by Drea Stein
“So, I had drinks with Chase last night,” Phoebe said, trying to keep her voice casual.
Lynn looked up, her eyes narrowing. “Just drinks?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
Lynn shrugged. “I don’t know. When I last saw the two of you, I found it hard to believe that you could sit down and have anything as civilized as a drink with him. Though there’s not many around here who wouldn’t have a drink with him. He’s kind of a local celebrity.”
“Celebrity?” Phoebe asked.
“Yeah, I mean for Queensbay. He’s some sort of champion sailor in Europe. Grew up here, sailing with Noah Randall.”
“Noah Randall, the tech entrepreneur?” Phoebe swallowed. Noah had made a boatload of money selling his company and had showed up on the Hollywood scene for a while. Phoebe figured everyone was trying to get him to invest in movies, but apparently, he’d had the good sense not to.
“Yeah. Noah’s from Queensbay too. He lives here with his wife, Caitlyn. Noah and Chase go way back. Anyway, Chase sailed for a while, and then he came back to help his dad run the family business. Basically, it was ship’s chandlery down by the marina. Anyway, Chase jazzed it up and before you knew it, they were sending out catalogs and had a website. You know, North Coast Outfitters. They sell fancy boat stuff to rich people.”
“I see,” Phoebe said, though she had figured most of that out last night.
“Yeah, he’s super-yummy. Oh, and supposedly, he loaned Noah the money to start his company.”
“What?” Phoebe said.
“Oh, yeah.” Lynn nodded.
That explained a few more things. Probably owns the restaurant too, now that Phoebe thought about the way the bartender had called him boss.
“Do you know what else he is?” Phoebe asked.
“Batman?” Lynn joked. “Or Bruce Wayne?”
Phoebe laughed. “No, a total horndog. He tried to come on to me.”
Lynn’s mouth dropped open. “Shut the front door. No way.”
“Way.” Phoebe flopped down on one of the folding chairs. She really needed to get some furniture in here. There were a few things in storage in California that she had managed to salvage from the estate, but perhaps an actual shopping trip was in order.
“Whoa. So you’re crushing on Leland Harper’s grandson. It’s like the romance of the century all over again.” Lynn’s eyes were alight and her hands were clutched to her chest.
“Don’t go all romantic. I am not crushing on him. It was just a drink. One,” Phoebe said, though she recalled it had been two. And they had spent most of the time head to head, baring their souls. Or, rather, she had provided him with a great deal of information.
“So a drink with Queensbay’s resident hottie. I am sooo jealous. I mean, not really, since he’s kind of a player.”
“A player?” Phoebe asked.
“Oh, yeah. He’s a really generous guy, shows up at all the benefits around town, which my dad goes to since he’s chief at the hospital and my mom makes me go to since she figures I’ll meet an eligible guy there, but he always, and I mean always, has a different girl on his arm. And they are all lookers. I think he actually brings the models from his catalog.”
“The foul-weather gear ones?” Phoebe asked, hopefully.
“Nope, definitely the swimsuit ones.”
“Oh. Well, anyway, it wasn’t a date. It was...” She paused. What had it been? A date? A question about business? A “Hey, how about we get to know each other since our grandparents shagged each other” meeting?
“It is so totally romance of the century, part two.”
Phoebe shook her head. “Please, I think it was more like the scandal of the century, and I’m not quite sure it’s something that should be repeated.”
“But all that passion. I mean Chase is so hot, way hotter than Leland. I mean Leland was kind of an old fogey when he and Savannah hooked up. Never quite sure what she saw in him.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “It was probably the money. Savannah was excellent at self-preservation. Remember, she had a young child to support.” Phoebe couldn’t remember her dad talking much about his childhood, at least not anything serious. Fun, light stories about living with a movie-star mom, but he’d never known who his real father was and barely remembered Leland, his “stepfather.”
“Well, Chase has got it all: looks and money. So are you going to sleep with him?” Lynn pulled up another chair, the metal feet scraping across the word floor. Phoebe winced, but realized it didn’t matter. The floors needed to be redone.
“Sleep with him? Why would I want to sleep with him? He, along with the rest of the village, was trying to buy my house because they think I am some sort of West Coast harpy who wants to tear this place down and build some sort of modernist white box.”
Lynn waved her hand. “Don’t worry, I put my mom on it. She’ll let everyone know that you’re planning to restore the house to its former glory. Watch out: the ladies from the Historical Commission will be over here with old pictures and banana bread in about two days.”
“Thanks, I think.” Phoebe didn’t really care for banana bread.
“So you don’t want to sleep with him?” Lynn’s voice was coy.
Phoebe sighed. “What I am saying is that he clearly wants something from me. I don’t think it would be a good thing if I got involved, again, with someone who doesn’t want me—only something from me. Besides, I barely know him. I’m not actually a ‘buy me a drink and I’ll go to bed with you’ kind of girl.”
“You know, there’s no harm in trying it out. And just think of what the papers would say.” Lynn’s eyes went dreamy. “The fans would love it. It might be good for your business, you know.”
Phoebe reached out and grabbed Lynn’s hand. “No way. Don’t even go there. If a reporter ever found out that Chase and I had even talked. Ugh. It may seem cool to be in the paper, but really, it’s not. I left Los Angeles to get away from all that.”
“OK,” Lynn said, and Phoebe saw that her friend’s eyes mirrored her own seriousness. “Mum’s the word. But if you do sleep with him, I need all of the details, please.”
“Lynn!”
“What,” Lynn said laughing, “I’m a sleep-deprived resident who works at a children’s clinic. All I see are moms and married dads. I need some vicarious thrills. Please.”
Phoebe just laughed.
Chapter 17
“And just what do you think you’re doing?”
Phoebe almost lost her balance, waved her arms, and then finally managed to hop off the rusty folding chair and land with a thump on the floorboards. They gave a little beneath her weight, and she swore as she felt the whole house shake.
Chase Sanders darkened the doorway, hands on his hips, filling the space, such that he was a silhouette against the light blue of the sky.
Phoebe stood, her balance regained and looked at him. It was hard to make out his features, but she was sure that there was the unmistakable curl of lips. Laughing. Chase Sanders was trying not to laugh at her again.
She kept looking at him and he lost the battle, erupting into a full-bellied laugh that Phoebe might have been tempted to join in with if she hadn’t been the object of it.
“I was changing a light bulb.” She tried to keep the prim tone out of her voice, but knew she hadn’t quite succeeded.
“The light’s out? Are you sure you shouldn’t have had the electricity turned on first?” He took a step in and Phoebe could see that he had dispensed with the business attire and just wore jeans and a dark gray v-neck sweater that fitted him tightly, allowing a display of his chest. Definitely impressive, Phoebe thought.
“I did.” And Phoebe had. She didn’t mention that she had cable and internet. Really, it was none of his business.
Chase flipped a switch by the door, and behind him, the light on the porch went on and off.
“See. It works. But this,” she pointed to the chandelier above her head, “doesn’t. There
were some light bulbs in the kitchen.”
He moved in closer and she could finally see him now that he wasn’t framed in the glare from outside. Chase pushed his sunglasses back on top of his head and reached out.
Phoebe reared back, but his hand gently touched her hair, pulled back in a ponytail.
“Cobweb,” he said, and she could feel the warmth of his fingers brush along her scalp, sending a tingle down the back of her neck.
There was an easy smile as he cleared the cobweb away and shook his hand to rid himself of it.
“Thanks,” Phoebe managed to mumble, not sure why him being here should suddenly make her feel like a kid on the first day of school; an odd mixture of fear, anticipation, and heightened senses.
“Let me.” He held his hand out again and Phoebe followed his gaze to the light bulb she held in her hand. Wordlessly, she gave it to him, and he walked over to the fixture, reached up, and, barely standing on his toes, screwed it in.
“Old houses,” he said. “Ceilings are never that high.”
“It makes it cozy,” Phoebe said automatically, feeling the need to defend her cottage.
“Or claustrophobic.” He smiled at her. “Give it a try now.”
It took her a moment to understand what he said, lost as she was in the deep, gravelly sound of his voice. Little kid, indeed. She was more like a teenager on her first date. Or like the wallflower who gets asked to the dance by the star football player.
Phoebe shook her head as she reached for a light switch on the wall. The wallflower and the football star were the stuff of movies—Carrie, for one—and she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about men. She was supposed to be thinking about her new life.
The light blinked on and the hallway was flooded with light.
“A little too bright, but you can always switch it out with a lower-watt bulb when you’re ready,” Chase said, picking up the rusted chair and folding it. It squeaked, but collapsed under his capable hands.
“Where does this go?”
“Back in the kitchen, I suppose.” Phoebe waved in that direction. She had no intention of keeping the chair, but right now, there weren’t too many seating options available.
Chase walked down the hallway and Phoebe followed. He smelled like soap and fresh air, a hint of cologne, but nothing overpowering.
“So, what are you here for?” Phoebe didn’t feel like waiting any longer, and truth was, she’d be happy to get rid of Chase sooner rather than later.
“I think you misunderstood me last night,” he said, his dark blue eyes dancing as he looked down at her. She was wearing sneakers, and again she was aware of the height disadvantage that they put her at.
“Oh, I don’t think so. I thought your meaning was quite clear.”
He laughed. “I don’t know, what’s that they say… Sometimes, a sheet is just a sheet.”
“Somehow, I doubt that where you’re concerned,” she shot back, thinking about what Lynn had told her. Phoebe had no need to get involved with players. She had learned that lesson already.
“Well, perhaps we can address that question later?” He let that hang there and, to her surprise, Phoebe felt herself considering it, thinking about just what it might be like to find out just what kind of sheets Chase Sanders had on that boat of his. She felt warmer all over, warmer than the day warranted.
“Sit, please. I want to talk to you.” Chase’s eyes were serious now, his mood changing suddenly.
“I’m quite capable of listening while standing up.” Phoebe refused to be lured in by Chase’s physical presence. Though the chair and the table were small, tiny compared to him, he still managed to look at ease, totally, utterly at ease.
“Fine. Doesn’t matter to me. I just thought you might be interested in a business proposition.”
Phoebe felt her body tense.
“What kind of proposition?”
“Not sheets exactly,” he said, shooting her another smile. “But you had me interested enough to go and do a little research. I really liked your pillows, and my mom loved them. And so did half the staff at the store. And Joan Altieri told me the ladies of Queensbay are going crazy over the rest of your stock. I thought when you said you were a designer, you meant you went shopping with your friends and told them what to buy.”
Phoebe reared up a bit. She had built Ivy Lane up slowly over the years, spending every spare minute on it. It was not some hobby.
“Just because I’m small doesn’t mean I’m not serious.”
Chase held up a quieting hand. “Everyone starts somewhere. Believe me, North Coast Outfitters was one crappy little shop in Queensbay when I took it over. I know you’re small, but that doesn’t mean you’re not talented. Do you want to keep giving away your talent to talentless celebrities of the month, or do you want to share it with the world, on your own terms?”
Phoebe shot him a look. “How dare you come here and try and tell me my business. First my house and now my work?”
“That’s not what I meant. I have a real deal for you, if you’ll just calm down and let me talk.”
Phoebe took a deep breath. Some of her friends in Los Angeles, Dean included, had been dismissive of her efforts, saying they were a distraction. What he had meant is that they were a distraction from what he thought was her real job working with his clients. She had a feeling he hadn’t been happy about the success she had started to enjoy on her own. Now, part of coming here was proving to him that Ivy Lane was more than just a distraction.
“Fine. Talk.” She held out her hand, in what she hoped was an accommodating gesture towards him.
“Well, I really liked the designs. At least on the site. Don’t tell me you’re sewing the pillows yourself, are you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, of course not. I create the design, get the fabric made and then I have a small workshop that sews the pillows for me. Then, they go to a warehouse, which handles all the shipping for me. I have a part-time assistant, a college student, who oversees it all for me.”
“Smart. Leaves you plenty of time to create. And I guess market.”
Phoebe shrugged. She hadn’t done much in the way of marketing her designs. She’d had some luck there since she’d given some of her pillows as a housewarming present to a friend. The pillows then caught the eye of an interior designer, and soon, Phoebe’s pillows had started to pop up all over Los Angeles. But she knew she needed to do more. Going to shops like the Garden Cottage was a first step, but she would need hundreds more like it, across the country, if she wanted to make this a real business. Or one big customer with lots of shops, she thought, beginning to get an idea of where Chase was going.
“It’s great stuff, but I was wondering… The website barely has your name on it. Why aren’t you playing up the Hollywood angle?” There was real curiosity in his voice.
Phoebe looked down to the floor. “I wanted it to be successful on its own, not because I have a famous name.”
Chase nodded. “OK, I get it. But you shouldn’t hold yourself back like that.”
“It’s not up for discussion,” Phoebe said sharply, drawing in a deep breath. Business deal or not, Chase could walk right out of here if he thought she was going to buckle on this.
“OK, so noted.” He smiled to show that he wasn’t put off by her tone. “Here’s the deal.”
Phoebe crossed her arms, interested in spite of her personal misgivings towards Chase. She had managed to do a little research on Chase Sanders. North Coast Outfitters was the real thing, a multimillion-dollar business with high-end customers, expanding every day. Getting North Coast Outfitters behind her would help her launch her fledging business much faster than she could ever do on her own.
“What kind of deal?”
“Well, I thought perhaps you could do some new designs, pillows, a little California cool, a little old-Hollywood-glamour type of thing, and we market them to our customer base. You make the design, do the samples and I’ll take it from there. We’ll offer them a
s a limited-edition set, promote the hell out of them and then see what happens. If my customers like the pillows, then we can try other things.”
He was excited, she could tell, as the ideas were flowing out of him. She knew that his attention wasn’t on her exactly, but it was still exhilarating to be swept up in his enthusiasm. For a moment, she could see it all mapped out—a limited-edition set of work for North Coast Outfitters, make her name known, then get herself into the pages of magazines. Her business would grow from there, and a Phoebe Ryan design would mean something simple, elegant, yet fun. Good taste for the next generation. Pillows, tablecloths, plates…and, yes, someday, even sheets.
“What’s in it for you?” she asked, returning to reality. Nobody did anyone a favor like this without expecting some return. “You can’t bribe me. I’m not selling the house, you know,” Phoebe said, her defenses rising.
Chase smiled at her and took a step closer. “I know. You made your position very clear. Ivy House isn’t for sale. I respect that. Especially since you’re not planning on tearing it down. At least that’s the word on the street.” He gave her a small knowing smile, as if they shared a secret.
“But you know, I was able to take a marine hardware store in a sleepy little town in Connecticut and turn it into a successful online business.”
Phoebe swallowed, suddenly lost again in Chase’s sapphire-colored eyes, centered on the intent look on his face. Gone was the exuberance and in its place was a look of focus, of concentration. Phoebe remembered briefly that here was a man who had sailed through the edge of a hurricane to win a race. She supposed he wasn’t a man to give in lightly or to second-guess himself.
“It’s because I have a talent for knowing what people want and like. Me, I couldn’t sew a pillow or come up with a design for one if you had a gun to my head. But I can spot when someone else has created something that people want. If you sign a deal with North Coast Outfitters, I will handle all those pesky details that you artistic types hate. You won’t have to deal with suppliers or vendors or whether your name gets in the paper or if the shipment from the factory is late. I take care of all of that for you, so you can do what you do best.”
