Up to Me (Shore Secrets) (22 page)

Feeling penned in, both physically and emotionally, Ella moved to the opposite end of the balcony. Ran a hand over a tendril of bright green ivy trying to make the leap from the wall onto her balcony. “So what if I used to be Ms. Commitment? I can be a fun-for-now girl, damn it. I’m sort of starting from scratch over here. Clean slate, due to three years of total inactivity on the dating front. I’ll freaking fling if I want to.”

Another exchange of meaningful glances between her friends. Talk about feeling ganged up on. It was supposed to be the three of them against the world, not two of them against her. She’d known that announcing her intention might not go over well. Ella never thought, however, that they’d try this hard to talk her out of it. A few stock back-and-forths about whether or not she was ready was all she’d expected. Not this dire warning of a supposedly inevitable downward spiral. With this sort of reaction from her best friends, Ella imagined that if she had mentioned sex with Gray in the journal, the town would’ve shown up at her door with flaming torches and driven him out of town on a rail to prevent it.

A pair of hands settled on her shoulders. Piper’s signature tuberose scent wafted forward on the breeze. “We held your hand through three years of devastating heartbreak, Ella. Forgive me if I’m in no hurry to see you go through anything even close to that again.”

Well, geez. Ella couldn’t be mad at them for trying to keep her happy and whole. But she also couldn’t let them think that stagnating in unexciting happiness was the only acceptable option. “Life’s a gamble. That’s what I’ve learned. Protecting myself from heartbreak, locking myself up in this tower—that’s not living. Rolling the dice on having a good time with Gray is barely a gamble. We’ll have a good time. I’m quite sure he’ll be amazing. He’ll make my eyes roll back in my head. And there’s no reason to skip giving myself such a fantastic experience. At the very least, I’ll have a yummy memory.”

“That’s the same reason I wanted to try half your brownie,” Casey grumbled. But there was laughter in her voice and in her big green eyes.

Deep down, Ella knew that they might be right. When Icarus flew too close to the sun, look at how far he fell. On the other hand, how glorious were those moments up in the sky, basking in its radiance? The bottom line was that she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t seize this moment. Because Ella knew all too well that moments had a funny way of disappearing without warning. Just like Gray might in a few days.

Chapter Twelve

Most of the time when Gray was on assignment, it was easy to find a place to work. He didn’t need much. A coffee shop with a decent French roast. More importantly, one a couple of blocks off the beaten path where there was no possibility of running into anyone he might be investigating. Most importantly, no chance that they might come up behind him and read his notes as he typed them into his tablet.

Seneca Lake, however, was different. Gray found it all but impossible to be alone, no matter how hard he tried. Or how often. For a lakeshore strung out along thirty-eight miles, it sure felt small. He’d started at the bottom of the lake, in the library. Whereupon the librarian piled him with brochures about local attractions and events, and tried to sit down and bend his ear about the winery her uncle ran. And, of course, worked in a plug for him to visit it. She couldn’t have been nicer, but he still fled after ten minutes.

The patio at a winery halfway up the lake didn’t work either. The busload of senior citizens should’ve provided a big enough distraction. But the winemaker had seen him with Ward, and offered a private tasting of his first whack at making vodka. Wanted Gray to report back that his product had a leg up on Lakeside Distillery’s product.

Seneca Lake definitely came in heads and tails above anywhere else he’d been in the category of warm and friendly. No matter where he stopped to try and get work done, people insisted on talking to him. Offered him food and drinks. Gray also waved off offers of a haircut, a racquetball game, and a horseback ride. Hell, at this point it felt like the whole town was trying to date him. Everyone except Ella.

So he’d taken refuge on the pier at the Manor. Hidden behind a clump of lake grass taller than Gray, he figured it was the safest place left to him. Even his own room was off limits. The maid, of course, knew and adored Ella. And, of course, had seen them together on more than one occasion and wanted to give her blessing. Because, as the maid so proudly informed him, she’d already given them the green light in the fucking journal.

The pier wasn’t so bad. The sun-baked boards beneath his legs were smooth with age. He’d been able to push up the sleeves on his black rugby shirt as the air warmed. Behind him, a white bush with white flowers perfumed the air with a scent almost identical to whatever Ella wore. And Gray didn’t think he’d lose his man card for admitting that the six baby ducklings paddling circles around their mom were the cutest thing he’d ever seen. At least, as long as he didn’t admit it to anyone else. Ever.

Squinting behind his aviator shades, Gray stared back down at the screen. The more time he spent investigating, the more convinced he became of two things. First, that taking over Mayhew Manor could be a really smart move for his company. And second, that the Manor could be a cash cow with just a little more focused management. It wouldn’t take as much as he’d feared for Ella to be in the position to fight a takeover as long as she sold out a few more nights and scraped up enough cash for the needed repairs.

The surrounding area was great, although the city planner had sure fucked over a good thing when he started fucking the treasurer instead of doing his job. The town needed a kick in the ass, publicity-wise, as much as the Manor did. Again, though, it wouldn’t take much. The sooner Dawn dropped her optimistic naiveté and fired the both of them, the sooner the town could regroup and move forward.

Which meant he’d hit an ethical logjam. He’d hoped to discover the Manor teetering on the brink of collapse. To find proof upon solid proof that liberating Ella from this giant white elephant full of debt and memories would be good for her. Instead, he had equally strong reasons to urge Ruffano & McIntosh to move forward...and to urge Ella to dig in her heels and not let them do it.

He was crazy about Ella. Didn’t have any future with her. If they tried to date once he left, his job would come out. It was already almost impossible to keep it from her. And Gray couldn’t see that she’d ever forgive him for spying on all of them, even if he recommended R&M stay away. So if they didn’t have a chance in hell of being together, why did he care so damn much?

Water splashed his shins. Gray looked out about ten feet to see Joel in a rowboat, slapping an oar back across the rippling water. “Shit, I didn’t even hear you coming.”

“Means I did it right. Silent and stealthy’s the smoothest way to row.” The oars clattered against the bottom of the boat. Gray pulled up his legs as Joel lashed a rope around one of the pier’s poles.

“Uh, what are you doing? There’s no ladder here.”

“Don’t need one.” As smoothly as if pulling himself out of a swimming pool instead of in a straight vertical lift up five feet, Joel hoisted himself in a glorified pull-up onto the pier.

“Shit. What did you say you used to do in the army?”

“I didn’t. If I told ya, I’d have to pound the hell out of you until you didn’t remember what I just told you.”

Seeing as how Gray had no intention of revealing his past or present job, it seemed more than fair to let it drop. That, and catching the deadly seriousness behind Joel’s words. “In that case, how about we forget I ever asked?”

“Sounds good.”

Joel looked at Gray with a quizzical frown, then hooked a thumb at the row of Adirondack chairs spread along the edge of the velvety green lawn. “You know, for the price you’re paying per night to stay in the Marshgrass Suite, we let you use the chairs. Any of ‘em. On the whole property.”

“Very funny. But the chairs, sooner or later, attract other people. I needed a breather.”

A confused squint docked beneath the frown. “You’re on vacation. Aren’t these whole two weeks a breather?”

He’d known since the labeling day at the distillery that Joel didn’t believe a word of his cover story. And been grateful that Joel hadn’t pushed him on it. But apparently his curiosity was getting the best of him.

“They were till you started hassling me,
Chef
.” Gray said it in a sardonic tone that he hoped reminded the older man he was a guest, first and foremost and Joel was there, ultimately, to serve him. He fucking hated it. Hated himself for treating a guy who’d been nothing but friendly like hired help. Just another reminder that he hated this job a little more every day. And that he still hadn’t come up with a better option.

Joel ducked his head. “Fair point.”

Desperate to change the topic, Gray pointed at the faded blue hull of the boat. “Do you row over every day?”

“As often as the weather lets me. It’s just a mile to my dock.”

“Yeah. But then it’s a mile back in the dark, at the end of a long shift.”

“It gives me a breather.”

“Also a fair point.” Gray would’ve said more, but something hard and sharp ricocheted off his right leg. He looked down to watch a jagged rock plop into the water. And at the same time, noticed the thin line of blood welling along his calf. “What the hell?”

Joel whipped around and let out a sharp, piercing whistle that stopped a young boy in his tracks. “Did you throw that rock?”

Feet scuffing in the grass, the boy hunched his shoulders beneath a red windbreaker and edged closer. “I didn’t throw it at the man. Not on purpose.” He shook his head fast. And his wide brown eyes looked scared shitless. Gray thought that out of the two of them, despite the blood trickling down his leg, the kid probably felt worse right now. “I just wanted to make it skip.”

Gray got up, making sure to close the cover on his iPad. “You were trying to skip rocks with a jagged shard? The only thing less aerodynamic would be trying to skip that stump over there.”

“I don’t know how to do it. Just saw it in a movie once.” Coming closer still at a snail’s pace, the boy looked to be no more than maybe eight, his baseball cap barely level with Gray’s waist. “I’m bored. Chucking rocks at the lake is the most fun I’ve had all morning. Except for hitting you. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Dad’s golfing. Mommy’s at the spa. I’m s’posed to stay on the lawn here till she’s done. But there’s nothing to do.”

Matched set of ungrateful idiots for parents. Poor kid. Gray remembered all too well what it felt like, having nobody to play with. “Joel, how long till your shift starts?”

“I came in early to do some paperwork, but it can wait. I’ve got about two hours.”

Gray squatted. “I saw a soccer ball in the gym yesterday. And I think Miss Mayhew mentioned a badminton set. Why don’t I go scare those up, and we’ll hang with you until your mother comes back out?”

“Really?”

Yeah. Gray had clocked plenty of alone time over the last decade. He could always carve more out later. Right now, he sure as hell couldn’t let this little boy mope out here by himself.

“While Mr. Locke’s getting the equipment and slapping on a bandage, how about I teach you the right way to skip stones? You know, by hitting the water instead of people.”

A smile showed off a gap where his two front teeth used to be. “That’d be awesome. I’m Rory.”

“Hi, Rory. You can call me Chef.”

Gray whispered, “I’ll tell Ella to let his mom know.” In his regular voice, he said, “Back in a flash.” He covered the wide lawn at an easy jog, checking his watch at the same time. Just shy of two o’clock. Ella was probably tied up with a client. But Eugene would undoubtedly point him to the equipment. Once inside, Gray hooked right toward the front desk. To his surprise, Ella was there, looking amazing in a tight sweater the color of peach fuzz with matching jeans.

“I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to come to me with your comments, Joanna,” she said in a pleasant, professional tone. Despite the words and her calm voice, Gray could tell something was wrong. Maybe it was the rigid line of her shoulders. Or maybe it was that since he’d heard her voice thrum with sincerity, he now recognized when it was missing. “And I agree. Tradition is a wonderful thing.”

“We honor our past by recreating it.”

That came out weird. Like the tall twig of a woman in lime green bike shorts planned to throw on her great-great-grandaddy’s Union blues and wield a musket for a couple of hours down in Gettysburg.

“I’m all about honoring the past. But I made this decision in order to preserve my future.”

“I call it selfish. Ignoring it is a slap in the face to all who came before us.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Joanna. I hope you’ll still find it in your heart to attend, though.”

“Of course I will,” she snapped. “Not showing up would be cutting off my nose to spite my face. I just had to tell you first what a horrible mistake you’re making.” With a nod, she jammed her helmet on her head and strode off, her bike cleats making a hollow clank against the lobby’s mosaic floor of grapevines at their peak.

The moment she cleared the doors, Ella collapsed in on herself a little. She dropped into the wing chair with a huge sigh.

“Who’s the snippy bitch?” Gray asked.

A stack of pink message slips circa the turn of the millennium flew up in the air as Ella twisted around. “Gray, hi. I didn’t see you.”

“Because you were busy juggling ten tons of attitude.” He squatted to gather her messages.

“Oh, you heard my conversation with Joanna?”

“I wouldn’t call it a conversation. The Duke of Wellington had a conversation before he kicked Napoleon’s ass all over Waterloo. This woman was out to draw serious blood from you. What’s her problem?”

She took the pink slips from him, then shook them. “The same as all the rest of these people. I’ve got seven angry phone calls to return. That is, after I deal with the parade of angry men and women who’ve tromped through my lobby for the past four hours.”

Shit. Gray had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what had them fired up. He also knew he was to blame. “Is this about the big party?”

“You get a gold star. After we worked on the wording over breakfast to change the save-the-date, I sent it out before my first appointment.” She dropped her hands to the armrests and tipped her head back. “I then had to ask Brooke to fill in and finish a facial, because there were three people insisting on speaking to me immediately. Gray, I never walk out on a client. Not ever. Not until today, anyway. I feel horrible.”

Part of Gray wanted to drop to his knees and stroke her hair until her smile returned. Instead, he went right into crisis mode. Focused on what he could fix. The best way to move forward with the least damage. “Did you comp her?”

She looked at him blankly, as if he’d asked if the lake was still big and blue. “Of course.”

“Then stop with the guilt trip. She still got the full service, and the bonus of a freebie. Your client’s more than satisfied. Let’s tackle the real problem.”

Ella wrinkled her nose. “You mean how pancake-flat Joanna’s ass looks in those bike shorts?”

Atta girl. The snarky humor indicated she wouldn’t let these people walk all over her. That she was ready to fight. “That
is
a vision I’d like to bleach from my brain. Wanna explain exactly what her objection is to moving the party by a week?”

“Joanna’s the self-appointed historian of all things Seneca Lake. She’s got a shed in her back yard full of notes and photos and clippings. Excel spreadsheets about events in town as detailed in the journal and cross-referenced by who made the entries.”

“Really? She’s lumping confessional entries in the damn journal in the same category as genuine, fact-checked newspaper clippings? Have I mentioned how nutty your whole town is to put so much weight on a glorified diary?”

She tapped her chin, as if giving the question weighty consideration. “Almost as often as I think about how sexy your smile is.”

“So, a lot then?”

“Oh, yeah.” Then Ella laid a smile on him. One that could melt the polar ice caps in under thirty minutes. One that promised things for the next time they were alone, in a dark room. Or heck, even a well-lit room. “I shouldn’t make fun of her. Chronicling what happens at Seneca Lake is her passion. Unfortunately, I’ve just thumbed my nose at her precious traditions by moving the party.”

“But it’s your party. Your family’s tradition, Mayhew Manor’s—not hers.”