by Jean Oram
Which only made Connor’s lack of enthusiasm that much more confusing and crushing.
“I’m moving to Toronto in the fall,” she said, hoping the subject of a job would come up. Namely, that she could come work for his company, CM Enterprises.
“You prefer smog and traffic jams?” Connor shoved another slice in his mouth and pushed himself away from the table.
Maya wiped her fingers on a paper napkin. “My word.” He couldn’t possibly eat like that at business meetings, could he? People would run away in horror. “Have you ever tried tasting your food, or do you enjoy resembling a vacuum cleaner?”
Connor blinked. Then his shoulders straightened and a blip of fear pulsed through Maya’s system. Uh-oh. This was the Mr. MacKenzie she’d seen in Toronto. The one she’d been expecting. And now he’d arrived, after she’d verbally slapped him across the face.
Good to know what woke him up, but holy hell, why had she? Her sister Melanie was right. Maya needed a filter between her mental gas pedal and her mouth.
“I was hungry,” he replied.
“I can tell.”
“Did you say you have a degree in business?” His voice was calm. It had been all afternoon, but this was scary calm. A look-out-for-that-incoming-pink-slip kind of calm.
“Yes.” She gripped the table, not daring to say more.
He patted his mouth with the cheap napkin she’d set out, and threw it on his plate. “That’s nice.”
“Graduated with distinction.”
“Good at writing resignation letters?”
Oh, ants on a stick. She’d just poked her head into a fire ants’ nest, hadn’t she?
“Just kidding,” he said.
Damn those sunglasses. She couldn’t get a gauge on him.
“What are your plans while you’re here?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice even. “I can help with keeping on top of any projects you’re in the middle of. Stella said to take a load off of you so you can enjoy your retreat.”
“I’m fine.” Connor stood, shoving his chair across the veranda with a scraping sound. “I’ll be heading back to Toronto on Monday.”
“What? For a meeting? I can come.”
“I’m sleeping for the next two days, then I’ll be heading home.” He fingered the neck of his shirt as though looking for a necktie to straighten. He suddenly seemed very Mr. MacKenzie, the King of Toronto. “I doubt I’ll be coming back so don’t plan anything special on my account.”
“But you booked two weeks!” Maya stood, panic setting in. She’d told her sisters he was renting the place for half a month, and she’d quit her crappy job for this. It was Maya’s turn to cough up a painful amount in order to save the cottage from the tax man, and the only way she could do that was if Connor stayed. If he didn’t, she knew she’d feel compelled to offer him a refund even though there wasn’t time to find a new renter on such short notice. She needed him. With shaking hands she smoothed her shirt and rolled her shoulders. Then she gave him a big smile. “I know we didn’t get off to a brilliant start, but you can’t just leave.”
Shoot. She sounded desperate.
If Connor left, she’d have to face failure and her always-the-hero big sister, Hailey, who’d been secretly bailing out this place for the past five years, to the point of remortgaging her own home and business. Summer was already a quarter over. They were running out of time.
“I can and will leave,” Connor stated. “Keep the balance unless you re-rent the place.”
“You signed a…a―”
“It doesn’t say I have to physically be here.”
“Okay, true.” Maya spread her palms on the table. All right, girl, stay calm. There’s an opportunity here. Failure is the best way to learn. And she was failing, so what could she learn, other than that Connor MacKenzie was a big letdown who made her want to cry so long and hard everyone for miles around would need to build arks?
She inhaled slowly. Opportunity. Opportunity. “Before you go, let me ask you something. What would you do to change this retreat?”
“Other than bring in a phone, air conditioner, exterminator, carpenter, maid, interior decorator and−no offense−a cook? Other than that?”
Maya leaned forward. “Yeah, all that.” Tell me something I don’t know, sweet cheeks.
“I’d sell it. The land—premium. And a private island? Gold.”
“I’ve received an offer from a developer.”
Connor leaned forward, intrigued.
“Want to check it out? It’s in the boat. I haven’t had a chance to read it yet.”
“Do I have to walk down that path?”
* * *
Maya ran up the path, clutching the offer from Rubicore Developments as she shoved her curls off her forehead. Should she scan the papers before presenting them to Connor, so she’d have her own view on them? She didn’t want to be in the dark if he read it first and then began referring to clauses she knew nothing about. Maya slowed, fingering the sealed envelope. What if the conditions were so awful that Connor would think she was a dolt for sharing them with him?
But if it was a good offer, she and her sisters could sell the island before it was taken from them. They would be able to live happily ever after with a nice, big, fat check and no more worries about repairs, renovations, and killer taxes.
Only she was pretty sure her sisters didn’t see it that way. In fact, Maya wasn’t completely sure she saw it that way, either. Even though, like Connor, she’d love to have something a little less run-down.
She started back down the path to the dock, noticing how dusk was falling and darkening her way. She slipped into a Muskoka chair and peeled open the envelope. Darting a glance across the strait to where men from Rubicore were working feverishly under the protection of the trees, she wondered what they were up to and why they wanted Nymph Island, as well. If they were planning to destroy Baby Horseshoe Island by demolishing things such as the rocky point, then it might be a good idea to sell while the getting was good. Who knew what Trixie Hollow would be worth if it was only a few hundred yards away from whatever they were doing over there?
Holding her breath, she scanned the papers for the numbers. Where were the numbers? She flipped through the pages.
Finally... She leaned back in the chair and refrained from giving Baby Horseshoe the finger, in case Aaron Bloomwood, the representative who had dropped off the offer, was watching.
The offer was disappointing—even if it was better than what any of the sisters had in the bank. It would cover the tax bill, setting them free of the financial burdens the cottage had caused them. But dividing the number by four—five, if their mother wanted a share—wouldn’t do anything other than make the big problem go away and give them all a bit of breathing room. It wasn’t enough to warrant giving up something that meant a lot to the family. Especially when Maya’s cut wouldn’t even pay off her student loans.
Leaning forward, she rubbed her forehead. She needed an amazing job, or at least a few editors to start saying yes to the business article series she’d been sending out. But without a really great job she’d stay stuck. She had to go to Toronto, but needed money to set herself up there. Otherwise, where was she going to live until she got a few good paychecks?
The offer wasn’t enough to make a difference in her life. Plus, living in Toronto and saying you had a cottage in Muskoka held a certain prestige that made Maya glow inside. She might not be rich. She might not be old money, but she had what most Torontonians coveted.
And she had three sisters to share it with.
Standing, she gazed out at Baby Horseshoe Island. As much as she loved progress, something felt off with what Rubicore was doing over there.
She rubbed her arms, hugging herself. Somehow this offer had changed things for her. She couldn’t explain how or why, but she felt more connected, more protective over the cottage, now that someone else wanted it. Maybe it was the idea of giving it up to a developer like Rubicore.
Shak
ing her head, she started up the path again. She was turning into a softy like her sisters. If Connor still wanted to discuss the offer, maybe she’d ask him about counteroffer tips—just in case her family decided to explore the deal. Maya tapped the envelope against her free hand. It was always good to have a backup plan, especially when Hailey was at risk of losing her home and business.
Maya stepped onto the veranda and checked around the corner to see if her guest was still at the dining table. No Connor. Opening the screen door, she entered the dim living room and spotted him in an armchair in front of the cold fireplace. His shoulders were so broad she longed to trail her fingers over them, and if he’d been anything like the man she’d envisioned, lean down to lay a kiss on his lips.
Not professional in the least, and somewhat unexpected, but somehow so very tempting all the same.
Briskly, she joined him, trying to quell her nerves. It was business time. The way she handled herself with this offer would show him who she was and what she was made of.
She took the chair next to him and pulled the papers out of the envelope, hoping he’d stop gazing at the fireplace. Well, she assumed that was what he was zoning out over. He was wearing those damn shades again. Which was silly, seeing as she’d already noticed his black eye, plus it wasn’t the least bit bright in here. Obviously, there was a juicy story behind that bruise, and the fact that he wanted to hide it made her want to discover that story all the more.
She cleared her throat and waved a hand in front of Connor’s face. A light snore made his lips vibrate, and she leaned back in her chair. Funny how the King of Toronto just kept disappointing her.
CHAPTER 3
Connor’s body ached as though he’d been tortured. The room smelled like warm, old wood. The bedding was soft with age. He propped himself on an elbow and squinted at the morning light streaming in through the bedroom window. He was wearing what he’d worn yesterday and he was on that island with the over-eager assistant who confused him. What the heck was her name? She had amazing breasts.
He went to adjust his morning wood before realizing that it, too, was broken. No erection, not even a hint of one.
He sighed.
Things were worse than he’d been letting on.
Groaning, he sat up. Why was he so sore? It was as if every muscle had been strung tight in the night. He stretched tentatively, the aches slowly subsiding.
If this was an effect of the fatigue, he might need longer than two days to get his feet under him again.
He shook his head and blinked away the uncomfortable sensation in his head. No, he had a plan. A deadline. He always met his deadlines. Being tired wasn’t going to affect that. He’d just buckle down and relax while he was here. Get it done. Then on Monday he’d get back at it.
Simple.
He stepped into the quiet living room, wondering if his assistant had set up coffee. He stood for a moment, getting his bearings. Coffee to the right. No, left. Yes, right.
Where was she? Wasn’t she staying here, too?
He moved into the kitchen, which had been added on at some point and didn’t quite match the rest of the cottage, other than for its slightly neglected feel.
He lifted the coffeepot and gave it a shake. Empty. He found coffee in the cupboard, water, hit the brew button and waited. This was a really quiet coffeemaker, considering how old it looked.
He turned to a small radio on the counter and tuned it to FM 96.3. Smiling as the kitchen filled with the sounds of his favorite opera. Humming to the music, he allowed the counter to support him as he watched the coffeepot. What was wrong with the thing? There was no coffee dripping into it.
The screen door banged, followed by the light padding of feet across the living room before another door shut. He hurried toward the sound. He needed coffee. What the hell kind of game was his assistant playing? And where was his breakfast?
He pushed open the closed door and was met with a squeal.
Maya, her hair streaming water, tugged the top of her bathing suit over her exposed flesh. “Didn’t we go over this already?” she snapped.
“This isn’t the bathroom.”
“Do I really have to explain what closed doors mean?”
“What are you doing?”
She grabbed the edge of the door and slammed it shut, Connor barely getting out of the way in time. The lock clicked into place.
“Your coffeemaker doesn’t work.”
“We’re on an island, Connor.” There was a bitterness in her voice as well as a “duh.”
“And? Hawaii is an island and they have working coffeemakers. Same with Tahiti, Jamaica…”
“We don’t have power out here.”
He nearly tried opening the door again. No power? But he’d just been listening to the radio. Batteries. Right. Then why have appliances if there wasn’t power? That was really screwed up. Wait, hadn’t she mentioned something about a generator?
This place required so much work.
He dropped his hand from the doorknob. She was probably fully nude by now, covering those perfect breasts in a fine lace bra. He pushed a fist against his forehead. What was his problem? He was fantasizing about seeing his assistant naked and he couldn’t even get a decent erection.
Sighing, he tipped his head forward until his fist was pinned between his skull and the door.
His eyelids drifted shut. He should go back to bed.
The door opened and he fell into the room, crashing past Maya to the floor. His face mashed into an area rug and his shoulders screamed from the effort of trying to slow the impact with his arms.
“Were you peeking through the keyhole?”
He groaned and pushed himself onto his back. “No, I was falling asleep.”
“Are you narcoleptic?”
He cracked a smile. “No, but my caffeine levels are dangerously depleted.” He licked his lips. His top one was already starting to swell.
“Do you want me to start the generator for coffee?” She leaned closer, taking on a sympathetic caring vibe that made him cover his face before struggling to sit up.
Everything was such an effort.
“I’m going back to bed.”
“Do you want coffee?”
He shook his head. The idea of getting to his feet and struggling back to his room was too much to contemplate. Maybe he could just sleep here. It felt good not having to hold up his body.
He stared at her bare ankles. Her long legs disappearing into cute shorts. That fine waist of hers. T-shirt; no crappy business attire. What did that mean? Wasn’t she supposed to be an executive assistant?
“You look good from this angle,” he said.
She whacked him with her wet bathing suit.
He let out a chuckle. He liked her spark.
“I swim around the island every morning when I’m here. So don’t come barging into my room, because I never miss my morning swim.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
Determined little thing. “I used to swim.”
“Used to? What, did you forget how to ride a bike, too?”
“You’re snarky.”
She shifted her weight as though determining whether to apologize.
He reached for her. “Help me up.”
“How’d you get so old?” she asked, struggling to help him. He kind of wished she’d do all the work, but apparently they’d need a crane for that.
“I’m one of those working stiffs they warn you about,” he grunted. Oh, the irony of that statement. He definitely did not have something stiff that worked at the moment.
“I hardly think running your own company makes you a working stiff. And you know you can swim while you’re here. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how.”
Connor, finally on his feet, felt out of breath. He gave a fake perky hop to dispel the worry in Maya’s eyes. His entire body was way too heavy to be able to function properly and there was no way he could fake a spring in his step for longer than his litt
le hop. Not like Maya. She was all spring and bounce and perkiness. A spitfire. A sexy, sexy spitfire.
“Maybe later I’ll swim around the island.”
Maya shook her head briskly. “No, you need to start by going across the strait to the left of the boathouse. It’s shallowest there and you might be able to stand if you need to.”
“Are you calling me an out-of-shape wimp?”
“Well, you don’t exactly look as though you are doing great, now do you?” She crossed her arms over her perfect chest and raised an eyebrow.
“You’re such a bitch.”
She leaned closer, giving him a proud smirk that made him want to kiss her. “I heard businessmen enjoy that in a woman.”
This girl was going to be trouble. The fun kind of trouble.
* * *
Connor sat on the veranda and sipped his coffee, loving the way the midday sun was scorching everything but him. He still couldn’t quite figure out why he wasn’t wigging out and stressed about all the things he had to do at work. Normally, sleeping away a Saturday morning as he just had would have anxiety building within him like pressure in a shaken bottle of champagne. Instead, his anxiety merely hovered in the background, a low hum, until he decided to fret about it. Then his heart rate would skyrocket, his chest would grow tight and his hands clench until they ached.
Just thinking about being anxious made his muscles start to contract. No wonder he’d woken up sore. He’d probably slept this way, his subconscious fretting that he was forgetting something important, something lurking behind a corner that would alter his entire business world.
He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the quiet island sounds rather than an engine that was puttering and shuddering as though it was running rich. He cracked his eyelids as Maya thumped by, likely on a mission to do something involving the wrench she was carrying.
