Private Affairs

by Tori Carrington

  He shrugged. “I was instructed to use this guy in particular, boss.”

  He didn’t need to ask by whom.

  “Fine. Get on it and get back to me with the timeline.” He stalked back to the trailer and slammed the door, locking it behind him for good measure.

  Was it really so short a time ago that he’d been on top of the world? That he’d enjoyed a measure of success that few men achieved in their lifetimes, much less before the age of thirty-five? That he’d taken on this venture to give back to a town he’d abandoned, to leave a legacy that hadn’t been important to him until now? That he’d expected complete success?

  Now, he felt as if his feet were mired in mud to the ankles, making each step not just a labor, but sometimes a physical impossibility. Roadblocks and dead ends faced him wherever he looked. And that old sensation of suffocation was beginning to creep into his dreams and haunt him throughout his waking hours.

  He blinked, movement catching his eyes. He watched through the windows as the men he’d been “assigned” by Philippidis left one by one in their trucks and cars, abandoning a site that was only a job to them. And one they apparently didn’t relish performing.

  For Palmer, it was a chance to prove himself on a level that his outside successes had never risen to.

  He scanned the drafting table and the design plans there. The hard hat and tool belt. The filing cabinets filled with paperwork and contracts that had either been voided or soon would be.

  And there didn’t appear to be a damn thing he could do about it.

  Or was there?

  Ordering his feet into action, he grabbed his car keys from the hook near the door and walked back outside.

  It was time to straighten this mess out once and for all…

  PENELOPE, ON THE OTHER HAND, was having a very busy day when all she wanted was quiet to think about what she had to do.

  But it seemed everybody and their sister had heard about what had happened at Makeout Cove and wanted to ferret out the details firsthand.

  Details Penelope wasn’t about to share. Worse, every time someone brought it up, she cringed all over again at the abuse Barnaby must be suffering.

  How had something private gone so very public?

  She served coffee for the umpteenth time, a smile carefully affixed to her face.

  “Is it true what they say, Penelope?” Jenny Hansen asked as she lingered at the counter, slowly adding sugar to her small coffee. “Did Barnaby really catch you and Palmer DeVoe going at it at Makeout Cove?”

  Penelope offered up a smile she’d spent the past two hours practicing. “Oh, Jen, you know better than to ask such a question. Considering the hours you and Johnny spent up there…well, what happens at Makeout Cove stays at Makeout Cove.”

  Her old classmate laughed, but didn’t seem to appreciate the mention of her onetime high school sweetheart, now ex-husband. She dug in her heels, as if she didn’t intend to cede the point, when a white-haired man in a neatly ironed lime-green shirt and brown pants elbowed his way in front of the counter…and forced Jenny to move out.

  Penelope gave him a brief smile of thanks, then hoped that he didn’t plan to pursue the same line of questioning. She was an inch away from chasing everyone out and turning around the Closed sign.

  “Do you have anything that won’t disagree too terribly with an old man’s constitution?” he asked.

  Then she realized who he was. Mr. Turner, her old high school English teacher who had been ancient back then. Now, he looked barely able to hold himself up, but did so with the help of two canes. It had been a while since she’d seen him. But he was a very welcome sight indeed.

  “Good morning, Mr. Turner. I think I can find something,” she said, helping him toward a chair in the corner. “Cranberry juice okay?”

  “Actually, I’ve already had my daily cranberry. What else you got?”

  She ran through a list of juices and sodas she had on hand.

  “Actually, the coffee smells awfully good. Do you have any decaf?”

  “I sure do.”

  She went back behind the counter, wishing the busyness of the day were due to the town being back on track instead of people wanting to gossip. At least she expected to have a good day receipt-wise as several people currently milled around, appearing satisfied to talk amongst themselves, likely sharing whatever little tidbits they’d gotten individually in order to weave their own tapestry of what had happened last night. She told herself that at least they appeared to be enjoying their coffees as they considered her own, real tapestries for sale on her walls. Still, she knew that tomorrow morning she’d go back to her normal quiet days filling internet orders.

  Which might be both a blessing and a curse.

  She served Mr. Turner his coffee and waited as he took a sip.

  “Mmm. I haven’t had a coffee that good in years. Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  Another couple of women came into the shop and she excused herself to go wait on them.

  “Shame about what’s happening to that DeVoe boy, don’t you think?” Mr. Turner said.

  Penelope’s footsteps slowed. “Pardon me?”

  For a moment, she experienced a shock of fear that Barnaby had done something, taken out a bit of revenge. But she quickly discounted that. Barnaby would never abuse the power of his position that way. It just wasn’t in him.

  “The business. He sent everybody home today.”

  She asked the newest visitors to have a look around, she’d be with them in a minute.

  She squinted at Mr. Turner. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  She knew that Palmer had been stressed over the progress—or lack thereof—on the building site. But he’d given her very few details. And considering the weight of her own secret, she hadn’t asked.

  “That Greek guy…his partner,” Mr. Turner said. “He keeps cutting him off at the knees.”

  Penelope didn’t know any of this. And felt badly that she didn’t. Then again, she’d never much indulged in gossip. Not when she’d been the target of so much of it while growing up. First with her unconventional family—her grandmother and aunt were legends in their own time—then with the questions that had surrounded Palmer’s leaving and her own brief disappearance fifteen years ago.

  Mr. Turner said, “Everything he does, the Greek undermines.”

  “How do you know this?” Penelope asked.

  “My grand-nephew was on the first crew DeVoe hired…and then let go. He and the others have their ears to the ground, hoping things will change.” He shook his head. “But it doesn’t look like they’re going to any time soon. Word has it even DeVoe himself left today.”

  Penelope’s stomach dropped to somewhere down around her feet.

  “Left?”

  “Yes. The site is abandoned.”

  She drew in a deep breath. That didn’t mean he’d left town. Did it?

  “Are you okay?” Mr. Turner asked, looking as if he was going to struggle to his feet to assist her.

  She laid her hand on his shoulder to still him. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She tried for a smile but failed miserably. “Why should hearing about Palmer DeVoe’s work woes upset me?”

  Mr. Turner’s eyes were a little too intense. “Because he’s left you before, hasn’t he?”

  “Excuse me, Penelope? We’d like to place our orders now, please?”

  She turned to find her latest visitors standing back in front of the service counter.

  “If you’ll excuse me…” she said to Mr. Turner.

  “By all means.” He held up his cup. “This really is great coffee.”

  “Thank you.”

  17

  PALMER DIDN’T WASTE MUCH TIME. He drove straight to Seattle and headed for the high-rise building that housed Philippidis’s main headquarters. It was hard to believe it was only a few weeks ago that he’d come to the Pacific Northwe
st with high expectations and solid plans. Almost impossible to see at all through the debris of the present.

  He took the elevator to the top floor, where he was mildly surprised to see that Caleb’s old office still stood empty, and continued on to the suite at the end of the hall Philippidis called his Seattle home.

  “Mr. DeVoe,” his secretary said, immediately getting to her feet.

  Her desk stood impressively in the middle of the big open lobby, a few smaller offices off to his right holding her assistants, the ceiling-to-floor windows to his left perfectly framing the city’s skyline.

  He mumbled something he hoped resembled a hello and made for Philippidis’s double office doors behind her desk.

  “He’s not in,” she said, coming to stand before him to block his access.

  Palmer easily rounded her and opened the doors inward with such force they slammed against the inside walls.

  The office was empty.

  “I just told you that he wasn’t in.”

  He stared at her. “But he is in town.”

  “Yes. Shall I call him—”

  “No. But if you’re really interested in helping, you can tell me where he is.”

  She appeared to ponder the request, but he fully expected her to protect her longtime boss at all costs.

  Instead, she surprised him by saying, “He’s having a late lunch at Reynaldo’s.”

  PALMER WAS FACED WITH A DECISION: Either go to the restaurant and confront Manolis Philippidis in public, possibly ending in a showdown, or wait for him at his office, where the secretary insisted he was due to return afterward.

  He’d done so much waiting lately, he decided on the former.

  “Sir, do you have a reservation?” a stuffy concierge asked him when he entered the posh hotel eatery.

  “No,” he admitted. “But I am expected.”

  He scanned the room and spotted the wealthy Greek in a far corner booth.

  “There’s my party now.”

  “Sir, I’ll take you—”

  But Palmer was already on his way.

  He advanced on the table, Philippidis’s gregarious laughter assaulting his ears as he neared. He was dining with a woman, but Palmer paid her little mind. Just another in a long line the Greek was using to ease the pain of his fiancée’s betrayal, more than likely.

  “Manolis,” he said, stopping in front of the table. “We need to speak. Now.”

  The man at the table blinked at him, apparently so engrossed in his conversation with his date that it took him a minute to register Palmer and his words. Of course, the fact that the last person he probably expected to see there demanding a word was Palmer. He was supposed to be an hour away dealing with the piles of shit Manolis kept throwing his way.

  “Palmer!” While the Greek’s mouth smiled and his welcome was loud, his eyes made it obvious that he did not appreciate his appearance or his interruption. “Sit, sit,” he said.

  He motioned to a waiter and a chair was produced for Palmer to sit on. He considered rejecting it. Then decided otherwise when he realized every eye on the place was on them. No matter how much he’d love to ream Philippidis for what he’d done, he wanted answers first. And he wasn’t going to get them if he launched right into his criticisms.

  The Greek leaned forward, folding his hands on top of the table, giving Palmer his full attention. “Tell me, what is so important that it couldn’t wait until we were back at the office?”

  “Do I really have to outline the problem?” Palmer asked, attempting to gain control over his racing pulse.

  Philippidis looked at his date and then back again. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to, because I don’t have a clue why you’re so upset.”

  A waiter appeared to take his order. Palmer moved to wave him away, but was stopped by the sound of a woman’s voice.

  “Please, bring Mr. DeVoe the special,” she instructed the waiter. “He looks like he could use a good meal.”

  Palmer looked at her for the first time, realizing with a start that he knew her.

  It was Caleb’s mother, Phoebe.

  “Hello, Palmer,” she said with a warm smile.

  Christ. What in the hell was she doing with Philippidis? Laughing with the son of a bitch in a private booth in the back of an exclusive restaurant?

  Then it dawned on him. Manolis Philippidis must be the man responsible for Phoebe Payne’s frequent visits to Seattle recently.

  Considering Caleb’s own issues with the wealthy businessman, Palmer suspected his friend was going to be none too happy about the personal association.

  “Phoebe,” Manolis said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. The intimate gesture made Palmer’s stomach lurch. “Could you please see if the rest facilities are as tasteful as the remainder of the restaurant and come back to tell me? Mr. DeVoe and I should have concluded our business by then.”

  Phoebe looked doubtful.

  Palmer nodded.

  “Very well then.” She kissed Manolis on the cheek and then rose from the table. Conditioned from long years of tradition, Palmer stood as well, trading cheek kisses with her. She hesitated, holding his gaze, as if asking him not to report what he’d seen to her son.

  Palmer raised a brow, not about to keep such an important secret.

  Finally, she moved out of view and he retook his seat, facing the man directly responsible for almost every sleepless moment he’d had over the past few weeks.

  Palmer noticed that all pretense had left the Greek’s face now that his date was no longer there to witness the exchange.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  “Funny, that was going to be my question to you,” Palmer said. “But you know what? I no longer need to ask it. Because I’m done. This. You. Me. This sham of a business deal. Over.”

  “I advise you to read the fine print in our contract, Mr. DeVoe.”

  “With all due respect, I’d advise you to go to hell, Mr. Philippidis.”

  The waiter arrived with his food. He indicated that Manolis should have it and left the restaurant.

  TWO DAYS LATER, Penelope sat on the back steps staring at the back yard as she absently aimed a hose at the wilting garden. Nearly three weeks without rain. It was virtually unheard of in Washington State. She unwittingly hit Thor with the spray and he barked and then ran around it to the other side, his aversion to water forgotten in the heat.

  She hadn’t heard from Palmer. Not that she expected to. Curiosity had gotten the better of her yesterday and she’d stopped by the bed-and-breakfast and asked to leave a message. Debra Foss, the owner, had informed her that he’d checked out two days earlier.

  He’d left without saying anything.

  She pushed her damp hair back from her face with her free hand. At least he’d given her the simple courtesy of saying goodbye fifteen years ago. She’d known exactly down to the minute when he would be leaving town in his old Dodge. And had known for nearly six months prior to his departure. Three months before she’d discovered she was pregnant with their child.

  A hot tear trickled down her cheek and she slowly wiped it away. She didn’t know why she should feel so raw now. She’d lived with the painful memories for so long, they were second nature to her.

  Perhaps it was his leaving again that had reopened the wound. Compelled her to revisit emotions she had long tucked under her pillow and never looked at again. Lord knew she’d revisited so many of the other memories. Temptation…passion…love.

  She swallowed hard. Yes, she realized, she loved him. Had never stopped loving him. He’d been her first…well, everything. And at the time she’d expected he’d be her last. She’d just had no idea it would be this way.

  To fall in love with him and lose him all over again was the cruelest of fates. And perhaps exactly what she deserved.

  Thor barked again and she heard the hinges on the screen door squeak as someone came outside. Her grandmother sat down next to her.

&nb
sp; “We should turn on the air inside, but somehow I just can’t bring myself to do it.” Penelope nodded.

  “If only more of life’s problems could be fixed by flipping a switch or turning a knob.”

  She released the lever and the water cut off. Thor gave a mighty shake and then trotted up to sit in front of her, panting.

  “I heard the news,” her grandmother said quietly.

  “Oh?” She decided to play dumb.

  “Irene and I stopped by Thomas DeVoe’s house today.”

  Penelope squinted at her. “What would you two want at Palmer’s father’s place?”

  Her grandmother smiled. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but single men our age are few and far between here in Earnest.” She shrugged her shoulders. “We decided to get a look at Thomas up close and personal. I mean, we’ve seen him at church every now and again, but not close up for years.”

  “And?”

  “And he told us his son left again.”

  At least Palmer had spoken to his father. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know. But we’re going to stick to my topic, not be diverted by yours. You’re not nearly as good at it as I am.”

  Penelope grimaced. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You would.”

  She took a deep breath, the scent of cold water on hot cement filling her senses. “Mom called earlier.”

  “I heard. You told her?”

  “Told her what?”

  “That Palmer left again.”

  “I never told her he was back.”

  “Of course not. Why do that? Then you’d have to admit you were seeing him.”

  “I wasn’t seeing him.”

  “No, you were just having monkey sex with him.”

  Penelope bit her tongue.

  “Anyway, your mother’s caught up in her own dilemma at the moment. Hell, what am I talking about? She’s always caught up in her own little dramas.” She smiled.

  “You know, Betty was never mother material.”

  Penelope slanted her a look. “Must run in the family.”

  Her grandmother winced and she immediately felt guilty.