Taking Over the Tycoon

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Connor’s hands stilled on the sheets as he made a perplexed face. “I don’t wrap presents, either.”

  Kristy burst out laughing. “Oh, Connor.” She shook her head. “You have so much to learn.”

  IT TOOK ANOTHER ten minutes, but Kristy finally talked him through the process, including putting cases on the pillows. Connor had never figured that domestic chores could be fun. The household help his mother had employed had never particularly looked like they were enjoying themselves, so he had always assumed it was serious drudgery. But Kristy made it fun. In fact, she made everything fun. So he hated for her to leave him and head back to the lodge.

  “Well, if you’re all settled,” she said, “I’ve got to be getting back.” She stepped outside onto the small private porch of his cottage, which was just wide enough to hold a couple of beach chairs and a table.

  Connor followed her out onto the porch, stood in the glow of the lamplight that lit the exterior of the resort. He wanted so much to take her in his arms and kiss her. But this wasn’t the end of a date, he reminded himself sternly, even as he noted that Kristy was looking as if she wouldn’t mind being kissed. Until she glanced down the beach. Then she scowled. “Darn it all,” she muttered as she turned away immediately. “That man is at it again.”

  Connor surreptitiously followed her glance and saw Bruce Fitts on the deck of his luxurious new beach house, his eye pressed to the end of a telescope that was pointed their way.

  Kristy folded her arms in front of her. “He’s spying on us.”

  “Looks like it.” Connor had never wanted to punch someone out. But he was beginning to understand why guys did things like that in defense of their women. With intrusive idiots like Fitts it was the only way to get the message across.

  Frowning, Connor looked back at Kristy. “Want me to go and have a word with him?”

  “And say what?” she demanded, pushing her hands through her hair as she blew out a frustrated breath. “Don’t look at the resort? Whether I like it or not, Mr. Fitts is well within his rights to sit on his own deck and use his telescope to look at whatever he wants to view.”

  Connor couldn’t argue with that. Nevertheless… “It’s still an invasion of privacy,” he said.

  Kristy’s expression grew even more troubled. “And one our guests are not going to like.”

  Connor was silent. “Maybe you can plant a hedge or something,” he suggested finally.

  “Only to the inland edge of the dunes.” Kristy recited current restrictions enforced by both the state and the county. “Plus, a hedge would take years to grow to a height that would block his view.”

  She smiled tightly at Connor, the mood between them spoiled by Fitts’s intrusive behavior. Not wanting to discuss it further, she simply said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Connor watched her walk down the path to the main building. She disappeared into the lodge without a backward look.

  Aware that he hadn’t had a chance to drive back to the city to pick up any clothes, he locked the cottage and headed around the main lodge, out to the well-lit parking lot to his car.

  Connor knew Kristy didn’t really want him acting as a buffer between her and her nosy neighbor, but he also knew someone had to do something, so he stopped off at Bruce Fitts’s home en route to the city. By then, Bruce was no longer on the deck, but in his garage, polishing his car. He smiled evilly as Connor got out of the car and walked toward him.

  “Saw you working on Ms. Neumeyer. How’s it coming? Convinced her to sell yet?”

  “No.” And, Connor thought, he was fast losing the will to do so, even though he knew it would be a lot better for Kristy and her girls financially if he could do that. Because then she wouldn’t have to work so hard. Connor stepped farther into the garage, so the two could talk quietly, and saw twenty gallon-size jugs of weed killer concentrate lined up along the edges. Connor didn’t know anything about yard work, either, but he knew that was way more than anyone needed.

  Bruce Fitts studied him with a mixture of unhappiness and contempt. “The little lady’s got you by the short hairs, hmm? Well, don’t you worry,” he promised with a nasty leer. “I’ll drive her out one way or another. And sooner than you might think.”

  “SO YOU THINK Ms. Neumeyer is in danger?” Harlan Decker said, when he met with Connor in the shadows behind cottage 12 an hour later. The burly ex-cop turned private detective was dressed in a loud shirt and rumpled khaki slacks, an outfit suited to the warm autumn weather. He had a straw boater on his head, a cigar clamped in his mouth.

  Connor folded his arms in front of him and kept his voice low. “Her resort is definitely in danger. The only problem is I can’t prove Bruce Fitts is behind any sabotage. Yet, anyway. Which is why I need you, Harlan. I think Bruce Fitts has been poisoning all of Kristy’s palmetto trees around the resort with those jugs of weed killer concentrate I saw in his garage.”

  “But you need to catch him in the act,” Harlan guessed, as he jotted a few notes on the pad in his hand.

  Connor nodded, his blood boiling at the thought of anyone putting Kristy’s and her daughters’ health at risk by putting out so much poison on the grounds where the girls played. “So can you put up some surveillance cameras around the property that will catch him tampering with cars, and pouring poison on tree roots?”

  “Sure,” Harlan agreed, sliding the notepad and pen back in his shirt pocket. “I’ll be out first thing in the morning.”

  “That’s the problem,” Connor cautioned. “I don’t want Kristy to know.”

  Harlan arched a curious brow.

  “She’s got so much on her plate now,” Connor continued worriedly. “I don’t want to go off half-cocked, making wild accusations. If I’m going to say anything to anyone about this, I’ve got to have proof first. Only then will I be able to do something about it.” And Connor wanted to get rid of Fitts and his incessant troublemaking in the worst way.

  Harlan rubbed the flat of his hand across his jaw. “I don’t have a problem setting up some cameras. I can do that in the middle of the night tonight, with no one being the wiser, especially your neighbor Mr. Fitts. I’ll just wait until his lights go out and I’m sure he’s asleep. But I really think you should tell Kristy, Connor.”

  Connor shook his head, his decision firm. “I don’t want to go to her with information like that unless I’m able to do something about it then and there. I want to protect her, Harlan.” He wanted to help her feel as if her world was the way it should be once again. He paused to study the P.I.’s face. “So will you help me or not?”

  “I’ll help you, all right,” Harlan said. He looked Connor in the eye, despite his continuing reservations. “I just hope for both your sakes you know what you’re doing.”

  Chapter Seven

  Although the day promised to hold more of the same tedious physical labor he had indulged in the day before, Connor had no trouble getting up and over to the main lodge at an early hour. “So what are we doing here today?” he asked, as soon as breakfast was over and the twins had left on the school bus.

  “What are we doing,” Kristy clarified with a flirtatious look as she breezed into the janitorial closet to get a fully loaded maid’s cart, complete with vacuum cleaner, “or what do we wish we had time to do?”

  Feeling game for anything she might want to tackle, Connor focused on the flushed contours of her pretty face. She was wearing a snug-fitting red T-shirt and gray overalls made out of a lightweight but sturdy canvas cloth. The combination of loose-and snug-fitting clothes only seemed to emphasize her slender body and sizzling curves, and Connor felt the wave of attraction all the way to his toes. “The latter.”

  “Well,” Kristy sighed, as she clamped her hands over the handle. “First on my list would be to pull up the ratty old carpeting and get the hardwood floors beneath them looking good again. Second would be to paint the entire interior.”

  It was looking a little dingy, Connor noted, as he settled his hands next to h
ers and pushed the wheeled cart down the carpeted hall.

  “Unfortunately,” Kristy sighed as she plucked a coated elastic band from her pocket, “there’s no time.”

  Connor watched as she gathered her hair into a ponytail at the back of her head and secured it with the band. “It could all be done in a day if you hired a crew,” he said.

  “I don’t have the money for that.” Kristy sighed again as she picked up a red-and-gray Carolina Storm hockey team cap from the end of the cart and put that over her hair, so the brim was facing backward. “So we’ll just have to get things as sparkling clean as we can and worry about painting and pulling up the carpet later, I guess.”

  Noting how cute—and young—she looked in the hat, Connor grinned. “I could at least paint the hallway for you,” he said.

  Kristy wrinkled her nose at him as she opened the first door and pushed the cleaning cart into the room. “It’s got to be a professional job.”

  Connor slanted her a teasing glance. “Don’t trust me to accomplish that, hmm?”

  Kristy pulled on a pair of heavy-duty rubber gloves. “Not to insult you, Connor, but you’ve never done any manual labor.”

  Connor regarded her confidently. “Just tell me the color you want it and leave the rest to me.”

  As she studied him, she raked her teeth across her soft, kissable lower lip. “You’re serious.”

  Basking in his ability to assist her—even though it went counter to his own agenda—Connor nodded. “I promised to help you, and painting this hallway will go a long way toward making this wing a lot more presentable.”

  Kristy stepped back out into the hall and looked at the faded, dirty paint. “I can’t argue with you there,” she said slowly.

  “So what color?”

  Kristy backtracked to the laundry room. She brought out a fresh laundered drapery with the old-fashioned beach print. “I’d like it to be this color green.” She looked up at him earnestly. “Do you think you could take this to the paint store and have them match it?”

  Touched by the trust she was putting in him, Connor nodded. “Sure.” Telling himself that now was not the time to be thinking of kissing her again, he stepped back casually and asked, “What about the rest of the rooms? What color are you eventually going to paint those when you have the time and money?”

  “The other colors in the drapes. I’d have one room ocean-blue, the next sand, the next grass-green, the next the deep rose of the beach umbrella.”

  “Ah. I see.” Connor grinned approvingly. “All the room colors would correspond to one of the hues in the drapes. Nice.”

  “Thanks. Listen…” Kristy glanced at her watch. “If you really are going to paint the hallway for me, you better get a move on.”

  Connor would have liked her to come with him. “What are you going to do while I’m gone?” he asked, wondering if he could convince her to make this another joint project.

  “I’m going to continue cleaning bathrooms this morning, meet with Winnifred at noon to go over the menus and the lists of supplies we’re going to need, and then probably go with her to the warehouse club to pick up the nonperishable items. Obviously, it’s too soon to buy fresh produce, meat and dairy products, but we can put orders in and have them delivered by the wholesalers on Tuesday of next week.” Kristy paused. “You’ll have to pick up paint rollers and tape and other supplies, too.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Connor promised as he bent and kissed her cheek. It was a casual gesture, given often in the South as goodbyes were said. But kissing Kristy’s cheek didn’t feel casual to Connor, any more than being there did. Instead it felt as if he were getting involved with her. Head over heels, irrevocably involved.

  BECAUSE THEY WERE BOTH working in the area, Maggie Callaway Deveraux and Amy Deveraux Everton were able to meet with Connor at the coffee shop across from the paint store.

  “So let me get this straight,” Maggie said as she eased her slender but pregnant frame into a chair. “You want a top-notch paint crew at the Paradise Resort to do twenty-five guest rooms, bathrooms and a hall. Plus a flooring crew to remove some old carpet and spiff up some hardwood floors. And you want them all in and out of there today.”

  “Right,” Connor said, looking at Amy, who was recently married, and also pregnant. “Although I understand the flooring crew might have to come back again tomorrow to finish their work.”

  “Why?” Amy asked, point-blank.

  Good question, Connor thought, and one his business partner, Skip Wakefield, would soon be asking, too.

  “Because I have no intention of cutting any corners,” he said. He wanted Kristy and her girls to have only the best. Which was why he had called Amy, who had her own decorating business, and Maggie, who was a kitchen designer with her own contracting and remodeling business. He’d been friends with both women from way back, having gone to school with Amy and her brothers, and having hired Maggie to redo the kitchen in his loft several years before. Both were members of the Deveraux clan and extremely well connected in the business community. They would not only know who to call, they had the clout to see that a project got done when he wanted and how he wanted.

  “Probably the ceilings and all the trim, too,” Connor added.

  Maggie, a very independent woman in her own right, rubbed her chin. “And you haven’t run this by Kristy,” she surmised.

  A minor problem, as far as Connor was concerned, given all that was at stake. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. It was black, hot and delicious. “She’d just say she couldn’t afford it.”

  Amy shook her head as if to clear it. “Then why are we even talking about this?” she demanded, looking even more confused.

  Connor angled a thumb at his chest. “Because I’m paying.” And he knew money talked. For the right sum, literally anything could get done.

  “We’re talking thousands of dollars here,” Maggie cautioned, her light green eyes serious.

  Amy nodded, backing her up. Her Deveraux-blue eyes were just as serious. “Maybe even double time if you want it done right away,” she warned.

  Connor shrugged. What were a few bucks if the outcome made Kristy happy and eased her worry, even a little bit? “That’s fine.”

  Maggie let out a low whistle that spoke volumes. “You must really want to impress her,” she said.

  Amy, ever the romantic, agreed. She elbowed her friend and offered a conspiratorial wink. “I think it’s more than that, Mags. I think he’s really got a thing for her.”

  So it showed, Connor thought, and promptly wished it didn’t. At least as far as the rest of the world was concerned. He took another sip of his coffee and pretended to glare at them. “Are you two going to sit there haranguing me or help me get something done?”

  Abruptly serious, Amy came through for him, just as he knew she would. “We’ll help you,” she promised, all sorts of romantic notions causing a glint in her eyes.

  The more practical Maggie regarded Connor sternly. “You just better hope this is a happy surprise, fella. Or you’re going to be in such deep quicksand you may never get out.”

  Connor scoffed.

  There was no way Kristy was going to be irritated with him for giving her such a generous, heartfelt gift. Absolutely no way.

  EVEN WITH WINNIFRED’S help, it took a lot longer to go to the warehouse for supplies and place the orders for meat, produce and dairy than Kristy had expected. Hence it was nearly four o’clock by the time she and Winnifred were driving down Folly Beach Road to the resort.

  As they turned into the drive, Kristy noticed three things. First, the palmetto trees looked even worse than they had the day before. Second, there were large piles of the ratty old carpeting she had wanted torn up heaped in the parking lot. And third, the parking lot looked like a contractor’s convention. There were several different paint company trucks. A flooring company van. And a half dozen more pickups, some with ladders mounted on the top.

  “Looks like Connor did
a little more than just go and get a few cans of paint,” Winnifred observed as Kristy parked as close to the service entrance as she could get.

  “You’re right about that,” she muttered, stunned at the sheer audacity of the man, even as she wondered what it would all mean to her business and her already troubled finances. Or was that what the sly Connor was planning? “And now I’m going to kill him,” she declared heatedly.

  “Don’t be too hard on him, dear,” Winnifred murmured as she got out of Kristy’s minivan. “I’m sure his heart was in the right place.”

  Too angry to formulate a civil reply, since all the brouhaha currently going on meant Connor had deliberately ignored her plainly stated wishes, Kristy snorted and marched toward the entrance. The smell of new paint assaulted her as soon as she opened the door to the lobby.

  Kristy expected Connor to be lounging about. Instead, he was in the north wing hallway, patiently getting painting lessons from a pro. He had paint in his hair, on his face and hands and especially his clothes. But, Kristy had to admit, she had never seen him looking happier than he did at that moment.

  Her senses clamoring, she beckoned to him. Connor put down his paintbrush, wiped his hands on the rag he had tucked into his belt, and strode toward her. As he reached her, he was grinning from ear to ear. “Surprised, hmm?”

  “Doesn’t begin to cover it,” Kristy replied sweetly.

  Having no intention of making her disagreement with him public, she grabbed Connor’s arm and guided him through the lobby and into her private office. She shut the door behind them, then turned toward him and let her fury show. “I can’t believe you,” she fumed, throwing down her shoulder bag so hard that the clasp opened up and everything, including things she would much rather not be seen, spilled out.

  “I thought you’d be happy,” Connor said, looking truly baffled.

  “Well,” Kristy said as she threw her wallet, cell phone and lipstick back into her purse, “I’m not!”