by Drea Stein
She had the obligatory visitor’s chair on the other side of her desk, and he took a seat. She looked up in surprise and said, “I’m sorry. This will only take a minute. I just need to take care of one thing before we go.”
“Take your time,” he said with a wave of his hand as he considered his options. With a little bit of juggling, he could rearrange his day so that he could be the one to stay at the photo shoot with Tory. It would be hard for her to run away if they were both required to be there for work. He slipped out his phone, almost sent an email to Shandy, his assistant, telling her his plans, and then remembered she had quit. So he texted Joe instead.
He waited, looking around some more. Offices, sometimes more than houses, gave you a clue into people’s personalities, and he was curious to find out more about the intelligent and attractive Tory Somers.
There were some framed pictures on her desk, her with a man and a woman, who had to have been her parents, easy to see from the resemblance she bore to them. They were standing in the cockpit of a small motor boat, and he recognized the low slung hills of Queensbay Harbor in the background. Probably meant she was a local girl. Then there was a picture of her with two other women, standing together on a ski slope. One was definitely Phoebe Ryan, Chase’s fiancée, whom he recognized from the one time he had met her, and the other was familiar as well. It took Colby a moment to place her, and then he remembered. It was Lynn, the doctor from the clinic, the one who was engaged to Jackson Sanders, Chase’s brother. Apparently, Tory had friends in all the right places.
He turned his attention away from the desk and to the wall. There were posters mostly, framed, and some were on the floor, leaning up, as if still waiting to be hung. Tory’s taste, it appeared, ran to seascapes, endless vistas of oceans, sailboats and lighthouses, as well the more prosaic, like the iconic picture of Albert Einstein, the one with his tongue sticking out, which had the place of honor on the wall behind her desk. There was a strange-looking, robot-like contraption to the side of her; plus, he counted two tablets and a cell phone. Tory was obviously a gadget girl.
“See anything you like?” she asked, her voice mildly annoyed as she caught him staring.
Not at all put out that he had been caught snooping, he smiled. “Just getting a measure of the person I’m going to be spending the day with.”
“You’re going to be at the shoot personally? All day?” she said, and he couldn’t tell if she was pleased at the thought. He smiled. He had a feeling that Tory Somers wasn’t the type of woman to fluster easily, but the quick look that passed over her face told him she hadn’t thought that he’d be sticking around today. He could see that she was mentally rearranging her thoughts about this.
His phone pinged, and he checked the message. It was Joe. Colby had put him on desk duty while his arm healed, and he hated it. Joe had written back. “Are you crazy?”
“Tell everyone I’m sick,” he typed out and ignored the profanity-laced return text. He smiled, satisfied that, for the rest of the day, he would have Tory Somers all to himself.
“As Chase mentioned, I am renting the company some fairly valuable pieces of inventory. Someone needs to keep an eye on them.”
“Do you do things like this often?” she asked, and there was a genuine shine of curiosity in her eyes.
He nodded. “Actually, yes, cars in my collection often appear in ads and movies. You know the remake of the one set in the 1920s?”
She nodded, a smile ghosting across her lips.
“That was my Rolls-Royce Phantom in the closing scene.”
“Yours? The car that drives off into the sunset?”
“The very one.”
“Do you still have it?” she asked, and he could hear the interest in her voice.
Colby laughed. “Nope, I sold it to the lead actor after the movie wrapped. He really wanted it and didn’t feel the need to haggle over the pricing. Have to love people with more money than sense.”
“So you took advantage of him?” Tory said in what he hoped was mock horror.
“Of course not,” he said, pretending to be offended. “He knew what it was worth. I didn’t really want to sell it, since renting it out actually provides a nice revenue stream for me, but let’s just say he came to me with a number that made selling it a very enticing proposition. And now I have an excuse to go find another.”
“Are there many of them?”
He shrugged. “Yes and no. I probably won’t go off and find another just like that, but I’m sure I will find something else that I like. Collectors are changeable, always wanting something new. Most of that time, that means they need to sell something first.”
“What do you mean?” She seemed genuinely curious now, her fingers hovering above her keyboard, stilled as she listened to him.
“Sometimes you find an amazing car in an old barn, one that hasn’t been touched for fifty years or something crazy like that.”
“Are they in good condition?”
He laughed. “Generally no, but that’s where I come in. See, I can fix them, bring them back to their former glory. Most guys—or people—who collect love the way the cars look, but they don’t really have the skills to fix them up. So, if they have the money, they hire me, and if they don’t, I eventually get a call to see if I can take their white elephant off their hands.”
“About how many classic cars have you found in old barns?”
“Truth be told, not many. Like I said, most of the time I deal with collectors who need some cash or who have gotten tired of what they have. They’re selling cars in pretty good condition to make room for something new. And I just broker a deal to another collector. Usually, I’m making the connections between buyers and sellers.”
“But you like to fix them up?”
He nodded. “I like knowing how things work.”
She nodded, and he could tell she understood, but her lips pursed and a thoughtful look crossed her face as she asked carefully. “So, you wouldn’t normally spend the day babysitting your cars?”
He smiled, knowing what he said next would probably make her nervous, but also knowing that was exactly what he wanted.
“I’m making a special exception in this case,” he said and watched as a flush of red crawled up Tory’s skin. He held her gaze, watching as warring emotions played over her face. Yes, he was going to have an interesting day in the presence of Tory Somers; of that, he had no doubt.
Chapter 10
Colby’s last words had set her skin on fire and her mind racing. It was as if the simplest sentence took on a potent double meaning when it was said in his Southern drawl. Still, she was a professional, and they had a full day ahead of them. She couldn’t let herself be distracted by the enticing wave of his brown hair, the charming sparkle in his blue eyes or the way his face had lit up as he talked about cars. She was working, not trying to appease her underused hormones. She was not one to fall for a pretty face. Sure she could and did appreciate his very good looks but it did not mean she was going to spend the obsessing over them – or him.
It didn’t take as long as she thought to wrangle everyone together, and soon a caravan of cars and vans started off toward the bluffs around Queensbay Harbor where the stately home of Caitlyn and Noah Randall was located. Tory waved them off and turned to Colby, who was standing next to a sedate-looking late model Cadillac in a dark, gunmetal gray.
He saw her surprised expression as she looked at the stylish coupe. He smiled and said, “Did you think I was going to give you a ride in a tow truck?”
“I don’t know, but I wasn’t expecting this.”
“The cars for the shoot are already up at the house. This is my official business car.”
“Do you have an unofficial car?” she asked.
“I might,” he said, with a smile that had her stomach do a flip. She waited for him to say more, but that was all.
“Oh,” was all Tory could manage. She didn’t like being caught off guard, with nothing to say, but the
re was something about Colby that made her feel jumpy. Of course, it didn’t help that he seemed totally relaxed and even slightly amused at the reactions he was causing. She was fairly certain he was enjoying every minute of it.
He even opened the door for her. “Let me,” he said, leaning down past her, so that his arm brushed against her lightly. Through the thin fabric of her dress, she could feel her body react to him. Maybe accepting the offer of a lift from him was a bad idea. But the alternative was one of the vans Chase had rented to transport the entire marketing department. They were a bubbly, hyperactive crew given to discussing the latest Project Runway episode, and she wasn’t sure she could take it.
She slid into the bucket seat, enjoying the feel of the sumptuous, buttery leather. Colby came around, got in and started the car with a push of a button. All at once, the sound system kicked in, and a country song came on, some guy who sounded like Colby singing about summertime and fireflies. She had no clue who it was because her musical taste ran straight to alt rock, usually with an angsty twist.
“Sorry,” he said, reaching over and turning it down. “I forget sometimes how loud it can be when I’m the only one in the car.”
“It’s nice, but we still have a while until summer’s here,” Tory said.
“I’m being hopeful,” he said, with a laugh.
Tory looked out the window as he put the car into gear and started out of the parking lot. The trees were budding, and there had been more than a few warm days. Still, spring came slowly to New England, and it was better, Tory knew, not to get your hopes up. An April snowstorm was not unheard of.
Colby swung out of the parking lot and took the route through the village of Queensbay proper, past the Colonial style white wood and brick storefronts, the sidewalks punctuated by ornate iron lampposts, past Joan Altieri’s Garden Cottage, a great place for gifts, and then down by the harbor and the Osprey Arms.
Over the white clapboard hulk of the hotel, Tory could see the harbor. Its surface was blue, specked with small white caps kicked up by the breeze. It beckoned invitingly, but Tory knew that it would be cold out there. Nope, the boating season didn’t really begin until late May, unless you were an extremely dedicated fisherman.
“I always think April is such a tease—you get a few sunny, warm days and you think summer is here, but in reality it’s rainy and gray most of the time.”
He gripped the wheel easily, but she could that his hands were clean, blindingly so, as if they had been scrubbed and scoured. She was also pretty sure—not that she really cared—that he didn’t wear a ring of any kind.
“I grew up near Nashville, so this whole four season thing is kind of new to me.”
“Not from around here then?” Tory seized on the question, happy to make small talk, hoping it would distract her thinking about whether she cared if he was married or had a girlfriend or any of that.
“Nope. Born and bred in Nashville. Spent some time in Europe, along the racing circuit. That’s where I met Chase, by the way, and when I was done I wandered up here and got into business and stayed.”
“Do your parents still live down there?” Tory asked, curious.
“Passed away,” Colby said shortly, as he turned onto the road that led along the bluffs above the harbor.
“Both of them? I mean, I’m sorry,” Tory said. Almost as soon as the question had been out of her mouth, she had regretted it, thinking that he probably didn’t want to talk about it.
“No worries. It was more than ten years ago, when I was a teenager. Car accident.”
“Oh,” Tory said, while doing the math. Did that mean Colby had been on his own since he was seventeen or eighteen?
“Sucks, but it happens,” Colby said simply, but she saw that his hands were gripped tightly on the wheel.
“Who watched out for you?”
“For a while, a family friend,” he said shortly and then, more smoothly, asked, “What about you? Did you grow up here?” Tory recognized the question for what it was, a way to change the subject, and she decided that it was fine to follow his lead.
“Born and bred. My dad’s an accountant; my mom volunteers a lot.”
“So, you go way back with Chase and his brother?”
Tory shook her head. “Not exactly. They’re a few years ahead of me at school. I only really got to know Chase once I came to work for him. But Lynn, the doctor at the clinic, she’s engaged to Chase’s brother, Jackson, and we’re good friends. And she’s friends with Phoebe Ryan, Chase’s fiancée and … well, we all sort of hang out together now.”
“I see. Do you live with your parents then?”
“No, not exactly,” Tory said quickly. “I was living with my parents, but recently moved into my own place. It’s actually one of the apartments at the Osprey Arms. Lynn had it until she moved out to live with Jackson, and it was too good an opportunity to pass up.”
“First time on your own?” he asked, and she detected a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Not quite. I lived in the dorms at college.” It wasn’t quite a lie. She decided that she didn’t need to mention the fact that she’d lived with Stevie. At least not yet.
“What did you study?”
“Comp science. I mean computer science,” Tory said it and waited. She’d long ago learned that it was silly to hide the fact that she was intelligent. Men either were intimidated by it or not.
“Don’t worry, I went to college, too. Nashville State Community College. Almost have myself an honest to goodness associate degree.” He said it easily, without a trace of embarrassment, and Tory breathed out a sigh of relief. Seemed like Colby wasn’t intimidated.
She smiled. “Didn’t want to go get the four-year degree?”
“To be honest, I’m not exactly the bookish type. Don’t get me wrong. I read, even like it, but I’m more of a hands-on guy. That’s when everything went down, right about the time I was supposed to head off to college, and I was kind of in that proverbial bad place. College wouldn’t have done me any good, so I just started working. Might be nice someday to go back, now that I’m a bit older, and finish up.”
“Really? What would you study? Business?”
He smiled at her. “Nah. Who wants to study spreadsheets and marketing? Feel like I sort of have that figured out through experience anyway. I’d rather focus on something like history. Guess you could say I’m kind of into old things. I listen to these lectures on tape. They’re pretty interesting, but I suppose I really should get into class and get the real deal.”
Tory shrugged. “Sounds to me like you’ve got it figured out. All of the learning and none of the tests and papers.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he said. He shot her a grin that could only be described as wicked, and she felt her toes curl. Once again, his voice had started a slow burn of lust somewhere deep within her, and it was spreading through her, making the air in the car feel close and warm and full of unspoken thoughts.
It seemed an eternity before they were at the Randall house, and he turned down the graveled drive, lined with cherry trees set at regular intervals, giving the approach a stately, elegant air. The trees were blossoming, managing to perfectly frame the rambling house, with its white clapboards, black shutters and wraparound porch. Tory knew it was one of the older houses in Queensbay, at least the original part of it, built by an enterprising sea captain and later expanded by Caitlyn Randall’s ancestors. Even so, the house retained a strong, classic appeal, its parts charmingly integrated into a pleasing whole. The back of the house overlooked the harbor, and Tory had always thought it was one of the nicest homes in town.
“Here we are,” Colby said, killing the engine. Before Tory had a chance, he was out of the car and opening her door as she gathered together her tablet, her laptop and her bag.
“You sure have a lot of stuff for babysitting,” he said, his tone teasing.
“What did you bring?” she shot back.
He held up his phone. “I’ve got a book o
n here about World War I, some country music … and if I get really bored, an app so I can write down my to-do list.”
She had to laugh. “Well, I can probably hack the Pentagon from here, as long as I can grab a satellite signal.”
“Then we should both have a smashing day,” he said.
Chapter 11
Watching over the shoot wasn’t as bad as Tory had anticipated. As Chase had promised her, she was mostly babysitting. The photographer, a woman the company had worked with before, was more than capable, managing the models with aplomb. Phoebe was here, using her design sensibility to act as the stylist. She took care of setting up the tableaus and getting everyone into the right outfit at the right time.
Tory and Colby were relegated to the porch, where Caitlyn Randall told them to make themselves comfortable while she worked from her home office. The caterers had arrived early and set up a long table with platters of food and carafes of hot water and coffee. Tory helped herself to a cup with a little skim milk and watched as Colby took his black.
There were two rocking chairs, and they sat in them, moving them so they were in a sliver of sunlight. It felt warm on Tory’s face, and she was happy to lean back her head and close her eyes, soaking in the warmth. There was the promise of summer in the air, of long days out on the water, of swimming and sailing, of bike rides and runs along the shore, of ice cream cones and fireworks.
“Not a bad way to spend a work day,” Colby said, as if he had read her thoughts.
