Chapter 4
Chapter Four
T hunder shook the house at 4 a.m., driving me from my bed to the front porch. I’d been tossing and turning for hours, anyway. The heat had followed me out of Boston, and I’d felt the storm brewing all night. Lightning speared across the night sky, and the flashbulb brightness gave me a snapshot of boats bobbing and struggling against their anchors in the distance.
I moved closer to the windows, pressing my hand to the damp screen. I wanted to be outside on the beach, but the lightning was too close to a fireworks show. When the thunder rolled off the water, the house shook. This was what living by the ocean brought.
Wonder, and a little touch of magnificent fury in the face of beauty.
These were my favorite days to work in my little space on the side of the house. What used to be the maid’s quarters had become my studio right after college. That should have been my first clue to the financial strain.
My grandmother had employed a caretaker for as long as I could remember. Mrs. Stephens had been getting older, and when she’d left, I’d just assumed she’d finally retired.
A lot of things had gone over my head in the last few years. I couldn’t even use the flighty artist excuse. I was driven and always on the lookout for new work to keep me busy.
That was my sin. Working too much.
How many days had I lost with my grandmother because I’d locked myself away in my workshop?
I rested my forehead against the screen. The spray off the water soaked into my skin and the faded cotton tank I wore to bed.
They’d turned the gas off this afternoon and air conditioning was a thing of the past. I should count my lucky stars about the warm snap. All too soon, the cold would settle in, and I’d be layering up with fisherman’s sweaters to survive.
If I didn’t get kicked out first.
My nipples tightened as the cold front battling with the warm won out. Was that because of the air or because the idea of getting kicked out ended in thoughts of Blake Carson?
His hazel eyes had chased me into dreams for the few hours I’d managed to sleep. The first crack of thunder had saved me from whatever shenanigans my subconscious was trying to start.
He was the enemy.
I had to remember that.
No matter what my poor, neglected breasts thought about that subject.
The mist turned into an all-out downpour, and finally, I had to step back. My clothes stuck to me, and I shivered against the brutal wind. I crossed my arms, and again, my breasts reacted. Where was the fairness in this? Even an innocent brush against the tight tips made me moan.
I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been wound up like this. To the point that I’ve often wondered if something was wrong with me. I’d never had that indefinable pull to get horizontal with anyone. The moments of loneliness had pushed me into accepting a few dinner dates, but the lack of chemistry had fizzled any action I’d been tempted to take.
One lover in college and one since I’d graduated had been enough to convince me I just wasn’t a sexual woman.
Ten minutes with Blake Carson was not the kind of reassessment I was looking for. In fact, it was dangerous. I had to remember that today when I reported for work. I flicked on the light switch as I entered the kitchen.
Nothing.
“Fuck.”
Evidently, they’d cut the power now too.
“Dammit.” I ducked through the narrow hallway to the maid’s quarters. I’d been staying in my studio most nights, but it looked like that was going to be out of necessity now instead of insomnia.
I slipped out the side door and held my hand up against the rain ripping at my cheeks. I had to pray there was kerosene in the generator.
My hands fell to my sides as I glanced around. What the hell? The larger generator was gone.
When had that happened?
I tipped back my head and swiped back my hair. I rushed to the garage, my bare feet currently blocks of ice thanks to the dropping temperatures. My fingers shook over the access panel and finally, the stupid thing opened.
Thank you, battery power .
The smaller generator was still in the corner, but it was way too heavy to carry. I spotted my old Red Flyer hanging from a hook. I monkeyed my way up onto a shelf and managed to get it down.
Perfect.
Getting it onto the stupid wagon was a bit more of a challenge. Three broken nails and a swollen toe later, it was balanced on the lip. The trip across the driveway was slow and the puddles were growing into small ponds. The sandy incline couldn’t hold up against the relentless rain.
I was ankle deep in water by the time I’d pushed it up the small incline to the side of the house. I’d bought the generator for my workshop before we’d upgraded to the bigger model. Either it had been stolen, or my grandmother had sold it.
Just the idea of her having to actually put an ad in the paper or spread the word that she was selling such a pedestrian item made my stomach hurt.
Why hadn’t she come to me?
I wasn’t sure when the rain had blended into tears, but I was sniffling as I found the old hookups and connected them. The skyline was lightening when I finally got the stupid thing to start. All I wanted was a hot shower, and that was definitely not going to happen. There was no way I could wait for the ancient water heater to warm up.
I turned the taps on the hottest setting and prayed that the tepid water would last through a shower. I’d take the room temperature water over the cold, at least.
Luck was not with me.
I laughed bitterly as I soaped and scrubbed. Did I sound insane? I wasn’t sure, and far too afraid to look at it too closely. I yelped my way through my conditioner rinse before slapping the taps off. I wrapped myself in two towels and stood in front of the radiator at the end of the room. If I dove under my covers, I might just be able to warm up, but I didn’t trust that I’d stay awake.
Not being this cold.
I plugged in my travel hair dryer with trembling fingers and tried to get the worst of the water out of my hair. All my products were in the bathroom upstairs, but this was where the electricity was—so, a wet ponytail day was in my future.
I grabbed my phone and flicked on the torch app so I wouldn’t kill myself on the stairs and went to hunt down clothes.
What a way to start to my first day.
Deciding not to press my luck, I grabbed a pair of sturdy leather boots without a heel to pull over my opaque tights. A wool blend skirt and burgundy sweater was suitable for the office.
I hoped.
It worked in the gallery—it should be okay for the office. Jack certainly hadn’t been overly formal with his suit. Mr. Carson had been a bit more of a stickler, but I had to work with what I had. I definitely didn’t have the money to buy another wardrobe.
Finally, my hands stopped shaking enough so I could put on makeup to look professional and not start my first day with only a mascara wand clutched in my trembling hand. I spritzed on my perfume and flipped my ponytail over my shoulder.
It was as good as I was going to get.
The commute was a cherry on my super-shit sundae. Parking in Boston was either nonexistent or expensive enough to come with its own rental agreement. I opted for park-and-ride, and instead of waiting for the Blue Line, I hoofed it half a mile. My feet were the only things dry when I pushed through the door to the vestibule. I dug out my temporary identification and tried to open the inside door.
Locked.
I waved the ID over the little silver panel and remembered that I wasn’t chipped yet. Wonderful.
“We don’t open until eight.”
I jumped at the clipped female voice. “Um…” Was I supposed to talk into the box? “I’m new.” Lame.
“Name?”
“Grace Copeland.”
“Sorry, no such name.”
“Wait!”
“I don’t have time for games, ma’am.”
I tipped back my head and watched the raindrops slip down the domed top of the vestibule. “Give me a break. Today sucks.”
“Not my problem.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Good, then talk outside. Have a good day.”
“I’m the new executive assistant for Mr. Carson.” Frustration overrode my whine this time. “If you don’t let me inside in exactly…” I looked at my phone. Nearly seven, dammit. “In two minutes, I’m going to be late.”
Silence.
“If you get me fired before I can report for a full day, I’m going to rip your tonsils out.”
The woman’s response was almost maniacally calm. “Not if you don’t get into the building.”