa High Yearbook 2002...A New Day Has Come

  The edition was more serious than most years, less emphasis on partying at the beach and more emphasis on making a difference in the world. Of course, the first month of their senior year had been September of 2001, a time in history marred by events that had changed every heart in the world.

  Amanda leaned back against the bed, reaching for another sip of wine before opening the book. Then she flipped to the seniors, and the pages automatically opened to the middle of the alphabet, with her picture on the left-hand side.

  She ignored it and skimmed straight to the N’s, stunned to see Ezekiel Nicholas directly underneath her.

  “Holy crap,” she whispered to herself. She didn’t know what was more amazing—the fact that he’d gone from zero to a dime since they’d graduated or that she had never even noticed his picture under hers.

  He was right under her on the same page, and she’d never even known he existed beyond a cutting nickname.

  I thought you were an angel.

  His confession still rang in her ears. After one of the most difficult, harrowing days of her life, when she’d actuall
y been told: “I’m sorry, Amanda, but we have to let you go”—yet the only words that she wanted to think about from today were...I thought you were an angel.

  She stared at his picture, able to see the early lines of what would become a handsome male jaw and those piercing blue eyes hidden by thick glasses. He wasn’t smiling. Had anyone even talked to him? Had she ever again been nice to him?

  The doorbell made her jump, pulling her from her reverie. That was Jocelyn Palmer, of course. Her neighbor who ran the Casa Blanca Spa hadn’t been at the resort today when Amanda got fired, but no doubt she knew about everything, since she was very close friends with Lacey Walker.

  She waited a minute, staring at Ezekiel the Geekiel a minute longer. She didn’t really want to face her neighbor right now. She didn’t want to admit she’d gotten herself in such a sticky situation with a resort guest that it had cost the job Jocelyn had helped her get.

  The bell rang a second time, followed by a loud knock. On a sigh, Amanda pushed herself up, still holding the yearbook. She snagged the wine glass, as though that would prove just how bad she felt about losing her job.

  At the end of the hall, she turned toward the living room, glancing out through the white sheers just as a figure walked away from the door.

  A male figure. Frozen, Amanda stared at Zeke Nicholas. What was—

  He turned at that instant and caught her looking before she could duck out of the way.

  For a second, time froze as they stared at each other, then a slow, easy smile broke over his face that was as real and warm as the setting sun behind him. He pointed to the front door, and she let out the breath she’d been holding.

  Oh, God. There was no reasonable way out of this, she supposed. She tucked the yearbook under her arm and opened the front door. He stayed on the walk, down two steps, so they were at eye level, but he was no less gorgeous and intimidating than when he had her by a good five or six inches.

  For a moment, they stared at each other, and all she could think of was how much he’d changed since...

  His eyes dropped, and she realized her tank top was just this side of see-through. She angled the yearbook over her chest. “I looked you up,” she said, hoping that explained why she suddenly felt the need to shield herself with it.

  “And I see I’ve driven you to drink.”

  She raised the glass. “Clearly, I’m having my own little pity party.”

  “No one should do that alone.”

  No one...should look that damn good after being positively invisible in high school. How had he done that?

  She could practically feel his desire to move forward, like a horse held at the starting gate. “Can I come in?”

  No. She could hear the word in her head, imagine how easy it would be to say, and how effective and right and smart and safe it would sound. Just...no. Simple. Two letters. One syllable.

  “Of course you can.” Or that.

  He strode forward and up the steps, making her clutch the yearbook, determined to hold her ground and not back up. Except, now he was too close and too tall and too...much.

  “You’re under me,” she said softly.

  His eyes glinted with surprise. “Not at the moment.”

  “Right under me on the senior picture page. The L’s, M’s, and N’s are on the same page and we...lined up.”

  “Really? I’ve never seen that yearbook.” He reached for it. “May I?”

  Well, he had seen her boobs for a flash already today. She relinquished the book and tried not to feel self-conscious about the thin material covering her. “You’ve never looked at our yearbook?”

  “I didn’t have great memories of high school.”

  She gestured toward the sofa. “Well, have yourself a stroll down memory lane then. Would you like a glass of wine?”

  She watched him walk past her to sit down, placing the book on the table without opening it. “I’m all right, thanks.”

  That was an understatement. He still wore the same crisp khakis and five-hundred-dollar shirt he’d had on today, and he still looked perfect. He still smelled like summer in the woods. He still oozed power and control and testosterone, all those things she was determined to avoid.

  She folded into a chair across the coffee table, crossing her arms and curling her legs under her, not asking the obvious question of why he was here but wanting to see how he’d open this conversation.

  Sitting down, he leaned his elbows on his knees, steepling his long fingers right under his chin. “I understand you lost your job.”

  “Good news travels fast on Mimosa Key, as always.”

  He didn’t say anything, looking directly at her. But why was he here? To apologize? To finish what he’d started? A slow heat traveled up her body. She damn well better get acquainted with the word “no” or she could qualify as the world’s stupidest woman.

  “You and I both know that’s not good news. I feel really bad about what happened.”

  Yes, he was there to apologize. She could let her poor hormones rest now. “Thanks, but, honestly, it was inevitable. You—that, um, situation—forced me to move faster to find another job.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I heard the Toasted Pelican is hiring waitresses. All the peanuts you can eat and rotgut you can drink.”

  He didn’t smile at the local humor. “You need to start your own business.”

  She let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. That’d be nice.” So would robbing a bank.

  “I mean it.”

  “I know it,” she replied, unnerved by more than his intense gaze. She couldn’t breathe. How did he know this, anyway?

  “I have a check for five thousand dollars in my pocket.”

  She stared at him, the words nearly doubling her over with their impact. “What?”

  “I have a check for—”

  “I heard you.” She shot to her feet, indignation and fury and shock rocking through her body. “How? Why? What...why?”

  He stood, too, instantly gaining the advantage of height. “Because you need it to start your business, and I’m the reason you don’t have a job.”

  Her jaw hung open as she tried to piece together the puzzle and came up with...nothing that looked like a picture.

  “I spoke to Lacey Walker,” he said, obviously reading her confusion.

  “What?”

  “I spoke to—”

  She swiped her hand through the air to silence him. “I heard you,” she repeated through gritted teeth. “I don’t believe what I heard, but...why would you do that?”

  “You left your employee badge and master key in my bathroom.”

  The sting of embarrassment mixed with fury, tingling her skin and sparking her nerves. “So you took it to the owner of the resort?”

  He nodded, crossing his arms. “At her house. I met her husband, too, and their baby.”

  He’d gone to Lacey’s house? “I’m dreaming, right?” She choked the words. “Tell me this is a nightmare. Any minute I’m going to wake up and realize this isn’t happening, that I had a horrible day that has spilled into a really...bad...”

  Her words faded as he reached out and brushed his knuckles along her jaw, sending a thousand goose bumps to join the chills of fury she already had. “Not a dream. I know what you want, and I have a check in my—”

  “I don’t want your damn money!” Jerking back from his touch, she practically spit the words at him.

  “Mandy, I want to help you.”

  “In exchange for what?” She slammed her hands on her hips. “You want to buy sex? I’m sure there’s plenty of places you can do that on the Internet or over on the mainland.”

  “Sex?” She had to give him credit, he looked pretty horrified. “I’m not here to buy sex.”

  “I admit,” she said, anger still rolling through her veins like lightning. “You don’t look like you need to do that, but, whoa, buddy. I know...people...guys...men like you have—”

  “You
don’t know men like me.” Now he sounded mad. Oh, that was rich.

  “I do—”

  “You think you know men like me. But I guarantee you, Mandy, you have never met anyone like me.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it, only because of the raw sincerity in his voice and eyes. Maybe she didn’t know a guy like him.

  “I am not here to buy anything.” He tunneled his fingers into his hair and slowly swiped it back, leaving it a little tussled and messy. And sexy as hell.

  She closed her eyes, trying to look disgusted but really forcing her brain to cooperate and stop thinking of him that way. She couldn’t.

  “I feel incredibly responsible for your losing your job and...I told you this afternoon, you did me a favor a long time ago and I never forgot it. I know you need this money to get started and, hell, Mandy, I’ll never miss it.”

  Lucky bastard. With a little grunt, she turned and headed into the kitchen to get away from the overwhelming sight of him. But of course he followed her. She stood at the sink, her fingers splayed on the porcelain, staring out at her mother’s tiny backyard.

  “I don’t mean to sound so cavalier about money.”

  Judging from his voice he was about a foot behind her. Maybe two. Too close. She gripped the sink until her arms shook.

  “But I give to charity and—”

  She turned slowly, a rueful smile on her lips. “Charity? I guess that’s not quite as bad as what I thought.”

  “Mandy.” His eyes softened, and he lifted his hands in supplication. “I’m trying to help you.”

  And just like that, she felt everything melting. Her heart. Her fury. Her complete inability to trust anything with a Y chromosome. “I know,” she whispered, hating that her voice cracked and her eyes stung. “I have...issues.”

  He managed a smile. “I noticed.”

  “I had a bad...marriage.”

  “I figured.”

  “He hurt me.”

  His eyes flashed. “I’m sorry.”

  “I kind of hate men.”

  He fought a smile. “I’m getting that.”