by Jean Oram
He pinched the bridge of his nose and focused on what had made her angry. “Why exactly does James have a problem with you?”
She shrugged. “I ask too many questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“My usual nosy ones.” She gave him a smile. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“For asking questions? No, not really.” But the effect of those questions was intriguing. James, like anyone, became edgy when stressed, and Connor could see how Maya’s inquisitiveness could get under the man’s skin. He used to do the same to James eons ago, when they’d first started working together. But he’d thought James had mellowed. Was leaving the company in his hands too much for his advisor?
Connor gave Maya a reassuring tap on the elbow. “James is carrying a heavy load right now. More so with me gone, so don’t take it personally. I turn into a supreme prick who wants things done five minutes ago, and for everything to be lined up so I can fire through them like a sergeant major general when I’m busy. It’s normal.” The familiar tightness associated with work expanded in his chest, which he rubbed with the heel of his hand. He gave a light laugh. “I should ask him if he wants to take over some of my projects.”
Connor considered the idea, blocking out Maya’s flabbergasted protests. James dealing with all the details he had to shovel through on a daily basis had unusual appeal. Could Connor walk away from the entire company, and not just his projects? He had enough to retire on, and James had enough to buy him out, as well as a deep desire to be king of the hill.
If Connor wanted to keep his foot in the game he could do some consulting here and there. Or just drift off into the sunset. Living in Muskoka, he wouldn’t need a lot of money once he had a roof over his head, and the sale of his penthouse in Toronto would surely cover the cost of a nice year-rounder out here. He knew other businessmen who’d done it, such as Tristen Bell, formerly a die-hard real estate mogul. They’d done a few deals together and come out laughing. Then Tristen had suddenly pulled up stakes and vanished. Rumor was he was in the area. If Tristen had enough to pull out, then so did Connor.
He interrupted Maya’s continuing argument about his life, his business and how he couldn’t ditch it. “Could I get a ride into Port Carling sometime? I want to look up someone.”
“You can’t retire. You can’t give it up. You’re at the top of your game.”
“And why not? I’ve delayed my own gratification for too long.” He let out a laugh, deepening it as Maya’s expression turned from one of agitation to one of fear for his sanity. He placed a gentle kiss on her nose. “You need to lighten up, Maya.”
Sipping his coffee, he headed outside to his favorite place on Nymph Island—the hammock. When he’d first started his business, during university, his satisfaction had come from making it into the big leagues. As the years went on, he kept telling himself that when he finished the next deal, made the next million, he’d take a break and join the jet set life he’d always dreamed of having. But he’d never given himself that gratification, and never allowed himself true vacations for fear of losing his position on the totem pole. He hadn’t even gone to Italy to enjoy Barber of Seville in an old opera house.
So why not now? Why not cut out and enjoy what he’d earned? He was never going to do it if he stayed at CME. There would always been one more thing popping up as an emergency, changing his plans. This, out here in Muskoka, was real life. The life he’d been missing.
CHAPTER 11
Connor shook Tristen Bell’s hand and pulled him close enough to slap his back in a friendly man-hug, getting a warning growl from the massive Bernese mountain dog sitting at his friend’s feet.
“Don’t mind him. Maxwell Richards III is a friendly old coot,” said Tristen.
“Quite the name.” Connor gave the dog a scratch behind the ears and, seemingly satisfied, the big animal wandered off to collapse in the shade of a large maple.
“He came with it.”
Connor sized up the former real estate tycoon. He was trim and fit, his hair a bit longer than the sharp-edged Bay Street image Connor was used to. In fact, Tristen had adopted somewhat of a casual, woodsy style.
“You look ten years younger than when I last saw you in Toronto. Are you doing some hot young thing?” Connor’s attention moved to the large, renovated cottage sitting behind him. “They’ve got to be crawling all over you.”
His friend laughed. “Are you kidding? After the way my ex-wife took me to the cleaners there’s no way I’m getting on that horse anytime soon. Even for a one-nighter.”
“How’d she get the better lawyer?”
Tristen laughed again and tipped his head as though asking Connor how much he wanted to hear. “I pretty much rolled over and played dead.”
“Uh...” Connor shifted, unsure what to say to the toughest negotiator he knew.
“She showed me that nobody liked who I’d become.” Tristen’s face tightened, but before Connor could puzzle it out, the man’s expression turned to one of lightheartedness. “So here I am. Like the place?”
They both looked at the two-story clapboard house, which featured a fair amount of stonework along its bottom.
“Love it.”
“Thanks. Did it all myself.”
“What?” Connor tried to hide his disbelief.
“Kidding. I tried, though. Turns out I’m not great at plumbing or wiring. But I designed what I wanted, and got in there when I could, and helped. Turns out stonework’s my thing. You don’t have to be able to measure things quite as precisely.”
“Stonework?”
Tristen took a few steps to the side and pointed to the chimney that extended up the other side of the building.
“Wow.”
“Did a patio out back, too. Want to see it?”
Connor shrugged, trying not to compare the man’s pride with that of a new parent.
Tristen led him from the parking area and across a veranda that was similar to Maya’s, but in better shape. Rounding a corner of the cottage-turned-year-round home, they found themselves on a stone patio overlooking the water.
“Laid them all myself. I have them in sections in hopes that the frost won’t heave it too badly. So far, so good.”
Connor nodded, his focus drifting to the cushy outdoor furniture sitting under an awning a few feet away. Man, that looked comfortable. And the way his quads were still aching from his dash to save Tigger two days ago, nothing had ever seemed more welcoming.
Tristen moved to a small outdoor kitchen and opened a fridge. “Beer?”
“Yeah.” Connor peered over the small wet bar to check out the space. He withdrew his hand as his friend offered him a bottle. “Actually, you know what? I’m trying to cut back.”
Tristen sized him up, then returned the beer, along with his own. He pulled out two bottles of water instead and passed Connor one. “Going to run a marathon or something?” he asked lightly, taking a seat in the outdoor living room.
“Something like that.” Connor eased himself into a chair, hating the way his abs screamed at him. The good news was that it no longer took him all day to get in one hundred crunches. Too bad it still hurt, as though someone was spearing him repeatedly.
“So? How’s the city? How’s Connor MacKenzie Enterprises? Done any amazing real estate deals since I’ve been gone?” He downed half his water, then set it on the stone-topped table, which was actually more like a large ledge around a built-in fire pit.
Connor licked his lips. The last thing he wanted to do was talk business. He gave a small shake of his head and pointed to the renovated cottage with his bottle. “I love this place. So quiet.” He could almost see Port Carling from their location on the small bay, but not quite. There was a low drone in the background from passing boats heading to town. “Does it get busy?”
“Yeah, weekends in July and August. You can tell when it’s a weekend, like today, but it’s still not too bad. I don’t mind the sound of boats. Smells a hell of a lot bett
er than Toronto’s traffic.” Tristan let out a laugh and crossed one leg over the other, slinging an arm over the back of his seat.
“Ever miss the city?”
“Never.”
“Yeah. I’m not missing it as much as I thought I would.”
“How long have you been out here?” Tristen asked.
“Less than a week.”
“How long are you taking?”
“Two weeks, I guess. One left to go.”
“Good on you.”
Connor sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s weird, though. I’m not as stressed about being disconnected as I think I should be.”
Tristen nodded, taking another gulp of his water. “Once you get over the withdrawal, it doesn’t seem as vital any longer, does it? As though it loses its meaning.”
Connor fidgeted with the label on his bottle of water.
“So?” his friend asked.
Connor looked up to find Tristen watching him in a way that told him the man knew exactly why he was there.
“I’m burned out.” He rubbed his forehead, feeling haggard, washed up.
“Well, a vacation is a good start.” His friend’s brow furrowed and he focused on the water below. “I thought you’d be the type to work until you dropped.”
“Apparently I’m at risk for a heart attack, stroke…the works.” Connor took another swallow of water, hoping to dispel the desperate lump that had formed in his throat.
“You’re pulling my leg!” Tristen sat forward, echoing Connor’s pose, with elbows resting on the faded knees of his jeans.
“Wish I was.” He took a few more gulps of water, struggling against the undertow of emotions.
“What are you going to do?”
Connor swallowed hard. He took in the quiet getaway Tristen had created for himself. “How…” He cleared his throat. “How did you…”
“Leave it all?” The large dog had found them, and he plopped his massive head in Tristen’s lap, momentarily distracting him. He roughed up the dog’s head affectionately, then tipped his own head back and forth a few times so Connor couldn’t tell if he was imitating the dog or weighing his reply.
“Well,” Tristen said finally, “how much do you know about my final year in Toronto?”
“Not much. I went to call you one day and you’d pulled up stakes.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t in a good space when I left.”
“Understandable.”
Tristen let out a long breath. “Basically, I was working too much. You know how it is. I never saw the wife or the kid. She wanted another, but I was never around, and so it never happened. You know how all that goes. You try and make them happy with the big house, the diamonds, and the Escalade in the driveway. Anyway, she got tired of it and left me. Got a fancy lawyer. Same story as half the guys on Bay Street. But I was tired and began to wonder why I’d done it all. Why did I make all those cutthroat deals and rise like cream if she didn’t care and it didn’t make her happy? Work and deals lost their meaning when she left me. It may sound odd, but I discovered I didn’t know her, my kid, my friends or even myself. So I gave her half the business, then sold my half and said good luck.”
“You walked?”
“Yep.” He leaned back, crossed his legs again. “I came up here, bought this fixer-upper in October three years ago. Been renovating it ever since.”
“You’re not working?”
“I have savings. She got only half, right? Don’t need a lot other than for renovations. Oh, and taxes. The taxes around here are enough to give you a coronary. But I love it. It’s quiet. The neighbors are hardly ever around. Deer walk through my yard. Nobody is yelling at you for letting squirrels live in your trees, or if you don’t rake your leaves and they blow into someone’s yard. It’s peaceful in all the ways I need.”
“Being retired, don’t you miss working?”
“Of course. Anyway, I couldn’t pull out entirely. I still sell a little real estate here and there, but nothing major. And I don’t try to undercut people anymore. I got tired of being that hard-assed, ruthless son of a bitch everyone admired but dreaded, you know? Everyone deserves a fair deal.”
Connor nodded, understanding where Tristen was coming from. People were in awe of Connor and his success, but also jealous and sometimes snarky about it. Especially if he came up well ahead of someone else in a deal.
“So, did it…” Connor leaned back, enjoying the comfort of the cushions, unsure how to frame his next question. “Your identity…”
Tristen gave him a crooked smile that had to be a hit with the ladies, and said, “My pride and vanity? Did it take a hit?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure you don’t want a beer?”
“Trying hard not to die here, man.”
Tristen leaned forward. “It’s that bad?”
Connor nodded, and his friend tucked his shaggy hair behind his ear, his broad shoulders stretching his shirt with the mild effort. “Well, you know what they say. Work hard until you retire, then die the next day. You’re just such an overachiever that you’re trying to have it all now.”
“That’s why we’re friends, man. You always dish your manure fresh and straight up.”
Tristen laughed, but suddenly turned serious. “Yeah, it hurt my pride a little. Still does when people from my past act as though I broke down or something. But the thing is the so-called ‘hole in the world’ that I left back in Toronto got filled in pretty damn fast. Some other guy stepped up and took my place. People probably don’t even remember me anymore. I wasn’t as vital or as irreplaceable as I had believed. And yeah, my name is on a lot of papers for some major building projects and land deals in the city, but nobody is going to create a statue or name a park for me. My daughter doesn’t even know what my favorite color is. How sad and pathetic is that? She still sends me a tie for my birthday. That’s how little we know each other.”
“She doesn’t come out?”
“She’s seventeen.”
Connor didn’t have a wife on the horizon, but he could see how any relationship he might start could very well end the way Tristen’s had if he didn’t make some major lifestyle changes.
“You gonna quit the rat race?” his friend asked. “I know of a nice little year-rounder not too far from here that you could get at a fair price. Needs a bit of winterizing, but it would allow you to modernize it at the same time.”
Connor laughed. “You’re still the same guy, angling for a commission, aren’t you?”
Tristen’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “If you quit the rat race, you can’t go cold turkey, Connor. That kills men like us. You need a project even if it’s joining the Lions Club or serving coffee at the local coffee shop three days a week. Don’t just go pulling the plug, or it will get pulled on you. You know what I mean?”
Connor’s heart lurched. Was his cold turkey vacation going to cause him to keel over?
“I can see what you’re thinking,” Tristen said. “Vacations are okay. You need them. What I’m talking about is for you to ease out—if you’re considering pulling out. Or throw yourself into something new. Fill yourself with something fresh and rewarding.”
“Like a job.” Why did that sound so unappealing to his ears?
“Or a girl.”
“Are you looking? I hear they have a thing for old money and you’re last name rings a bell in that regard. Pun intended.”
“Always looking.” Tristen shot him a wink. “But never seeking, my friend.”
Connor smiled and finished his bottle of water. The idea of coordinating a transfer out of the rat race was exhilarating but also exhausting.
* * *
Maya stared at the pages sent from Accounting. How on earth was this math supposed to add up to the lumberyard being worth that much? Yes, everything balanced, but some of those numbers couldn’t be correct. Knowing she’d get an earful, she hiked up the hill to perform due diligence, trying to talk herself out of making the call. Ther
e were more pros than cons to contacting the office. In fact, the only con would be that James would get bent out of shape again—but only if Em told him that Maya had called. And she could handle that if it meant she could finally rest assured before Connor signed the deal.
She punched in the number for Em’s home phone and paced a path through the underbrush on top of the hill.
“Em? It’s Maya. Sorry,” she added quickly. “It’s the weekend and I know I’m a pain, but I can’t get the math to work for the sawmill.”
“Maya, we have—”
“Accountants, I know. But I can’t figure out how Connor is going to come out ahead on this deal. I know I’m just an assistant, but I can’t ignore this, as I simply can’t see a sawmill being worth this much. And why would he want a lumberyard in the first place?”
“I have a call coming in,” Em said. “I’ll phone you back in a few minutes, okay?”
“Fine,” Maya grumbled. She hung up the phone and rested its cool plastic against her chin. A boat puttered into the strait and Maya hurried down the hill, wondering if it was Connor returning from his trip ashore to visit his friend. When she got within sight of the dock, she relaxed. It was Connor. Smiling, she made her way to his side as the man in the boat pushed off. He was handsome. And familiar.
“Who was that?” she asked Connor.
“Tristen Bell.”
“Oh, a Bell.”
“Yeesh. Women and old money.”
Maya laughed. “There are a few of them around these parts, you know.” She gave him a haughty smile. “Plus, I’ll have you know that some of us are looking for love. Not someone with a big fat bank account and a name that makes gold diggers woozy.”
“That’s what they all say until you buy them a Porsche.” He slung an arm around her shoulders and she hoped he wasn’t planning on having her support him all the way up the hill. Her ribs were still tender where Daphne had landed on her, and he was pushing against the sore spot. “So, what did you do this afternoon?” he asked. “Enjoy having the cottage all to yourself?”
