She shook her head, brushing blond fly-aways from her eyes. Slipping the ponytail holder from her hair, she scooped it all back again and tied it tight. “No.”
“What did you do?” They must have had sex. Lots and lots of great sex. He couldn’t think about it without getting jealous, so he forced his mind to think of something else. Like listening to what she said.
“I ran fundraisers. For the Langdon Clinic. He specialized in Pediatric Oncology.”
“Kids with cancer. Ouch.”
She squinted and stared straight ahead. “He had a difficult career, I know. But we raised millions for cancer research. It brought on a lot of stress for him.”
“He chose his job,” Dax said, not liking the way she shrank back into the seat.
“Yes.” She studied her fingernails.
“Why did he pick it?”
“Money.” Celia cleared her throat. “Preston had this God Complex that my parents never did. A lot of surgeons do. I mean, they have to make life and death decisions every minute. Their skill can save someone, or if they make a mistake, they can kill. It’s a huge amount of pressure.”
“And you made it possible for him to be a superstar?”
She winced. “I suppose. I liked doing the fundraising. It made me feel like I was doing something worthwhile, too.”
Dax got a glimpse into her life, and it didn’t seem all that warm and cozy. He guessed she took the back seat, a lot, to Dr. Preston Langdon. Damn, even his name sounded arrogant.
“I’d say getting millions together is pretty substantial.”
“Yes.” She smiled, but it seemed sad.
“Did you want kids?”
Startled, she turned toward him. “I suppose. I mean, we talked about it but it was never the right time.” She hesitated. “I guess I’m glad of that, now. It would have been harder on any children we might have had, losing their father.”
“I’ve got no kids either, before you ask,” he said, giving her a wink. He pulled in front of the store front. “Damn, those windows look good.”
She laughed and got out of the jeep, pulling the two purple cans with her. He took the two of beige, and the pint of green for trimming. “I’m not going to miss that unicorn,” she said, setting one of the cans down so she could unlock the door. “The sooner it’s covered, the better.”
“You say that now,” he joked.
She flipped him a sassy look that dared him to argue the point. He had a crazy urge to kiss her. Just...kiss her.
He thought of his sister’s comment yesterday on the phone about needing a steady girl. When was the last time he’d even gone on a date?
He followed Celia inside the shop. Setting the cans of paint on the counter, he headed back out toward the door. “I’ve got to scoot. Should I expect you at the dive shop by six?”
“I’m not diving today,” Celia said.
“All right. Dinner then. You grab the Cuban sandwiches, and I’ll bring the beer. See you,” he said, not giving her a chance to argue or tell him no.
Her look of surprise was priceless.
He drove home, showered, got into his swim shorts, and went downstairs to boot up the computer. He couldn’t wait to get Celia in the water. Watching her enjoy that damned burrito had about put him over the edge. He’d bet her eyes would light up just like that once she discovered the beauty of the coral reef.
The phone rang before he could check the messages.
“Dive Shop.”
“Dax?”
He recognized the raspy voice immediately and his body tensed. “Who else would it be, Dad?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
“I would know if you gave your name,” his dad took a deep breath that sounded scratchy and tired, “when you answered the phone.”
“Have you been talking to Darcy?” Dax asked. Just like them to gang up on him.
His dad chuckled.
“What do you need, Dad?”
“Come for lunch,” he wheezed. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Two days,” Dax said, hating the note of defense in the words. He deliberately sat up straight. “But I miss you, too. What should I bring over? Chicken salad?”
“Soup. LaSpadas.”
“Got it.”
The bell over the door chimed, and Dax looked up to see Veronica enter the store. Alone? Where were her minions?
“Dad, I gotta go. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Dax hung up and came around the counter with concern. Veronica looked ready to kick somebody’s ass, and he hoped it wasn’t his. He’d handled their photo shoots respectfully and he’d thought professionally. “Veronica! How are you?”
“Furious. That’s how I am, Dax.” Her Peruvian accent was thick with emotion, making her difficult to understand. “Jorgio and Felippe are gone.”
Odd. “They didn’t leave a note?”
“They took everything.”
Dax led her to the counter and the lone stool. “Sit. Aren’t you staying at the Blue Pelican?”
“We have a suite. They were to handle my every need,” she said this as if it were normal. As if everybody needed two grown men at their beck and call. “They were to take the photos Umberto wants for the jewelry store. Felippe and Jorgio are the best.”
The jewelry store was located in Lima. Dax had checked it out online, and it was so high end only people with money were invited. It made Tiffanys look like Walmart.
“Maybe they went out for a bite to eat.”
“We have everything ordered in,” she said, her eyes narrowed. “Or we go out–together.”
“It is possible that they went for a walk?”
“No, Dax. I know they’ve left me. Abandoned me.” She started to cry, and Dax watched in fascination. The woman’s beauty was surreal.
“Why do you think this?” He highly doubted two professionals would just take off.
“They took the cameras. And the equipment.” She reached out and clutched Dax to her practically naked bosom. “They took the jewels! How am I supposed to get the pictures now? Please help me. I need you,” she said, one crystalline tear rolling down her smooth cheek.
Dax pulled his hand back, wiping his fingers on the front of his shorts. “No, Veronica. It isn’t any of my business what your photographers do. I’m sorry.”
Her face turned hard, giving Dax a glimpse of the woman thwarted. He shivered. “If you want paid, Dax Smith, you will help me find them.”
❋
George’s son and his friend with a Mohawk arrived by ten, wearing low slung shorts, tight t-shirts and flip flops. One of them had a paintbrush tucked in his back pocket. She decided to leave her judgment back in Ohio. If they did the job, she’d pay them well and try to avoid noticing that George Jr. had his nipple pierced.
A short stocky woman in a sleeveless dress and flat sandals came in at eleven, bright red lipstick slashed across her mouth and black sunglasses perched on her forehead.
“Celia! So nice to meet you in person! I’m Julie!”
The men turned to look at the bundle of loud energy, then returned to painting. They were still in the prepping stages, so the glittering unicorns were prominent in the space.
Celia held out her hand, afraid the boisterous woman might come in for a hug. “How do you do?” She had no intention of being friends.
“Oh!” Julie shook her hand vigorously, tittering like a hummingbird on Red Bull. “So formal, you mid-westerners. We’ll have you loosened up in no time at all.”
Arching her brow, Celia waited for Julie to calm down.
The woman twirled around the room, carefully avoiding the unicorns. “I have good news,” she said. “I wanted to come right over here and let you know that I really pushed for the signage to be done by the 15th, as you requested.”
“The date in my contract,” Celia clarified.
“Yes, well, things happen.” Julie laughed, darting behind the counter and checking out the floor. The brothers had put down drop cloths before ge
tting out their ladders. “Life. Randall Wallace should sign off any day. Maybe by the 20th. But no promises. Now, about this carpet?”
“This was supposed to be tiled before I got here. And the kitchen inspection?”
“I realize that we are under a deadline, Celia, so I called in a few favors.”
Celia took a deep breath. This woman was exhausting and covering her own mistake, but Celia simply wanted the problem fixed. Pointing fingers would take more time.
“And?” she prompted.
“I can get terra cotta tile in two days.”
“I ordered the Italian.” Celia leaned against the counter. One obstacle after the other. What could she do?
Julie stopped moving for two seconds to flash a brilliant smile at Celia. “That particular tile is not in stock.”
It had been, two months ago. She closed her eyes envisioning the lighter color tile with the purple and beige walls. “Terra cotta is too orange. It won’t work.”
Julie released a breath of relief as she realized Celia wasn’t going to create a scene. “I brought a few samples,” Julie said, digging into her large black carryall.
“What else do you have?” If it matched, she’d be flexible. Her phone rang. “Celia Langford,” she said.
“George, here. My son get there okay?”
“Sure did.” Celia turned toward George Jr., who balanced on a ladder to tape the top inch between the ceiling and wall. “He and his friend are almost through prepping. Now, what is this I hear about you having a daughter that wants a part time job?”
“Not me, Matthew.”
Celia was too far in to stop now. “Would you give him a message to have her come by this afternoon? I’ll interview her. No promises, though.” It gave her immense satisfaction to take a few steps forward. What will I do if Randall doesn’t approve the sign?
“Thanks, Ms. Langford,” George said. “Oh, a package came for you today. I kept it by the front desk.”
“Probably the cloth napkins I ordered. Thank you, George.”
Julie shifted, her expression hopeful. “You’re hiring wait staff?”
“Maybe. Also, I might need a dishwasher, and someone to clean-depending on business.” Celia smothered her panicked laughter. She had to believe it would all come together somehow. “You know somebody?”
Chapter Eight
Six o’clock came and went, and Celia kept working. The unicorns were gone, and not a single hint of glitter came through the paint. The dusky purple and beige looked tres chic. She was so pleased she bought everybody pizza from a local place with a twenty percent off coupon.
She’d texted Dax to cancel dinner, but she hadn’t heard back. If he was angry about the change of plans, then that just proved he wasn’t the kind of man she wanted, even as a friend, in her life.
Matthew’s daughter, Teresa, had coffee shop experience, so Celia hired her for twenty hours a week to start. Julie’s nephew, in high school, wanted something that was less than fifteen hours. He was willing to wash dishes and mop the floor.
“Looks good,” Julie said, having stayed to help with the green trim. Celia figured she wanted to make sure her nephew had an in for the job.
Celia looked around, pride in the painted walls, the cleaned windows, and the scrubbed kitchen bubbling over into a wide smile. “We made progress,” she said. “Did you find out when the inspection is scheduled?”
Julie shook her head. “I just checked my phone messages. It seems the inspector is on vacation until tomorrow, so we can’t even get an appointment yet.”
Celia tapped her temple. “You know how you get this vision of how you want things to be? Thinking of where to put the tables, and the display shelves, kept me going on my all-night drive to get here. What dish I’d cook first in my oven... I had this place rearranged in so many ways,” Celia laughed. “It came as a surprise when you called and told me it wasn’t ready. I’m sorry if I was rude.”
“No, no. You weren’t. Mr. Wallace just inherited this property last year, and he’s been giving us, the town council, a terrible time. I should have called to let you know about the delay, but he keeps stringing us along.” Julie patted Celia’s back. “I was hoping that it would all be fixed by the time you arrived.”
“It’s all right,” Celia said. “This way, I’ve met a lot of new people. What woman doesn’t need a handyman in her life?”
“You got two,” George Jr. said, eating the last piece of sausage pizza.
His friend pulled a business card from his wallet. “For when you might need something. I saw the cracked glass in the oven. Do you want it replaced?”
Celia accepted the card, wondering how much glass could cost. How much room did she have left on her credit card? “I don’t know yet. Can you give me an estimate?”
George nodded. “You bet. Thanks for the carpet.”
She carefully avoided looking at George’s chest. “I was so focused on getting it up, I hadn’t thought about where to take it.”
“It’s in good shape,” George said. “I’ll find it a home.”
Celia liked the idea of recycling it much better than tossing it in a dumpster. “Thanks again,” she said, walking with them to the door. They left, and Celia couldn’t help but look down the street for Dax. Or his jeep. Silly.
She went back inside to see Julie slinging her carryall over her shoulder.
“I’m really sorry that this wasn’t how you’d planned your opening,” Julie said, her voice sincere. “I’ll keep calling Randall, and I’ll let you know when I’ve set up the inspection for the kitchen. The sign?” Julie shrugged. “I can only do my best.”
Celia nodded her thanks and waved as the woman left. The beginning of a headache from the paint fumes was forming between her brows. Time to go home, take a bath. Put her feet up. Her phone dinged, signaling a text message.
Dax. Her stomach flipped with anticipation, telling her headache to take a hike. Would he want to share a beer on the beach?
Can you come to the dive shop?
Her first response was no. But then she examined why she felt that way, and realized it was self-preservation. Because she knew she liked him, she was afraid to get to know him. Her phone signaled another message.
Veronica’s here.
So much for romantic thoughts. Remembering that he considered the model trouble, she laughed and decided to help a friend out of a bind.
She turned off the lights, and locked up her café. It was empty now, but not for long. So much had been accomplished in the space of a day! Walking the two blocks to the dive ship didn’t take long, and Celia stood outside for a minute, studying the posters of divers in slick, shiny gear that beckoned the potential customer. Tropical fish and shells and all sorts of treasures awaited.
She opened the door.
Dax wore an expression that was the polar opposite of Zen. Panic was more accurate. Celia moved her gaze to Veronica.
The model’s perfect face was blotchy and her eyes red from crying. Sobbing.
Celia immediately went into care-giver mode. She walked to Veronica, putting her hand on the woman’s shoulder. She wore a Dive Shop by the Sea t-shirt and a pair shorts, also from the shop. The tags were still on.
“What happened?” Celia posed the question to the model, but looked at Dax.
“He will kill me,” Veronica cried, her hands curled into fists on her tanned thighs. “I am a dead woman walking.”
Celia wasn’t sure she heard correctly and waited for Dax’s confirmation.
He nodded.
Not helpful. “Nobody is going to kill you,” Celia said, rubbing the woman’s back. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
Veronica burst into loud sobs.
Dax took an audible breath and said, “She came in for her appointment at ten. Jorgio and Felippe weren’t with her. They took the equipment and the bag of props.”
Celia wondered where they’d go with cameras and fake jewels. “Of course you’ve tried calling them?”
/>
Dax cursed under his breath. “Over and over. Both cell phones. I bet they blocked our numbers. We drove around Ft. Lauderdale, searching every bar within a twenty mile radius.”
“They like to party,” Veronica said, reaching for a roll of toilet paper Dax must have given her in lieu of tissue.
“I see. Have you called your,” Celia paused. She couldn’t just say Sugar Daddy. “The man who ordered the photo shoot?”
“Umberto will kill me, dead. He wanted those pictures on the walls of his new jewelry store. He stressed how important they were. It is why he sent Jorgio and Felippe with me! We were to be together twenty-four hours a day.”
“You can’t help that they ran away,” Celia said. “Did you have a fight?”
“It will not matter to Umberto whose fault it is. No photos, no jewels.” She dabbed at her nose and sniffed. “Umberto will never trust me again.”
“We have pictures,” Dax said. “Decent ones. I don’t have the best camera, but I can take you again tomorrow.”
“What good are the pictures if Umberto doesn’t have that jewels to sell? The emerald alone is worth a fortune.”
“I thought it was fake?” Dax paled. “Oh hell.”
Veronica wiped her eyes, the toilet paper catching on a long eyelash. Instead of looking trashy, it dangled like a snowflake. Or a piece of glitter. “Not that piece, but the others are.”
Celia leaned against the counter, her knees weak and her mouth dry as sand. If the cubic zirconia was worth ten thousand, how much must the real deal be worth? “And what did the police say?”
“No police!” She lifted her face, real fear turning her brown orbs black.
“Veronica, why not? They can catch these two and prove to your, er, Umberto, that you had nothing to do with the theft!”
Veronica’s tears started again. “They think it is fake, too. I was the only one that knew the truth. Umberto trusted me.”
Dax put his hand on Celia’s arm to gain her attention. “Veronica and the guys came in by private plane. Sometimes things aren’t always declared on the manifest.”
“Like what things?” Celia asked, feeling out of her league. “Drugs?”
A Touch of Passion (boxed set romance bundle) Page 147
