by Amie Denman
Whitney’s jaw dropped and she would have said something, but the insistent tourist behind her was already stepping into place and placing an order for three coffees and a half dozen pastries. Whitney took her coffee and small white bag and stepped out of the way to put her change into her purse. Confusion shoved her hunger aside. What was the real deal with Chris Maxwell and, more importantly, how did he get under her skin? Several layers deep.
Well, she had a tougher skin than most females. When she got back to East Pointe after a few more errands in town, he wasn’t going to find any cracks in her exterior. He’d be burning the midnight oil and finishing her work. Or, as she planned to remind him, she would not hesitate to crush Blue Isle Construction like it had almost crushed the wedding dreams of her best friend. Whitney knew a thing or two about loyalty.
****
Whitney went downtown and sat in her Jeep, watching the water and the harbor, adrift. She could go back to East Pointe to eat. Of course, that would mean sitting alone in the house while she heard Chris working outside. She could sit outside and torment him by eating in front of him and watching him work. That sounded fun, but mean. In the end, she elected to stay in town because she could run several other errands after she finished eating. The flower shop was on her agenda, and then she had to go to the chair rental place and stop by the caterers to finalize plans. Still, it wouldn’t take her all day.
What on earth was she going to do all day? She thought of the paperback novels and swimsuits she had packed. She had a Jeep and could go exploring. It wouldn’t be much fun by herself, but she was determined to avoid Chris entirely today and make him work. Unless, of course, she ought to be checking up on him.
She sipped her coffee and thought about what she would do as a businesswoman. She would keep a close eye on production. That’s how she had built her business into a thriving one that was ready to expand. That’s how she made sure that work was done to her satisfaction and on time. That was the kind of thinking she needed to apply in this case. It was no longer personal. It was business.
Whitney finished her apple turnover, letting the smooth sugar flow into her veins and awaken all her nerves and senses. Sugar and caffeine. God’s gift to those who didn’t sleep at night. She put the Jeep in gear and drove with determination and resolve back to East Pointe.
Just business.
Chapter Eighteen
Chris looked up in surprise when Whitney appeared on the lawn wearing her work clothes. She had a paint-flecked bandanna tied over her hair. Faded jeans hugged her slim hips, a walking temptation. What the hell was she doing? Was she out here to distract him so he’d find it hard to finish the work and save Blue Isle?
Maybe he should apologize. A sincere apology and some serious groveling might go a long way. He could tell her the truth about how he’d been cashing insurance checks from the rich and helping his poor island friends. Was it generous? Yes. Legal? No. Whitney might understand, she might even admire his philanthropy.
Who was he kidding? She was here representing rich landowners he’d let down. Her last threat last night was to take down his company. That would put him and a number of really decent guys out of work. She could hurt him extensively with what she already knew, so why tell her anything else? It would probably just be used against him in the end anyway. Unless he got very lucky.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve come out here and why I’m wearing work clothes when I could just let you sweat it out alone and watch from my bedroom window.”
“Yeah,” Chris said cautiously.
“I’m a hands-on employer at home, and I see no reason why I can’t be the same here. I’ll be right here making sure you stay on target. I may pitch in and help, too. Not that you deserve it, but it’s the best way for me to stay involved with the project.”
“I can appreciate that,” he answered.
“Is that because you’re such an efficient business owner yourself?” she asked sarcastically. “Not to mention ethical.”
Chris took a deep breath, but didn’t flinch. “I’ve never had any complaints before,” he said.
“Well, I’m very happy for you. I guess maybe you did what you promised to do in the past.”
“I’m doing what I promised to do right now.”
“But only because I’m making you,” she said. “I’m curious. If I hadn’t shown up last week to check on the progress of this place and I hadn’t raised hell about it—”
“If you’re wondering if I was ever going to do the work I was paid for, the answer is yes,” he said coldly.
“When?”
Despite his decision not to tell her about his Robin Hood business practices, he wavered for a moment. He didn’t like his integrity being questioned. No matter what else she thought of him, he didn’t want her thinking he was a thief. But there was probably no way he could explain. She didn’t know the people whose lives, businesses, and homes were destroyed by Hurricane Destiny. She had a big heart, but how could he begin to make her understand?
Whitney raised an eyebrow at him. “When?”
Chris turned back to the boards he was easing into a pattern on the gazebo floor. “When I got around to it,” he muttered.
“Well, right now you’re down to the wire,” Whitney said. “Taylor’s parents and the rest of her family will arrive in less than two days.”
“So you’ve said,” Chris answered. He knew he was not helping himself with his attitude right now, but he was angry. Angry at the damned hurricane, angry at himself for not listening to Rick more often, angry at getting caught because he was trying to do something decent, and angry that he’d screwed things up with Whitney so bad they were now enemies. He’d give anything to go back a week and be straight up with her. He hammered several nails with a lot more force than was necessary.
“Are you listening to me?” Whitney demanded.
“You want me to listen or work?” He continued to pound nails, making as much noise as he could. He hoped she would give up and go away if he didn’t look up. He could sense her standing there watching him still. He risked a glance. Her hands weren’t on her hips anymore. He drew his hammer back and she grabbed it in mid-air. The movement threw him off balance a little and his breath caught when her fingers brushed his hand.
She held the end of his hammer and leaned close. Chris hoped for a fraction of a second that she was going to kiss him.
“They arrive in two days, and if everything is not perfect, there will be a lot of explaining to do. You won’t be able to charm them like you did—” She stopped, but Chris knew how that sentence was going to end. So, he had charmed her.
Not that it would help him now.
Whitney drew back quickly, letting go of the hammer. “I’m going to finish painting the trellis,” she said.
“Let me know if you need help with the ladder.”
“I’ll manage.”
Chapter Nineteen
After a morning of hard work, Whitney showered and drove downtown. She found an outdoor patio with big shady umbrellas where she could relax over lunch. It was attached to the place where she and Chris had eaten dinner and sipped Virgin-esias last Sunday night. Going into the Shellfish Cafe was too painful, but sitting on the sunny patio nearby with its big circles of shade seemed harmless enough. It was colorful, full of tourists sipping beer and perusing menus. Whitney chose a table off to one side where she could feel anonymous.
“Help you?” a woman asked. Whitney glanced up at the waitress who served them last Sunday in the indoor restaurant.
“I’m, uh, here for lunch,” Whitney said.
“I figured that,” the waitress said as she handed her a lunch menu and placed a glass of ice water on the table. “Last time I saw you in here, you were with Chris Maxwell.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Be back in a minute to take your order.”
Whitney tried hard to concentrate on the menu offerings. She considered getting up and leaving rather than enduring the scru
tiny of the waitress, but the food being delivered to nearby tables looked too tempting. At her dinner with Chris, too, the food had been amazing. A good lunch and a cold beer might be worth a little awkwardness.
The waitress returned and took Whitney’s order and her menu, leaving her nothing to do but watch people passing on the street and fantasize about mouth-watering food. She would not think about Chris and how hungry he might be. Not her problem.
“I don’t know where you’re keeping Mr. Maxwell these days,” said an older woman as she stood in front of Whitney’s table. Whitney recognized the woman from the indoor restaurant. Chris had said her name was Mavis, and even if Whitney had forgotten that, the embroidery on her oversized apron would have enlightened her. Whitney had assumed Mavis was the owner last week and she definitely wore the air of the woman in charge today. She was the famous Mavis who made the chicken that had everyone on the island addicted.
“Keeping him?” asked Whitney.
“Haven’t seen him all week, so I figured he must have found something better to do,” said the older woman as she appraised Whitney. “Good for him. That man works too hard.”
The woman’s face eased into a smile and Whitney smiled, too, not knowing what else she could do. She was not going to claim any responsibility for Chris Maxwell or his time or his work habits. Still, this was interesting.
“Got a message for him if you’ll deliver it,” Mavis said.
Whitney nodded.
“You tell him I’m mad as the devil at him.”
“Mad as the devil,” Whitney repeated in an even voice. This was getting interesting. She was liking Mavis more and more.
“About my hurricane damage. He knows what I’m talking about,” Mavis continued. “Same story all over the island.”
“Really?” Whitney asked. She tried to keep her voice neutral, but this was really intriguing.
“You just tell’m,” the older woman said then wandered away making a circuitous path through the cheerful outdoor tables on the way back to her restaurant.
Whitney’s food arrived a moment later and she went to work on the barbecued chicken and serious food for thought that had arrived at her table. When finished, her waitress presented her with a bag of takeout food instead of a bill.
“For Mr. Maxwell,” she said.
“But I—” Whitney began to protest. She didn’t want a free lunch and she certainly didn’t want to have to take lunch to Chris.
“Take it,” the waitress said. “Mama said to tell you any friend of Chris Maxwell is a friend of ours.”
“Friend of Chris Maxwell? I thought your mama said she was mad at him,” Whitney said.
The girl smiled coyly. “Nobody can stay mad at Mr. Maxwell,” she said.
I’ll see about that, Whitney thought.
In her Jeep, she set the bag of delicious smelling food on the passenger seat next to her. She was tempted to throw it in the harbor or hand it to one of the many homeless people living on the side streets and alleys of Charlotte Amalie. The last thing she wanted to do was drive back to East Pointe before the food got cold and deliver it to Chris.
She took the road to East Pointe curving out of Charlotte Amalie. She would head for home, but that was no guarantee she’d hurry to Chris and sweetly hand over lunch. No doubt the man loved to eat. And of course he was probably hungry. He told her just a few days ago that he worked better on a full stomach. How different things were now than they were a few days ago. Still, if the man needed fuel to get the job done, maybe it was smart to take him the food. It would result in less time lost. Just business.
****
Chris could hardly believe the view from the roof of the gazebo. The sun was in his eyes and he was tired and hungry as hell, so he thought it might be a mirage. He blinked and shaded his eyes. The vision was still there. It looked like Whitney standing on the lawn below him holding a bag of takeout food. He could even smell it.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to sit there and eat that food right in front of me,” he said. He grinned down at Whitney, hoping he might melt her heart a little and she would at least share.
She cocked her head and gave him a cool stare, but he could swear one corner of her mouth curved up just a little.
“Mavis sent this for you,” she said.
She held his glance for a moment, and then put the bag on the newly finished gazebo floor.
“She said to tell you she’s mad as the devil at you about her hurricane damage.”
Chris laughed. Right out loud. A deep, long laugh. “Well, I guess she’s just going to have to stay mad,” he finally said.
Whitney looked so incensed at his laughing that he was afraid she was going to take back the food or punch him again. He hurried down the ladder and grabbed the food, just in case. She glared at him, turned on her heel, and headed for the house without a word.
“Thanks for bringing lunch,” Chris called to her retreating figure. He let her go a few feet and then he couldn’t resist. “Could you bring me a beer?” he called.
Whitney stopped short and whipped around. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He grinned at her and winked. Again, he thought he saw just a little softening at the corner of her mouth, but she turned back around and stalked into the house.
“Worth a try,” he said quietly to himself as he opened the bag and looked inside like it was a buried treasure.
****
Whitney needed to quiet her nerves. The tension of making sure everything got done in addition to making sure she kept Chris on his toes and off her mind was getting to her. She didn’t know why she didn’t think of it sooner—what had she always done in the past when she was upset about something? Her best friend Taylor.
Taylor picked up on the first ring. “Whitney! I’ve been hoping you’d call.”
“Wondering about the wedding plans?”
“And you. How are you? I hope you’re not running ragged worrying about every little detail.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just the wedding of my best friend in the universe. Why should I care that it’s perfect?”
“Just having you and my family there and marrying Jackson will make it perfect,” Taylor said.
“Are you doing okay?”
“Yep, just starting to feel like a watermelon. I’m glad we arrive two days before the wedding so I can rest up from the flight.”
“I can’t wait to see you.”
“And I can’t wait to see what you’ve done with East Pointe. Since the hurricane damage was already repaired, you’ve probably been lining up chairs and bows using a computer program for accuracy. Right angles and neat rows everywhere.”
“If you only knew,” laughed Whitney.
“I’ll bet you have a killer tan, too. You’ll be gorgeous in that strapless dress.”
Whitney felt her stomach sink for a moment. Tan. Hmmm. Talk about a farmer tan. She had been out in the sun plenty, but wearing a short sleeved shirt. The lines were not going to be pretty.
“Ummm, speaking of tans,” Whitney said, “I’d better get out there and work on it some more. I’ll be there at the airport to pick you guys up the day after tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about it, we’re renting a car. Just relax and enjoy the peace before we all come flying in like a pack of loud seagulls.”
“I will,” said Whitney.
She snapped the phone shut, went upstairs, and dug through the drawer where she unpacked all her vacation clothes. She knew what she was looking for. It was going to take steely guts and determination, but she’d done harder things in her life. She was going to put on a tiny strapless bikini and make every effort to erase her tan lines from working in the sun.
She wouldn’t be alone. The one person on earth she’d like to be able to forget right now was right between her and the beach. Well, they were both going to have to tough it out. And if he couldn’t handle it, then he’d have to keep his eyes on his work. The work, she bitterly reminded herself, he’d been p
aid months ago to complete. He didn’t have to be in this situation. It was his own damn fault.
Chapter Twenty
Chris wanted to look the other way. He tried to. He even went home for an hour right after Whitney paraded in front of him in her bikini and sarong. She was so relaxed on the beach she probably didn’t even notice when he quietly put down his tools, got in his truck, and left.
He went home and took a cool shower. He slept only a few hours last night. The giant lights allowed him to work late into the night. When he couldn’t work anymore, he went down to the beach and slept on the lounge where Whitney was now sunbathing. At first light, he was back at it.
He needed a change of clothes and something cold to drink. It was almost over. He would finish her work, satisfy the East family, and get his company off the hook. No way was he even going to think about the alternative.
The only thing, the major thing, he could not fix with backbreaking work was his relationship with Whitney. Lucky he was standing in a cool shower as he let himself think of her. His chances of ever touching her again were absolutely zilch. She may not take down his company in the end, but she would never take him back, either. That was the price he was going to pay.
Chris put on fresh work clothes and packed a cooler with drinks and food, and then he drove back to East Pointe. He was only gone about an hour, but the break did him good. His body at least, was a little better for it, but his heart was just as tight.
He parked his truck in the pristine driveway and grabbed his stuff, ready to face whatever he had to when he saw Whitney again. The first thing he noticed, though, when he came around the house was that Whitney had not moved a muscle. She was right there on the lounge on the beach as if time had not passed.
He stowed his cooler on a worktable set up under a tree and climbed a ladder to finish nailing a board in place on the gazebo roof. The gazebo was nearly done, but it would need to be painted. He glanced over and noted that the pavilion was only about seventy percent painted, too. He still had thirty-six hours, and he needed every minute of them.
