9. Tanner
9
TANNER
I drive past my new neighbor’s place and force my eyes to stay on the road ahead of me and not look in as I make my way into town.
“Dad, are you listening?” Connor asks from the speakerphone.
“Listening just fine. We are signing on for the new hotel in Tennessee with Van Cleef,” I repeat to him. I listen to everything he says.
“It’s a solid investment. The Rothschilds are in on it. You know Harrison, all about domestic growth now,” he quips about his best friend since college who is now president, and I nod even though he can’t see me.
“I need you to look into someone for me,” I tell him as I hit the open road.
“Sawyer mentioned something about our new neighbor. A woman?”
“Victoria McArthur. She is from the city. Thought you could dig into her financial situation.” I’m eager to get some history on this woman that I could use against her .
“Sawyer said she was nice. Why do you want to know so bad? Can we just offer her above market rate and grab the property?” Connor makes perfect sense.
“I did. She didn’t take it. I don’t think she is the kind of woman who is interested in that much money,” I murmur as I think about my sexy blond neighbor and how her eyes were absent of dollar signs when I landed on her doorstep a few days ago. Most women I meet seem to hook on to the fact that I’m wealthy, and I can spot them from a mile away. I don’t look like a typical billionaire, rarely in a suit, prefer to live in Whispers, but my new neighbor doesn’t appear to know that much about me and also doesn’t seem to care. It is refreshing and sexy as hell.
“Sawyer mentioned she was beautiful too.” Connor is fishing for information, and my hand tightens on the steering wheel.
“Sawyer needs to mind his business,” I grumble.
“So you do like her!” Connor says jubilantly, and I can tell he has a smart-ass smile on his face. The same one that I get from time to time.
“She is probably closer to your age.” The thought of it makes me feel older than I am.
“So?” His comeback is quick.
“So, I’m probably old enough to be her father,” I reiterate. “Besides, she will be gone by the end of the week. She won’t last.” They never do. Just like his mom, no women tend to stick around Whispers for long.
“Well, age shouldn’t really come into it, Dad. Some of the women you meet in the city are young, and what difference does that make to you?” he challenges, and my nostrils flare as I pull in air. It’s true, the women I meet when in the city tend to be younger. But that is a one-night thing. I have only met Victoria once, but that was enough to know she most certainly wouldn’t be a one-night thing for me.
“Just see what you can find out about her. Sawyer will help,” I tell him, getting this conversation back on track. As I drive down the main street, I spot Marie’s truck outside Flourish. Good to see Victoria getting out and about, and at least she got the rust bucket started. The truck is road worthy, having organized the servicing on it myself, but it still looks like an accident waiting to happen. That fact doesn’t sit well with me.
“I have to go. Call you later.” I end the call quickly as I pull up next to her and see her stepping out from Jasmine’s shop, a large bouquet of red roses in hand, completely contrasting the bright-pink scarf she has draped around her neck. Coupled with her long blond hair that flows in waves down her back, she is picture-perfect. Her pretty smile falls immediately as she spots me pulling in beside her, and a red blush comes to her cheeks. Most likely in anger as she isn’t pleased to see me, that is for sure.
“You probably shouldn’t be driving that,” I tell her as soon as I step out of the truck and pace toward her on the sidewalk. Shit, I sound like a dick. Her eyebrows shoot up and her lips press together.
“Good morning to you too, Tanner,” she says diplomatically before walking around me, not wanting to engage. She has me off-kilter. I didn’t even say good morning .
I grab her arm firmly as she passes by, and she spins around to look at me, her hair whipping my shoulder. We are close, mere inches between us, and I can smell a floral scent—from her or from the flowers in her hand, I don’t know. But it is nice. Feminine. Something that has been missing from my life for a very long time.
“I just mean that it isn’t safe,” I growl low to her, tilting my head down so she hears me. She looks up at me, sucking in a small breath, and I soften my hold on her but don’t let go. I don’t want to.
“Jerry said it was fine,” she says, now looking at the truck with concern, sounding a little unsure.
“Jerry wouldn’t know a thing about trucks if one hit him on the road. I had it serviced for Marie not long before she died. It should get you from point A to point B okay, but no long trips, alright? Town and back, and that’s it. Marie never drove it out of town.” My sudden concern for my new neighbor takes me by surprise.
“Are you trying to scare me or something?” Her eyes thin, and I let out a sigh. Frustration, at her and myself. We have clearly gotten off on the wrong foot, and it is obvious that she doesn’t find me genuine. Sure, I want her land, but I am usually not so much of an asshole to the locals, even if they are prohibiting me from business expansion.
“Just offering some friendly advice, take it or leave it. This isn’t the city. If the truck breaks down, you will need to walk,” I tell her straight before letting go of her arm completely. She remains where she is, looking up at me, the sun hitting her hair and making it shine a warm honey color, like a whiskey aged just a few years. Up close like this, I can see her bright-blue eyes better, the way her lips pout a little in the middle. Fuck, I need to get a grip. I have never noticed this shit about women before. I’m not sure why it is happening now.
“Thank you for the advice,” she says in a tone that lets me know I have put my foot in it again. All I can do is nod, because I don’t trust my mouth to say anything remotely intelligent to her at the moment. As she steps away, my body hates the distance.
She opens the door to the truck, and I watch her pull herself up and in, the squeals from the door hinges almost deafening. She needs a better vehicle. Her eyes dart to me, almost daring me to say something, and I clench my jaw tight. Seeing she has a tray full of hardware, she has obviously been to see Bob this morning, which is not a great sign. The last thing I need is for her to get busy turning that house into a home. I stand rooted to the sidewalk, watching her back out and drive down the street, a large plume of black smoke trailing behind her.
“Shit,” I say to myself, knowing the truck won’t last much longer.
“Bit of an old rust bucket, isn’t it?” Jasmine says, stepping out of her shop to stand next to me, the two of us watching our new resident drive away.
“It’s a danger to the roads,” I growl, and she huffs.
“It really is. She should take it to Dad’s garage,” Jasmine suggests.
“Dad’s?” I ask her. She lives in the next town over, although she is always at the distillery, either dropping off new floral arrangements for the restaurant or having conversations with my team. With not many other young people in the town, I already know that she has Victoria in her sights to be her new BFF.
“My dad owns the garage in Williamstown. He can probably service it for her,” she says, her eyes assessing me like they always do.
“I had it serviced a few months back, but it is old.”
“Well, she will be at the bar tonight. I invited her for drinks. We will be there at seven, just in case you want to know,” she says coyly, and my eyes narrow.
“Why would I want to know that?” I grumble, but even so, I pocket that little piece of information.
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps because you jumped on her the minute she left my shop. Perhaps the way you grabbed her and pulled her close, or perhaps the way that you are still standing here on the sidewalk, looking down the road for any last trace of her. I never see you looking at any other woman like that.”
She’s fishing for information, and I need to stop being so obvious.
“I’ve got to get back to it,” I say, stepping away from her, not entertaining her ideas. When I walk back to my truck and open the door, Jasmine’s voice stops me.
“She really likes flowers. Just so you know,” she hollers at me before I jump in my truck, wondering why I am now memorizing that little piece of information too. I slam the door, put the truck in gear, and drive straight back to the distillery, looking everywhere along the way for a rusted red truck and not happy until I see it exactly where it should be. Parked at Marie’s place and in one piece.