Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“ D on’t mind him.”
I glanced up at Jack. “I sort of threw him under the bus with Mr. Lewis. I didn’t mean to, but there seemed to be a moment there where Donovan was going to either play it safe or really get invested in the company.”
“You’ve got good instincts, Blondie.”
“Not you, too.”
“Vi started it. I can’t help it. Now it’s stuck in my head.”
“What if I change my hair color?” I asked.
“Don’t. You’ve got that perfect beachy gorgeousness mixed with class. It’s extremely appealing.”
My eyes widened.
“Don’t worry, I’m not hitting on you. It’s just an observation. I don’t pluck babes out of the work pool.”
“That’s probably more because you just called me ‘babe’.” I grabbed my small purse out of the drawer.
“Maybe.” He flashed a rakish—yes, in this instance, it actually fit—smile at me. “Probably not though.”
“Incorrigible.”
“Yeah, that’s a word Vi uses too.” Jack waggled his brows. “Ready to blow this joint?”
I nodded. “I’m dead on my feet.” Sleep had definitely not been my friend for weeks now, but I was going to have to figure out something, or I’d never keep up with Mr. Carson.
We rode the elevator down, and George and Violet were both at the desk when we got to the lobby.
“Love of my life, what are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“Anyone and anything except you, pal.” Violet threw him a bright smile. “I actually have a date.”
“Holy shit. Is the world ending?”
Violet went to a small safe behind the desk. “Keep it up, Jack. I know how to break into your cell phone. The damage I could do would be epic.”
Jack pressed his hand to his chest. “You wound me.”
“I speak truth.” Violet held out a badge and a keycard of some sort to me. “Here you go, Blondie. Make sure you have that badge on you at all times, or you can’t get into the building or the elevator. It’s chipped for certain areas of the building only.”
“Thanks.” I flipped around the badge, and the picture wasn’t too horrible. “What’s the card for?”
“Parking.”
“Oh, really? Bless you.”
Violet grinned. “Since you work with the boss man, you get to have parking. Mostly because he’s going to kill you with the hours.”
I laughed. “So, I’ve gathered.”
“Do you want a ride to your car?” Jack asked.
I looked out the window. Dusk was fast approaching, but the rain had stopped. “I think I need the walk. I’ll see you in the morning, though.”
He nodded and waved. “Good job. You’re just the shakeup we needed.”
“Thanks, I think.” I got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’d never really mattered this much from a business standpoint. Organizing a tiny, family-run gallery was a whole lot different than a multi-billion-dollar company.
This felt a lot more real, and a lot more terrifying. Because it wasn’t going to last. I wasn’t meant for this job. Boston wasn’t my life—Marblehead was. The ocean was. And I had to keep reminding myself of that.
I headed down Atlantic to the park-and-ride area and found my car. Traffic wasn’t quite as hideous since it was a little after six by the time I got on the road. It still took more than an hour to get home.
As I pulled up the drive, I noticed a strange car parked out front. The foreclosure sign had been traded out for Sold . Already? It took everything inside me not to run inside. Instead, I maneuvered into the small, paved space near the garage.
With the gas and electricity turned off, next would be eviction. It made sense. It just hurt too much for me to breathe at the moment.
How the hell was I supposed to do this? I knew what the man was going to say. All I wanted to do was plug my ears and curl up into a ball.
But I wasn’t six years old. I was a grown-ass woman.
When the man stepped out of the car, I crossed my arms and followed the walkway to where he stood.
“Ms. Copeland?” I’d been hearing a lot of that today, but this man’s voice wasn’t nearly as delicious as Mr. Carson’s. In fact, this man’s was quite nasally and high-pitched. It really didn’t match his tall, broad stature at all.
“Yes. That’s me.”
He pushed his hand through his hair. I could see how uncomfortable he was, but I wasn’t going to be meek about this. He was going to have to say it plainly. My eyes stung, and I was never so glad for the dimness of the solar lights on the path. There was no electricity to prove the dampness of my cheeks.
The tears were leaking before I could order them not to fall.
He was here to tell me I had to leave.
Didn’t he understand that it was too soon? My grandmother hadn’t even been interred. I hadn’t had the heart to put her away in that cold mausoleum just yet. All those ornate jars lined up, one by one. My grandmother didn’t belong there, even if that had been in her will. All that life and beauty—gone.
“Um, well, I’m here to advise you that the bank has finalized the purchase of this house by a new owner.”
“Blake Carson,” I said angrily.
He smoothed down a cowlick of hair. “I’m, um, not at liberty to disclose that kind of information.”
“Everyone in the Bay knows.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I still can’t speak about that. I’m here to let you know that you have seventy-two hours—a bit less actually, since the day is about to end—to evacuate the premises.”
“All the furniture?” There were eleven rooms in the house. Where was I going to put all of that? I couldn’t afford moving, let alone a storage facility to hold that kind of inventory.
He opened his car door and took out a large envelope. “You have a few options. You can have an estate sale. The new owner will allow the furniture to stay for a sale in the near future.”
“How kind of him.” My voice wobbled a little, but I swallowed down the tears.
Blake Carson had no idea just what he was doing. All the history and memories. God, the memories. And I hadn’t been able to tell him. Even now, I didn’t know if he’d care about my story.
He’d bought the property on the cheap—at least for him and his billions. When the lawyer had told me the amount of the mortgage, I’d literally gasped. It had started as a reverse mortgage and grown from there until my grandmother had owed millions. The land, the house, and the private beach were worth so much.
Why had she needed so much?
I’d never really know. My grandmother had seen fit to take those secrets to the grave. Not even her will gave me an indication. In fact, her will hadn’t been updated since I was in high school.
And now this. I tipped back my head, praying that the tears wouldn’t flow so hard they brought the running nose and sniffling with them. Too many people had seen me cry now.
“Ms. Copeland?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” I took the envelope he was holding out.
“Do you understand the information I’ve given you?”
“I’m not an idiot,” I snapped.
He straightened his shoulders. “Yes, well, I have to make sure. The realtor will be here with a lock box for the front door on Friday morning.”
“I understand.”
He patted down his stubborn cowlick again. “I’ll be going now.”
“That would be lovely.”
He waved at me awkwardly and backed down the lane, gravel popping under his tires. When I was certain he couldn’t see me anymore, I sprinted for the hill and down to the beach.
The sand was packed from the rains and the tide rolling in, but I needed the ocean. I needed the sea spray on my face. What was I going to do without it? How was I supposed to just pick up and go?
How would I survive?
I dropped to the sand heedless of my skirt, sat cross-legged, and stared at the lacy fingers of the tide until the moon rose over the water. I didn’t feel the cold, didn’t feel anything really. Sometime between dark and light, I stumbled into my workroom and found oblivion on the mattress I kept in the corner.
I woke when my alarm told me to wake and washed on auto-pilot. The idea of drying my hair required far too much energy. I sprayed in some gel and left it to wave where it wanted. I simply didn’t care.
It was late enough that the sky was starting to lighten. I still had to use my torch app on my phone to climb the stairs to my room. I found a navy skirt that was long enough so I could wear my brown boots without tights. I unearthed a heather-gray sweater set at the back of my closet. I brought it all back downstairs to my studio, so I had enough light to get ready.
I looked like death. Pale and drawn from lack of sleep and sadness. A sudden need to make sure Blake didn’t know he’d defeated me finally put some color in my cheeks. I shook out my hair and stared into the mirror.
He had no clue who I was, but I simply could not look weak. Not if I wanted to finally talk to him about the house. I had to find some way to buy it back from him.
Renewed with purpose, I grabbed my liner and highlighted my eyes. It was a little heavier than I usually wore for daytime, but it suited my wild hair. It was time to take on Blake Carson and find a way out of this mess.