by Hall, Traci
Grace sighed and covered her heart with her palm, thinking of Sawyer, and so glad that he’d dropped by to share his news about Bert. “I don’t know, dogs are growing on me.”
Chapter Twenty
Wednesday morning, Sawyer waited out in the front of Bark Camp for Grace to arrive. He’d been so busy with the dogs and getting the veterans set up with building the new fence line that he hadn’t asked yet if Griffin had given her the job for the book.
He wanted her to be able to pay those taxes. He’d thought she was going to tell him about her problems Saturday night, and then he could offer his assistance, but Lottie had arrived, and the conversation had moved away from Grandma Dahlia to Violet.
The kid was a cutie, and she and Bert seemed to have formed an alliance. Sawyer was thinking more and more on ways dogs might be able to help autistic people.
He heard the VW van long before it sputtered around the curve to the flat parking spot she liked beneath the pine tree.
Grace climbed out with her brown polo tucked into her jeans, wearing brown ankle moccasins. She had her own style, for sure, even with a dress code. Feathered earrings dangled to her jawline, tangling in her black curls.
“Morning,” she said, concern in her eyes. “Everything okay?”
To say that he’d been waiting outside because he missed her would be ridiculous. He opened the front door for her. “I was hoping you could get a picture of Romeo for his file.”
“Oh, sure. It’s been so busy, I just haven’t gotten to it yet. I did Cyrus, though. Beautiful dog.”
Cyrus and his owner tested his patience. Anita Lowery had left many hints that she’d be interested in going out for a drink or two. He’d acted like he hadn’t noticed.
“You have everything running so smoothly, I forgot about it myself.” He would miss seeing her every day. She was his neighbor for now. If she lost her house, he would no longer run into her on the beach, either. He planned on treasuring every second of the next week and a half.
What was it about this woman? He followed her back to the kitchen, breathing in her floral perfume.
“You can keep my electric kettle if you want,” she said, her tone teasing as she put her purse on the table, her lunch bag in the fridge.
“I’d have to hire another woman named Grace.” And there was no other woman like her. He already knew that.
She took the kettle to the sink and poured in water. “So, how are things?”
He leaned against the kitchen counter. “Cyrus is progressing well; it’s Ms. Lowery I’m concerned with. More than half of training is the people. It’s not like I’ve never had dogs come back, but it’s always the owners having the problem.” He thought of Bert. “Well, almost always.”
Grace turned the kettle on and ambled up close to him, her upturned nose tilted as she tapped his chest. “How are things with you?”
He stared into her sparkling blue eyes. What was she referring to? Did she realize how much he wanted to be with her? As soon as she no longer worked for him, he would do his best to win her over. “Good.”
Her brow furrowed doubtfully. “I’ve been reading up on you and your ex online.”
His gut tightened. He might have lost his show already—he didn’t want to lose Grace’s respect. “Those are all lies.”
Her slender hand grasped his forearm and squeezed. The warmth of that gesture raced up his arm to his chest, making his heart thump.
“I know,” she said, removing her fingers. “I guess I don’t understand why you dated someone like that in the first place.”
He winced.
She turned away, her feather earring fluttering. “It’s none of my business.”
He waited until she looked at him again. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” The boiling electric kettle snapped off, but Grace kept her compassionate gaze on him. “We met at a party—she was gorgeous. We were drinking. She moved in within the week. I don’t remember inviting her, but there she was, and it was too much of a hassle to get rid of her.”
Grace’s rosy mouth dropped open in disbelief. “That’s pathetic,” she said, her hand on her hip as she backed away. “I no longer feel sorry for you.”
That hurt. He rubbed his pounding chest. “Hey!”
“Sorry.” She shrugged and gave a head shake. “You have so much to offer. Why are men so overcome by appearances?”
Grace felt he had a lot to offer? “In my defense, I traveled a lot. So did Daniella.”
“You don’t owe me any explanation.” She poured hot water into her mug, and he felt her disappointment in him.
“You’re right, though. Maybe more apathetic?” Sawyer had seen Daniella as a prize to be coveted and then didn’t know how to make her leave. It was easier to travel, and then she’d traveled…she’d moved out while he was away, just as she’d arrived. He thought their breakup was no big deal, since he’d never made a promise with his affections, and had been taken by surprise at her vicious retaliation. “What about you? Any exes a man should know about?”
Grace shifted toward him, her mug on the counter. “Nope. I’ve never even been in love.”
“But you’re a beautiful woman.”
“So I should be in love all the time?” A smile flitted around her mouth as if she was trying to keep a straight face.
Sawyer stepped into her floral sphere, his thumb tracing her lower lip with the lightest of caresses. “I find you captivating. Charming and charismatic.”
She inched back and bumped into the counter. “Have you been drinking, Sawyer?”
He’d embarrassed her, if the crimson cheeks were anything to go by. “Don’t you want to get married someday? Have kids? Settle down?”
“Married?” Horror filled her crystal-blue eyes. “No. Romantic love comes with too many expectations that aren’t realistic, and for kids, I have Violet. Settle down? That just sounds awful, so no.”
He burst out laughing. “My mistake. What about Griffin Carlisle? Have you met with him again?”
“Yes.” Grace lifted up her mug and crossed to the other side of the table so that it was between them.
“Did he like your pictures?”
“Sawyer, you sound jealous.” Black brows arched in surprise.
Was he? That would explain a lot. He put a dark roast pod into the Keurig. “Maybe I am. Did he like them?”
“We’re meeting Friday to discuss a contract.”
That could be good; it could be bad. Griffin was a snake of the same caliber as Daniella. “Would you like my lawyer to read the contract? At no charge to you, of course.” Sawyer would pay the fee.
“You would let me borrow your lawyer?”
Alarm spread through him at her incredulous tone, an inner voice warning him to tread cautiously. “I don’t want you to get taken advantage of.”
Grace jabbed her finger toward him. “Sawyer, your vision of me is way off the mark—I’m no backwoods little woman who barely knows how to read. I have a bachelor’s in business.”
Sawyer placed both hands on the counter and stared down at the coffee machine—he just wanted to help, and Griffin didn’t play fair.
“Sorry.” Of course she was smart as well as artistic. He turned to her. “But you can still use my lawyer, if you want. I don’t know what you should be making as a photographer. Maybe Kasam does?”
She patted her chest. “I know what I should be making as a photographer. I don’t need you to manage my life.”
He quickly raised his palms. He was pushing, yes, but only to help her save her house. “I would love to hire you here full-time.”
“Sawyer, you aren’t listening.” Her body trembled with emotion, but she stood her ground.
“Forty thousand a year?”
“You couldn’t pay me enough!” Grace’s eyes welled, and she stormed out of the kitchen.
“Sawyer!” Grace yelled.
He ran from the break room to the lobby where two of his brothers mock-wrestled with Kita, who barked ferociously.
Grace fearlessly held a broom handle at the ready—aimed at Tomas to get off Kita. He loved that she would protect the dog. Kita had his brother Tomas pinned to the bathroom door. Bobby laughed hysterically.
“Release,” Sawyer commanded Kita. “These are my brothers,” he told Grace. “The one with the scraggly beard is Tomas, and Bobby is the hyena with the ponytail.”
The dog dropped to a sitting position, hind end wagging. This was a game they’d played with Kita for years. Tomas and Bobby had been with him since the beginning.
“I see.” Grace lowered the broom, her face flushed as if embarrassed.
“I’m sorry.” He stepped past the partition to glare at them. “I had no idea they were coming.” Why the hell were they here? He loved his family, and these two were the closest to him of his siblings, but they’d never just dropped in without warning before. “Are Mom and Dad okay?”
“Yes,” Bobby said. He was comfortable in khakis and a polo. A duffel bag was by the stairs. “We just thought we’d surprise you.”
“Family is always welcome, right, bro?” Tomas looked around with his arm outstretched, his gaze landing on the dark leather couches and television. “This is a sweet setup.”
Bobby leaned over the partition to wink at Grace. “Hey, babe. Dig the feathers. This place is off the charts.”
Grace paled and touched a dangling earring.
“I’m a little bit country,” Tomas started to sing. His skinny jeans and white shirt made him look like a pirate. All he needed was a gold hoop.
Shamed by their behavior, Sawyer pointed to the back room. Just once he’d like Grace to see him as a hero, but these two practical jokers were not helping matters. “In. My. Office.” Kita hurried ahead, nudging open the handle on his door.
His brothers barreled in, and Bobby closed the door behind him.
“Before you start yelling,” Tomas said with a pirate’s grin, “who is that adorable hipster at the front desk?” He smoothed his thin goatee.
“She’s no hipster. That’s Grace, my receptionist.” Neighbor. Photographer. Woman in his dreams. Sawyer scowled at his siblings. “Sort of.”
“You’ve landed in Podunk, Washington.” Tomas cracked his knuckles and settled back into the plush black chair in front of Sawyer’s desk. “Polar opposite of L.A., man. At least Seattle is an actual city. I’ve never seen so many trees.”
“Mom wanted us to drop by and check on you.” Bobby moved to stand behind the other chair. “She’s worried you’re hiding away from the spotlight because of your evil ex.”
“Yeah,” Tomas added, “and that you’re not bringing in the Sawyer Rivera loot.”
“That’s not it,” said Bobby, loyal to their mother.
“That may be it,” countered Tomas.
Sawyer groaned. “I’m fine. Daniella will eventually go away, and then Bark Camp can be launched without reprisal.”
“I don’t know what you did to her, bro,” Tomas said. “You have to watch out for those models. Sexy and all about the money. If she can’t have it, she doesn’t want you to have it, either.”
Sawyer sank down to the chair behind his desk. “I just want her out of my life. My team is working on a plan.”
“Does that plan include Ms. Blue Eyes?” Bobby took the remaining seat and drummed his thumb along his knee cap. His ponytail was so long it reached his shoulder.
“Leave her alone,” Sawyer ordered.
“I think I might ask for her number,” Bobby said.
Sawyer glared. “Are you a child?”
“I could be, why? Does she like younger men?”
Tomas laughed. Sawyer was tempted to sic Kita on his brother for real. He glanced at the calendar on his wall.
Tomas got up and eyed the day with “Grace” circled in red. “Friends, Sawyer?”
He held his body rigid under their joint censure. “She’s a temporary hire. That is her last day here.”
Tomas turned to Bobby. “You hear that? You’d better make your move fast—our brother won’t date the help. Juan taught us all that—you hear he’s getting married now?”
“Go home,” said Sawyer through gritted teeth. Juan deserved to be happy; all the Riveras did. He’d be happier with Tomas and Bobby in L.A. “I have everything under control here.”
Both brothers laughed.
Chapter Twenty-One
On Friday, Grace left work early to change before her meeting with Griffin at five. If he liked her photos, she’d be set. She wanted to dress to impress and hopefully sway him into a contract. Thirty pictures at five hundred each would certainly make a dent in her money woes. She prayed it would be enough to convince Mr. Haviland that the rest of the money would come.
Griffin had a keen sense of fashion, and there was no way Grace could compete on a monetary level, so she had to choose carefully and go for artsy.
She wore a feathered skirt she’d created by dyeing downy chicken feathers black and indigo, interspersed with black tulle. The outfit was something like a punk rock ballerina, and she loved it.
Grace layered turquoise glitter along her mink lashes. Rather than let her curls free in a riot around her head, she smoothed her hair back from her face into a tight bun. Packing her camera into the specially made bag she’d sewn, along with the beaver and red squirrel photos, she headed for the door.
As promised, Griffin had paid for the prints, which meant she now had enough to pay for her van. She’d set up an appointment with Eddie to bring it in once her time at Bark Camp was up.
Not wanting to be late, she’d pushed the VW and hit a few surprise bumps along the way that didn’t sound so good. She arrived at the Kingston Bird Museum right on time, but with an alarming grinding noise coming from somewhere underneath. She gave the steering wheel an encouraging pat. “Hang in there, girl.”
Inside, Carlos’s office was dark, as if he’d already gone home for the day. Making her way back to the conference room, she was glad the museum was open for a few more hours and that there were people around in case she needed another jump to her van.
Griffin sat alone at the long table, typing on his phone. Stylish as always, he wore a pair of black silky slacks and shirt, a shiny black belt, and designer shoes. His golden hair was slicked back as though he were royalty.
He greeted her with a kiss on her cheek. “You look divine.”
“Thank you. As do you.” And it was true. He even wore black eyeliner. Like a human-sized doll, which was actually kind of creepy. Well, she didn’t care what he looked like so long as he bought the photos she’d taken.
“What have you brought me?” Griffin’s tone was teasing, followed by his gaze on her hips, then face.
She set her bag on the table and pulled out the prints, ignoring his rude behavior. “Here are the pictures you ordered, the squirrel and beaver. I brought in others to show a fuller story for the Seattle wildlife. Thirty images will certainly fill a book for your father’s birthday gift.”
Griffin slipped the prints free from the portfolio with a chuckle. “I think Mr. Squirrel was playing with you.”
The red squirrel had been easy enough—a hike in the forest and peanuts for a treat. She and Violet had fun feeding them. The beaver had been another story entirely—she’d ventured out on Sunday, driving into the Pacific Rim National Park.
Trying to impress, she said, “I was knee-deep in the river for these. It was cold, and I don’t have a working heater in my van.”
Griffin pulled at the
patch of hair on his chin. “A van, like a soccer mom?” He laughed hesitantly.
That might ruin her image forever in his mind. She quickly corrected, “Not a minivan—a vintage VW bus. Enough room for my easel and photography case.”
Griffin’s demeanor changed, and he took on a calculating expression. “You’ll have to give me more than these, Grace,” he said, getting up and pointing at the folder in the center of the table. “In return for a contract.”
She peered up at him in confusion. “This is what you ordered.”
“I told you I wanted raw, primal nature. These are nice,” he said patronizingly. “But not quite what I had in mind. You’re beautiful, you know, and undiscovered. I can help your career, put you in contact with gallery owners.”
That’s what he’d said about the publishing connections. She was starting to realize that he was full of a lot of hot air. “What about the coffee table book for your father?”
He waved his hand flippantly over her prized photos. “I’ve changed my mind about that. I like this project idea better.”
Grace’s stomach twisted as she realized he’d tricked her.
Griffin crossed his long arms and took her in as though she were an object, not a person. “I’ll honor the original agreement. Thirty photographs, five hundred each. You understand, sometimes these shoots get a little steamy.”
For a desperate moment, she considered negotiating with the man, to see if he would just do the regular pictures. They could pretend this was a bad joke. She realized that he felt his money entitled him to whatever he wanted. Well, he didn’t own her.
She might not have much, anything really, but she would never compromise her values like that. Not even for Grandma Dahlia’s house. She dug her nails into her palms, sitting stiffly. Grace would have to explain to her parents that she’d let them down, let her grandmother down.
He watched her the way a hawk eyed a mouse. Vision blurry, she blinked and gathered the pictures, except for the two he’d paid for.
“I’ll have to say no, thank you,” she said, tense and tight from the inside out.
