Finn found himself on Lacy’s porch. He hesitated.
“Were you going to knock or just stand there like a stalker?”
“Pardon me?”
Lacy stared at Finn through the screen door. “I heard a noise on the porch and there you were, stoic. Kind of creepy, Finn.”
He scowled. “I was trying to decide whether to bother you.”
“Bother me about what?”
“My Wi-Fi is … out and I have several important emails with attachments that I need to review.”
“A billionaire like you doesn’t have a hot spot?”
Finn sighed. “Have I done something to offend you, Lacy? Because if I have, I would like to address it right now.”
She wrinkled her forehead then relaxed. He thought he detected an eye roll. A brief and somewhat controlled roll of her eyes.
Lacy unlatched the door. “C’mon in, boss.”
He continued to watch her as he stepped inside.
“Make yourself comfortable. The table is a bit out of order at the moment, but you can sit at the island or the couch. I’ll airdrop you access.”
“Thanks.” He headed for the island and stopped. Every inch of the dining room table was covered in photographs. “May I?” he asked, before approaching.
She shrugged. “They’re just old photos. Found them in a box and wondering which ones to keep. If any.”
He stepped closer, taking in the organized mess. Shots of waves, seabirds, kids on the beach, surfers … a couple dozen photos were fanned out as if they had been stacked together.
“Are you one of these kids?”
She didn’t even look at them. “Nope.”
“But they are relatives of yours, correct?”
She turned to scrutinize the photos and released a minute sigh. “Yes. Those are my siblings, actually. I have four of them—three sisters and a brother.”
“A busy house. I suppose you’re the youngest, then?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, for one thing, you do look quite young.” He turned to see if she was properly flattered. By the frown on her face, he deemed that she wasn’t. “And for another, you’re not in any of the family photos.”
“I’m in some of them somewhere.” Her hand fluttered in the air, like the Queen’s wave. “I’m not the youngest, by the way—my sister Bella is. Most of the photos are of Jake and Maggie, because they got here first. They’re not too far apart in age. Then there are some with the babies—my sisters Grace and Bella.”
“Ah, so you’re a middle kid.”
“That’s what they call me.”
He plucked a photo from the stack, unable to take his eyes from her face. “This is one of you, isn’t it?” She was much younger—probably still a teen—and wearing no makeup at all, but he recognized her by the searing eyes and the half-smile.
“Good eye there.”
“You know, it almost looks like a selfie.”
“That’s because it is a selfie. I was taking them before they were cool.”
He stared at it for a long while, until he felt her shift beside him. “It’s more than that, though. This photo is quite editorial, like a story ready to be told.”
She nodded, her expression telling him she was a bit confused, though likely intrigued.
He wished he could take it home with him, to scrutinize it more. But he didn’t want to embarrass her. Finally, he said, “You took this with a regular camera?”
She tilted her head. “All of these were taken with my camera, some by me and some by my parents. iPhones were barely a thing and I wasn’t able to buy one right away, but my aunt gave the camera to me as a gift. It became the communal camera.”
“Communal. That’s funny.”
“As in, it disappeared from my nightstand on a regular basis. Actually, I know that I took a lot of selfies and I’m pretty sure that I had them all developed.” She shrugged. “Not sure where they all ended up, though.”
He put the photo back onto the table and picked up another. He recognized the house right away, although it was in much better shape when the photo was taken. “This is the ghost house.”
Lacy gave him a half smile. “It is.”
The world had become so glutted with photos taken by amateurs that certain ones had begun to stand out. “You have a great eye,” he said. “Not sure what it is, exactly, but there’s an emotional component to some of these. Do you have formal training?”
“If you consider a half-year of photography classes in high school formal, then yes.”
“Why not a full year?”
Her expression faltered and she let her gaze move away from his. She shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. Finally, she said, “We moved, so I wasn’t able to continue.”
“Not in college either?”
“I studied business and that served me well.”
She had closed up. Finn set the photo down, and when he did, their hands brushed. It took utter force of will not to fold his fingers over her hand and pull her into his arms. He focused on the table full of photos and in some way felt closer to her, like he could see more of who she was now and who she had been. He wanted to know more—needed to learn everything about her. Why had she moved? Where had she gone? What had happened to her between those lazy summers here in Colibri Beach and now?
Lacy stepped away from the table and pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail, holding it back with a hair tie she had been wearing around her wrist. She plucked her phone off of the counter and sent him Wi-Fi access. “Did you get it?”
“Yes. Got it.”
“Okay. I have to run upstairs for a moment, but feel free to work as long as you want.”
She disappeared down the hall and soon he heard footfalls as she climbed stairs. For the second time in minutes, he had to resist the urge to go after her.
Instead, he settled onto a stool at the kitchen island. It would be less comfortable than the couch, and he preferred it that way. She was driving him crazy and the best thing he could do for himself was to pack up and get out of there as fast as possible. Being uncomfortable would help in that regard.
For the next twenty minutes, he pored over a contract Helene had sent him for a massive remodel of their Chicago property. More money than he had poured into a property in years, but if the data he was relying on was correct—and it had proven to be with past endeavors—the return on his investment would be plentiful. After he looked over the contract, he forwarded it on to his attorney with his requests for changes. Undoubtedly, his lawyer would have some of his own.
He knew the minute she had retuned.
“Sorry to have bothered you,” she said when he turned around.
He chuckled. “You were actually very quiet.”
“My brother Jake taught me that. He was an expert in sneaking out of the house as a teenager.”
Finn smiled at that. “Sounds like a character. I would like to meet him someday.”
“Maybe if you decide to build a resort in California, he could be your guy.”
“Maybe so.” He noticed a large square table he hadn’t seen before. “Did you carry that downstairs?”
She looked to the side. “Oh this? Yes. It was in the upstairs master bedroom, but I think it could work down here better.”
He hopped off the stool. “Here. Let me help you with that.”
She waved her hands. “Actually, it’s fine. I called Rafael while I was upstairs and he says he can come by tomorrow and help me move some things and to do a few other projects around here.”
“I see.” What kind of other projects …?
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you have a problem with Rafael?”
“I don’t know him.”
“Exactly.”
“Listen, you have been quite gracious to me, Lacy, showing me around … sharing your Wi-Fi. I would be happy to save you the money of hiring someone and help you myself.”
“I appreciate that very much, Finn, but really, it’s alr
eady set. Anyway, now that I’m back downstairs, I’m going to pack up those photos again. I don’t need any help with that.”
He stuck a hand into the pocket of his shorts, frustrated. “Okay, if you’re certain.”
“I am.”
“Lacy?”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Would it be possible for me to have the photo of the ghost house?”
She cracked a smile. “Stop calling it that.”
He smiled back. “I will if you’ll let me have it. Or let me make a copy of it.” He paused. “As a memento of my time here in Colibri.”
She plucked it from the bunch and held it out to him. “It’s yours.”
Finn took it, his eyes on her. He noticed the way she handed it to him nonchalantly, and yet the way her eyes flickered and her expression deepened, he’d wondered if he had hit an exposed nerve.
“Thank you.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting now, so I’ll get out of your hair. I thank you for the internet use.”
“Of course.”
He took the stairs down her porch two at a time, regretting that he had a meeting with Lillian Madsen in a few minutes. He would rather use this time to call Adrian and talk to him, once and for all, about Lacy. Let him know what he’s thinking, how he was falling hard for the brown-eyed woman who had given up some of her vacation time for him.
He stopped. Would things have been different for Finn if Brad had come clean with him about his feelings for Paige? Or what if she had told Finn that she had fallen out of love with him, but loved his best friend instead? Could their friendship have weathered that tempest?
Finn ran a hand roughly through his hair. For once, he didn’t care to don a suit or put product in his waves to force them back. He decided to show up in shorts and flip-flops and see what the realtor with a reputation had to say.
A short time afterward, Finn strolled into Madsen Real Estate & Investments, intending to do more listening than speaking.
“Mr. Hastings, I am Lillian Madsen. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person.” She gripped his hand and shook it once. “Please. Sit down.”
She continued. “How are you enjoying that fabulous beach house I found you?”
“Very much. Thank you.”
“Excellent! I appreciate you waiting until I came back to town.”
“Not a problem. I have managed to find my way around Colibri.”
“A little birdie told me you have had your own personal tour guide.”
He did not respond to this. He had to give her credit, though. She looked undeterred by his lack of response.
“Now, before we go any further”—she scrolled through what appeared to be a list of properties on her iPad—“I wanted to ask if you have had the chance to see inside the Morelli property? And the one on the other side of it? That one is currently owned by Wren Mcafee.”
Why would that matter? He leaned forward. “I have been inside the Morelli family home to borrow the Wi-Fi. By the way, the signal is very weak in the property I am renting.”
She picked up a gold pen and wrote something on a pad of paper. “Noted.” She set the pen down. “Well, I suppose you heard about the terms of Lacy’s parents’ will. The Morellis were lovely people, certainly, but quite eccentric.”
“Fascinating.”
She smiled. “Did your employee not tell you about their stipulations before they are free to sell?”
“My employees’ lives are private. They are not required to divulge personal information to us.”
“Spoken like an upright business owner.” She cackled. “I won’t mention what I’ve heard about Lacy and that rascal Rafael either then.”
Finn leveled a look on her.
She continued, as if unbothered by his silence. “Since the Morelli home is one of a number of properties that I think you will want to consider, I believe it is in your best interest to know the details surrounding its availability. Lacy may not have mentioned this, but she is here to fulfill her part of her parents’ will’s stipulations.”
Interesting. Lacy had made no mention of selling her family’s beach house. Nor had she said anything about why she was here at all. He assumed she was on vacation, or perhaps, tending to the details of the family’s shared home. Hence, the rearranging of furniture. If she wasn’t here for downtime—which he had already severely interrupted—what exactly was she doing here in Colibri Beach?
“I am aware of work being done around the home,” he said. “But perhaps you aren’t aware of the scope of the project that Hastings Properties is considering.”
“This may sound difficult to believe, but there are very few oceanfront resorts in California. Oh, there are many with ocean views, but not many right on the sand. At least, not of the caliber of Hastings Resorts.”
Finn knew this. The data had surprised him, had moved California up on his list of possibilities, in fact. He looked directly at Lillian Madsen. “Tell me what you propose.”
Lacy lay on the floor, photos all around her. The mementos of her childhood pastime had fallen when she suffered a back spasm after carrying too many heavy items down that rickety old stairway. She groaned. The house was in utter chaos.
The thought of that sentence caused her to crack a smile. Her mother had used it often when trying to wrangle the kids—all five of them—into doing their chores. “This house is in utter chaos!” she would proclaim. They were a mangy bunch for sure, and she wondered why they had scattered as they had. Like the photos all around her.
A groan escaped her again, the threat of another spasm keeping her from trying to move. Why hadn’t she just let Finn help her when he’d offered? Rafael hadn’t shown up—the flake—and though it was against her better judgment to try to carry so many awkward-shaped items, especially the heavy ones, down the stairs, she had been too impatient to wait another day. So she had ended up on the floor.
It wasn’t the first time, though hardly anyone knew. She had experienced occasional back pain from a young age. As a kid, she would curl up in bed with a book, but as she grew, she found wine and a lounge chair to be her medicine of choice.
Lacy stretched her neck to see the clock in the kitchen. Seven-thirty already. Great. Tomorrow she would host a call with her siblings to discuss how things were moving forward and what did she have to show them? Basically, nothing.
A couple of knocks rattled the screen door. She closed her eyes. “What is it?”
“Lacy?”
Her eyes snapped open. Finn? Great …
“Everything okay in there?”
“Hold on.” She pulled herself up into an almost-sitting position, gingerly, sucking in air and tensing her core as she did. A light sheen of perspiration broke across her skin. “Okay,” she said, trying to sound normal. “Door is unlocked.”
Finn stepped inside, took a look at her, and rushed over. He squatted down until his eyes, warm and worried, were inches from hers. “You don’t look well.”
“Gee, thanks, boss.”
He smiled, though suspicion shone in those eyes of his. “May I help you up?”
Lacy pressed her mouth shut and shook her head. If he yanked her up too fast, she could pull her back out worse. She couldn’t dare. “I got it.”
Quietly, Finn stood, giving her space.
She rolled to one side, lifted her arms slightly, and braced her hands on that end table she’d brought down earlier from her parents’ old bedroom but never actually moved into place. With an unladylike grunt, Lacy pushed herself into a standing position, slowly, and released the breath she’d been holding. She lifted her gaze to meet his.
Round, concerned eyes stared back at her. “What happened to you? Did you … fall?”
“It’s not important.”
Finn crossed his arms and surveyed the room. “It is important—you are important, Lacy.”
A lump formed in her throat and she looked away again. Tears? Really? She thought she had more control than that,
but for some reason, unshed emotion sprang to her eyes. She tried hard to push the tears back.
“Hey,” Finn said, reaching for her. “Let me help you to the couch.”
“Not the couch.” She gasped.
He raised his eyebrows, still gazing at her.
She winced. “Too soft.”
He nodded and glanced around the room, stopping on the old wing chair. “If I give you some pillows for your back, would the chair work?”
She nodded, the pain keeping her from answering. Or maybe it was the tears forming. Lacy could not recall the last time she had been hovered over like this. Or if she ever had.
“Can I get you anything? Something to drink? Another pillow?”
“No, please. I’m fine.” Lacy shook her head, relief making its way down her spine. “Really.”
He stared at her for a long beat before stalking into the kitchen where he found an open bottle of red wine, poured a glass, and brought it to her. “Here’s what is going to happen: I am going to move whatever furniture you would like to have moved.”
She opened her mouth. “But—”
He held up a hand, stopping her. “Sorry. You don’t have a say in this.”
“Oh really.”
“Really.” He bent down until they were eye to eye. His voice turned low, husky. “You have helped me this week, now let me help you.”
“You’re my boss.”
“Right now, you’re mine.” Something in his voice simmered.
Lacy swallowed back any sort of reply. His grin grew and he snapped into position, starting with the wayward end table. He lifted it like it was an empty grocery bag. “Where would you like this?”
She groaned.
He frowned.
“See, I want to put it next to the couch, but first I need to move the couch. Of course, I could just wait—”
“No.” He put down the end table and stepped toward the couch. “Where do you want this?”
“I want to turn the back toward the north wall but move it far enough away from the center of the room so that one could both see through the west window and easily turn to see the front door.”
Lacy's Billionaire Boss Page 6
