20. Mac
Aweek later, I head for my bar like it’s my first day of work. I’m freshly showered, though not shaved. God forbid. I was sorely tempted to jerk off but decided today, of all days, I wouldn’t be able to look Shelby in the eye, knowing it’s been a week straight of fucking my hand with her name on my lips.
I change my outfit approximately one thousand times but finally say fuck it and walk out with the first thing I tried on: a button-down shirt, a tie, and a pair of slacks I practically had to dust off it’s been so long since I put on anything other than jeans. I even went without the wool cap I wear all winter long, putting some sticky shit Chris and Lana gave me in my hair to push it back and make it stay out of my face.
Today’s the day Shelby’s going to present her week’s worth of observations to me from shadowing my staff at the bar, after which she says we’re going to do a several-hours-long brainstorming session.
I’m nervous as hell.
We’ve fallen into a routine at home, where I spend half my time trying to coax Nate into conversation and the rest of the time trying to find ways to ensure I’m in the same room as Shelby.
As it turns out, the easiest way to get to both is by hanging out watching them play video games together. Seeing them trash talk each other one minute and high-five the next makes my chest fill near to bursting. He may still veer the conversation away from anything meaningful I try to ask him, and he still shuts the door in my face when I invite him to hang out with me, but just existing with him is miles better than what we had before.
At work, Shelby and I have slipped into a rhythm too. Mostly I go about my day while Shelby’s a beautiful, voluptuous woman-of-my-dreams fly on the wall.
“What’s with the tie, MacGregor?” Stu hollers as I walk briskly past him on the beach path now.
I was hoping to avoid him since I got up early enough to avoid Shelby too, but this morning, he was setting his easel up before the sun was fully risen.
“Got a meeting with your parole officer?” Stu deadpans.
I get my keys out. “Fuck off, Stu.”
Stu laughs as if he’s made the funniest crack in the world. He’s still laughing when I stomp my way into the bar.
Luckily I get distracted by a note from Chris from last night. She said the fireplace was smoking, so after getting my bread started, I mess around with it for a good hour, cursing and banging around even more than usual. Once I’ve got it fixed, I move onto all my other morning tasks, ignoring Lana when she arrives. That is until she hands me one of those stain remover sticks from her purse.
Now, a few minutes before Shelby’s set to arrive, I lock myself in my office, cursing out loud when I check the little mirror in my bathroom. I’m streaked with soot. And somehow there’s a clump of sourdough on the top of my tie too.
That’s how Shelby finds me when she walks into my office a moment later: my back to her in front of the mirror, my shirt dotted with wet spots from the damn pencil, me yanking the stupid tie off like it’s choking me.
“Dough,” I explain, scrubbing the tie under the faucet. I haven’t turned around yet. My heart’s already ratcheting up just knowing she’s there. “And soot.”
She’s quiet, so I glance up to look at her in the reflection. Her pretty lips are open in a delighted-looking grin.
Please don’t do that. I beg you.
I get the dough off and do my best to dry the damn thing on the hand towel. Then I put it back on wet, flapping it over as I tie it into a Windsor knot that would probably have my dad laughing.
In the mirror, she’s still smiling.
“What?” I grumble.
“You dressed up!”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“Then I look ridiculous too.”
It’s only when I turn around, damp tie already soaking through to my chest, that I take in what she’s wearing.
The high, sleek ponytail would do me in on its own. But her clothes…Jesus fuck. She’s wearing a skirt suit. The material hugs her curves in a way that hurts to look at. The blazer’s unbuttoned to reveal a silky blouse with the kind of buttons that look like they just need the slightest twist of a man’s fingers to open. And the way it’s tucked into the skirt just right, revealing the soft roundness of her lower stomach?
“Yeah,” I say. Is it hot in here? I’m fucking sweating. “You look completely ridiculous.”
She laughs, then comes over to fix my tie.
With her this close, I really start to sweat. I look down so I’m not staring at her face, but, of course, that only gives me a perfect view of her body.
And the suit.
I’ve loved seeing her at home, in sweaters and jeans, tank tops and those stretchy leggings. But seeing her like this? I was serious about the Sears catalogs. Sure, I looked at the underwear pages. But it was the skirt suits that really did it for me. Still do. Blame all the high-powered women Dad worked with in my teens, I guess.
When I look back to her face, Shelby’s concentrating on my tie, her tongue sticking just slightly out between her teeth.
Her face is only inches from mine. I could lean forward and kiss those plush lips. I could take my thumb and forefinger and grasp that tiny little shiny teardrop zipper pull I know rests at her hip.
I could watch the skirt fall to the ground, then lift her up onto my desk and?—
Shelby clears her throat. Her eyes are big on mine, her cheeks rosy as if I spoke those words out loud.
“All done,” Shelby says. Only it comes out more like a croak.
Wait, is she flustered?
She takes a step back. “I, uh, absolutely judge my clients on what they wear the first day we meet,” she says. She raises a hand to her collarbone, then seems to think better of it. “It says a lot about how attached they are to their business, and the number one thing that indicates our partnership will be a success is passion for their business. It’s clear you care about your business, Mac. Though, of course, I already know that.”
All the words come fast enough that, for the first time this morning, I relax. Just a little.
“Hey, Shelby?” I ask.
“Yeah?”
I run my hand over the back of my neck. “I’m nervous as fuck.”
Shelby doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then she grins, letting out a nervous, beautiful laugh. “Really? I thought it was just me. Then I thought that was ridiculous because we’re kind of like…friends now, right?”
Friends?
Her smile falters. “Aren’t we?”
“Yes,” I manage. “Friends.”
Cal is my friend. Chris and Lana are my friends. Hell, even Fred is my friend. I’ve got friends coming out of my ears. Shelby being my friend is not nearly enough.
Her smile comes back. “Do you want to try something weird?”
Like closing that door and fucking you on my desk?Making a meal out of your pussy? Would that be weird?
I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me right now. I didn’t come in here this morning anticipating having these thoughts. It’s the suit. It has to be.
“Like what?” I say, hanging on by a thread.
“Just…trust me. This is something I do more with my female clients, because men don’t usually want to go along with it.”
I arch an eyebrow.
“But you’ll go along with it, right, Mac?”
Say it like that, and I’ll dance barefoot in the snow for you, sweetheart.
“Okay, do what I do. Legs shoulder-width apart. Arms down, hands open.”
I adopt her posture.
“Okay, now…” Shelby does this adorable, extremely weird thing where she closes her eyes and wiggles her whole body, top to bottom. She makes a blowing-raspberry kind of noise at the same time.
“You doing it?” she asks.
“Yup.”
“Brr!” She keeps going, getting really into it, and I’m actually looking at her face, even though everything else is moving extremely appealingly.
Then she opens her eyes and freezes. “Hey!”
I can’t help it. I grin. “That was really cute.”
“You said you were doing it!”
“It was better watching you.”
She shoves my chest, laughing, and suddenly I’m frozen.
Her hands sear me through my shirt. I reach up, without thinking about what I’m doing, and let my hands circle her wrists.
“Mac,” she breathes.
She’s suddenly close enough that I can feel her breath skate across my neck.
A hard rap on the door makes us both startle. I drop her hands.
Chip’s there, looking like I’ve just murdered his best friend.
“Hey, Chip,” Shelby says.
“Is it time yet?” Chip mumbles.
“Just about. I’ll be right there.”
When Shelby turns around, Chip narrows his eyes at me.
I stare right back, raising a brow, since I am still his boss.
Chip clears his throat and backs out. I can’t help but notice he leaves the door open a crack. His shadow hovers in the gap too.
I rub my forehead. Poor guy. He’s a goner for her.
“We should get started,” Shelby says.
I nod.
“Okay. I’ll be back in a sec. Oh, and could you please move those chairs over there?” She points at the two chairs facing my desk.
I frown.
“Trust me.”
In the thirty seconds it takes me to rearrange the chairs, she’s back, with Chip in tow.
Chip’s pushing a big-ass whiteboard on wheels into my cramped office, smashing into my bookshelves before I’m able to get there to help him out.
“Where the hell have you been hiding this?” I ask.
“You have the other stuff?” Shelby asks, ignoring me.
Chip reaches into his apron and pulls out a box of colorful whiteboard markers, along with a couple of notepads, pens, and what looks like a roll of stickers.
“Thank you, love!” Shelby says.
Jealousy flickers through me at the easy way the endearment comes out of her mouth. I force myself to keep my expression neutral, nodding at Chip as he walks out. Chip’s my buddy. None of this is his fault.
Still, I grumble, “Thanks for your help,” and practically slam the door behind him.
I’ll apologize later.
“Okay, Mac,” Shelby says, setting the items on the desk behind me. “Why don’t you take a seat, and we’ll get started?”
I do as I’m told, trying to ignore the sexy teacher-student dynamic happening here. She uncaps a whiteboard marker and asks me to name all my biggest, wildest hopes for not just my restaurant, but my life.
“Just so you know,” Shelby says, “I’m going to get a little personal at times today. If you want to stop at any time, just let me know, okay?”
I know this is probably standard for her in these meetings, but she does this a lot—checks in on me to make sure I’m okay before continuing with something. Nobody else does. They see a big dude with a beard and the smallest bit of authority, and they assume I’m always in control, that I’ve got everything handled.
But she sees through it all.
“Most importantly,” she says, “I have a request for you.”
“Okay,” I say, knowing I’d freely give her the shirt off my back if she asked for it.
“Don’t hold back.”
I blink. “Okay?”
“I mean it, Mac.” Her eyes shift sideways. “It’s something I do, sometimes, and I know how much it holds me back creatively. It feels safe to hold back. To not throw out every thought or idea. To not tell people exactly what I think. I’m scared of them judging me, even if they don’t say anything.” She laughs, even though it’s not really funny. She’s so hard on herself. “I do it everywhere.” Then she gives her head a little shake. “But Mac.” She meets my eyes again. “I won’t judge you, not for anything.”
My chest tightens. I don’t know if she’s talking about today. She wasn’t a moment ago. I know it.
“I won’t either, Shelby.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows.
I want to touch her there. To feel her pulse, to soothe her pain. But I grip my hands tightly at my sides, my eyes on hers. “I’m all yours.”
Several hours later, the whiteboard is covered in scrawled words and emphatic streaks and circles.
We went over the notes she took during the week and did “visioning of the future.” Surprisingly, the actual work part wasn’t as painful as I feared, even though I went a little cross-eyed when she started saying things like “Gantt chart” and “mood wheels.”
Finally, she agrees it’s time for a break, and we sink into the two chairs side by side.
“That was amazing,” she says. She’s in her shirtsleeves, her blazer tossed on the back of her chair. There’s a light sheen of sweat on her skin, giving her a glowing, dewy quality.
There’s something about seeing someone in their element that always amazes me. But seeing her in her element? It has me wanting to stare at her with a kind of awe.
Except I can’t.
“Yeah,” I say. I don’t look too closely at her. “Is this enough for today?”
Concern crosses her face. But then she tips her head back onto the chair. “Yes. You’re right. We’ll do better if we digest what we’ve done so far.”
I let out a breath, relieved. Even though I loosened my tie, I feel a bit like I can’t get enough air.
When I inhale again, I get a lungful of her scent—this citrusy shampoo she uses that lingers in the bathroom after she’s had a shower and the indefinable soft scent of her that hangs everywhere else. It’s too much.
Shelby tips her face over to me. “Thank you.”
I lean forward, elbows on knees. “Why are you thanking me? This was all you.”
“Because I missed this.”
And that’s what gets me. Because that’s what I saw today—Shelby in her element was her doing her job. The one she left behind in Vancouver.
It’s all a reminder that she’s only here temporarily. She may have broken up with that boyfriend—which, frankly, made me really fucking happy when she did it—but she’s not sticking around.
Still, it would be rude not to turn around and acknowledge what she said. So I force myself to sit back in my chair.
Her smile is so beautiful it hurts.
“You missed the mad scientist thing you do with a whiteboard?”
Shelby laughs softly, and it makes me keep looking at her, even though it physically pains me to do so.
“Yeah, actually,” she says. “I just don’t get to do this fun part much anymore.”
“I’m glad to be of service, then.”
Her expression reminds me of that night by the fire last week, when she was so comfortable she just curled up in that chair, the glow of the flames seeming to radiate off her and not the fire.
I don’t realize I’m staring until Shelby’s smile falls slightly, the dark edges of her irises seeming to deepen as her eyes stay locked to mine. The chair I’m in feels suddenly too small. This whole room feels too small. I feel like we’re stuffed together too close and I’m going to make a mistake.
I’m falling for her, and she’s going to leave.
“Mac,” she says.
“Yeah,” I rasp.
A strand of hair has fallen over her cheek, and before I know what I’m doing, I reach out and tuck it back behind her ear. My hand lingers there a moment too long.
Don’t do it, Mac. Don’t fuckin’ do it.
“I stopped by the inn yesterday.”
My hand drops. Just like my stomach.
Shit.
“Yeah?”
“Diane said the plumbing problem…it was a clogged pipe in one of the rooms.”
I run my hand over my hair, forgetting I combed it and put that shit on it. “That right?”
“You told me you talked to Ben, that he said it was a big problem. That it would take a week or more to fix.”
My heart thunders in my chest. “I guess I don’t know much about plumbing.”
“That’s the thing,” she says.
I rub my chest like I can keep my heart from galloping out of it if I just hold on.
“He said you fixed it for him.”
I feel her shift beside me, but I lean forward again, elbows on knees. I can’t face her. It’s too fucking hard.
“Yeah, well, I told him he should get a plumber to look everything over, just in case.”
“He said you’ve been paying my fee for me. Said you didn’t want them to lose out on income because I was staying with you…”
A knock on the door has me jumping to my feet. “Boss?” Lana says. “Sorry. It sounded like you guys were maybe on a break, so I wondered if you could help me with?—”
“Yes,” I say. “No problem.”
I glance over my shoulder at Shelby. “Sorry, I have to?—”
She shakes her head, standing up. “It’s fine.”
I don’t even know what Lana needs, but as soon as I step out, I want to run right back inside. “What is it?” I ask her.
“Everything okay?” Lana asks.
I was wrong about Shelby being the only one who asks me that. Lana does too. That mom instinct. “No,” I say honestly.
Lana’s expression is neutral. Which means she knows. Of course she knows.
So it’s not a surprise when she says, “Have you told her how you feel, Mac?”
We’re outside the kitchen door now, and I throw her a look like she’s insane. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because that’s what you do when you feel a certain way.”
Shelby comes out of my office, her eyes immediately on mine.
I look away. I can’t. “What did you want, Lana?” I bark.
Lana doesn’t flinch at my tone. She doesn’t roll her eyes like Chris would, either. She just examines me for a moment. If she was upset, she’d let me know. She has no problem snapping at me when necessary. Mercifully, she lets it go. “It’s about the order for the festival. Jed wants you to look at the list he drew up to make sure he’s done it right.”
“Fine. Yes.” Oysterfest. Even though that’s what Shelby’s working toward and it should be front of mind, I’d forgotten all about it. Jed puts our order in around a month to six weeks ahead of the festival. So that’s how long I’ve got with Shelby.
But right as I’m pushing through the door to the kitchen, someone comes in the entrance.
“Afternoon,” Lana calls. “I’ll be right with you. Go ahead and seat yourself.”
I don’t know why I pause instead of going right through to the kitchen. Maybe it’s the way Lana frowns. Or maybe it’s the way, when I look back toward Shelby, she’s still standing in my office door. Only she’s not staring at me.
She’s staring at the person in the door.
I turn around, something prickly going over my neck.
The guy has a haircut that looks like it costs more than the Dinghy’s annual property taxes. Pants that are meant for boating that have probably never seen anything but the seat of a Maserati. An entitled fucking look on his handsome fucking face.
He scans the place, not like he’s looking for the best place to sit, but like he’s looking for someone.
He sees her at the same time as I look back at Shelby.
“Richard?” Shelby says.
Then she looks at me.