Chapter 6 #2
‘I’ll just text and let Jen know where I am,’ she said a few minutes later, when they’d raided his fridge for cheese and crackers and were back on the sofa. Music played low in the background, a lazy jazz playlist she suspected was his default.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Family?’
‘Family,’ she confirmed, aware she owed him nothing but wanting him to understand, anyway. ‘If I vanish without a trace, they form a search party.’
She tapped out a message.
Playing away, sis! I have a surname for you now: Oliver Perry-Warnes. I’m at his place in the apartments on the quay. I’ll be back bright and early for work. Over and out. Love you xx
She hit send, then looked over at Oliver and sighed. He was watching her with that attentive, steady focus she’d already discovered was disconcertingly addictive.
He was everything she’d dreamed of in a man. Confident. Gorgeous. Funny. Sharp. For so long she’d kept herself apart, too scared of being hurt to risk it. But Oliver wasn’t pushing her into anything. He’d literally offered her holding as an option. No pressure. No agenda.
At least not one he was putting on her.
She knew he had a past. She suspected he had demons. A step at a time — not flinging herself into something, but edging closer — felt doable.
She smiled, caught his eye, and turned off her phone. She wouldn’t be needing it for the rest of the night.
The conversation drifted, easing in and out between stretches of comfortable silence as the music filled the spaces. At some point she shifted, curling against his side. His arm came around her automatically, his hand resting warm and secure on her shoulder.
Lucy’s eyes grew heavier. Lulled by the gentle slap of water against the piles outside the open window, the murmur of the music and the sense of being held and cocooned in his warmth, she let herself drift.
The clouds had cleared, and the moon had risen, casting a pale path across the harbour. Through the uncurtained glass, the light bathed the room in silver.
Oliver sat very still, acutely aware of the woman tucked against his side.
He had never sat on this sofa past midnight with a beautiful woman fully dressed and asleep in his arms. That alone was different. But the bigger difference was inside him.
He watched the moonlight slide across the dark water, catching on the moving shapes of boats in the marina and the faint outline of hills beyond. He probed his feelings, a habit he generally avoided because it never ended well.
This time was no exception.
There was a connection between them he couldn’t deny. Worse, he knew she felt it too. He’d seen it in the way her face had softened when she’d admitted to not wanting to be hurt. He’d felt it in the way she’d relaxed against him now, trusting enough to sleep.
And that, he knew with the cold clarity that always sat at his core, was the variable that changed everything.
Because this time, if he wasn’t careful, it wouldn’t end well for her.
He eased his arm from beneath Lucy’s head, replacing it with a soft cushion. She stirred only slightly. Her lips curved faintly, as if whatever she was dreaming about was kind.
She looked peaceful, unaware.
Maybe it would be better if it stayed that way.
He had meant this to be simple. Find the ringleader. Charm her. Use her influence with the community to get what he needed for his real project. The Old Colonial Hotel was supposed to be just another asset. A box to be ticked and moved on from.
Instead, he’d complicated his life. Badly.
Lucy woke to pale light and the smell of fresh coffee.
She turned on her phone and then lay back again. For a moment she was still, her cheek against the cushion, her body wrapped in the comfortable heaviness that came from a deep sleep. Then the events of the previous evening snapped into place.
Oliver. Kissing. Talk of not getting involved. Being held.
She pushed herself up on one elbow. A throw had been draped over her sometime during the night. Her shoes sat neatly by the sofa. The music had long since stopped. Through the windows, the harbour looked newly scrubbed, the surface a soft grey-blue.
In the open-plan kitchen, Oliver stood at the bench, barefoot in jeans and a T-shirt, pouring coffee. He looked annoyingly good first thing in the morning.
‘Morning,’ he said when he sensed her movement and turned, offering her a mug. ‘I let you sleep.’
‘Morning,’ she croaked, tugging the throw a little higher around herself as she sat up. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just after eight.’
‘Eight!’ She clutched the mug he handed her. ‘I never sleep this late.’
‘You did last night,’ he said mildly. ‘You looked like you needed it.’
She couldn’t decide whether that made her feel cared for or exposed.
‘Thanks,’ she said, taking a sip. It was good. Strong and smooth, and exactly what she needed.
They exchanged a few slightly awkward pleasantries — about the view, about the coffee, about her needing to get back for work. He was easier than she was; he always seemed easy. She felt clumsy and off-balance, as if she’d left some essential part of her armour on the sofa with the blanket.
Her phone pinged.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I should check that. It’s my sister.’
‘No problem.’
Her heart gave a stupid little kick. It was ridiculous that a simple notification could still trigger that old spike of dread, but after everything Jen had been through, Lucy wasn’t sure she’d ever see her name flash up without bracing for bad news.
She unlocked the screen.
Sam wants to know why you’re sleeping with the enemy! And so do I now!
Lucy stared, frowning. The enemy?
She glanced towards the bathroom as she heard the shower start up. Oliver had disappeared from sight. Even so, she didn’t want him to hear this conversation.
She slipped out onto the deck and hit video call.
The picture sprang into life. The familiar background of MacLeod’s Cottage kitchen came into view, then shifted as the phone moved and she saw her mother in the background talking to someone while Jen settled into the window seat, sunlight pouring in around her.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ said Lucy. ‘You look like you’ve got a halo. You’re far too saintly for your own good.’
‘I know, darling,’ Jen said. ‘Just another cross I have to bear. And apparently one you don’t share. Dirty stop-out.’
‘Hey. It was innocent.’
‘Sure. Pull the other one.’
‘So is this why you called?’ Lucy asked. ‘To shame me from your moral high ground?’
‘Tempting,’ Jen said, eyes glinting, ‘but no. It’s something Sam said. I mentioned your guy’s name and he said he knew him.’
Lucy’s stomach tightened. ‘Sam knows him? I asked Oliver if he knew Sam and he… didn’t exactly say yes. But he didn’t exactly say no either.’ She frowned, replaying the previous night’s conversation. ‘Go on.’
‘Apparently they’ve worked in similar fields,’ Jen said. ‘Sam says Oliver is in a different league to him, but their paths crossed a few times — socially and in business. He also said your Oliver has quite the reputation.’
‘Really? For what?’ Lucy’s fingers tightened around the phone. Heat gathered in her chest, a pulse of anger waking as if her body knew before her brain did that she’d been had. ‘So tell me. Good guy or bad guy?’
Jen’s smile slipped. ‘Are you really interested in him, Luce?’
‘What I’m really interested in is what you know that I don’t, and why it’s making you wary.’
Jen licked her lips. ‘Sam says he’s a money-making machine.
Ruthless. Charming to the ladies. Lucy, he said Oliver is dangerous.
And I could tell he didn’t like the idea of your getting involved with him.
Not that he’d ever tell you what to do. But I can.
’ She gave a tight little nod. ‘I don’t think you should have anything to do with this man. He’s bad news.’
Lucy stared out at the harbour, away from the phone. Images from the night before flickered through her mind — Oliver’s hands on her face, his arm around her as she fell asleep, the way he’d seemed startled by his own tenderness. The images fractured now, the soft edges hardening.
She walked back inside and glanced towards the bedroom. The shower was still running. Good.
‘Thanks, Jen,’ she said. ‘I appreciate it. Really. I’ll see you soon.’
‘Great. But… are you —’
‘I am,’ Lucy said. ‘I’ll leave now while Oliver’s busy. I don’t want to see him again.’
‘Because of what I’ve told you?’
‘Yep. He lied — maybe by omission, but it’s still a lie — about knowing Sam. What I don’t know is why. And I’m not sticking around to find out.’
‘Don’t you want to know?’ Jen asked softly.
‘Oh, yes. And I will.’ Lucy swallowed hard. ‘But not while I’m in his apartment. Not while I…’
She turned her head, so the phone caught only her hair, not her face. Not while I can still smell his aftershave on my skin, she thought, and the thought almost undid her.
She cleared her throat and brought the phone back into view. Fact was, she needed to know. Now. ‘Is Sam there?’
‘Sure,’ said Jen. ‘I’ll put him on.’
There was a muffled exchange, and then Sam’s face appeared.
‘Hey, big guy,’ Lucy said.
‘Hey yourself. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’
‘My fault. I should’ve checked him out before I let myself… like him. Stupid of me.’
‘There’s nothing stupid about you,’ Sam said. ‘To be honest, I don’t know anyone who’s taken Oliver Perry-Warnes on and won. He’s just that kind of guy.’
‘Which isn’t my kind of guy.’ She glanced at the closed bathroom door. The shower was still running. ‘There’s just one more thing I’d like to know,’ she said, her voice going quiet and very, very level. It made Sam’s expression sober. ‘What is Oliver hiding from me? What does he want?’
‘Oliver’s company has just purchased the Old Colonial Hotel in MacLeod’s Cove,’ Sam said. ‘Opposite your café. I can’t figure out why. It’s not his usual scale. He goes for bigger, more prestigious projects.’
‘Hm,’ Lucy said. Anger flared at having her own suspicions confirmed. ‘Any idea what his plans are? What’s his usual M.O.?’
‘High-end,’ Sam said. ‘Gleaming marble, glass, steel, luxury interiors.’
‘He’s not going to get that with the old hotel,’ Jen’s voice said faintly in the background.
‘No, he’s not,’ Lucy said, each word clipped. ‘So he’ll knock it down and build something totally out of place. That’s the idea?’
‘I’d say that’s a safe bet,’ Sam said. ‘Sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear.’
Lucy swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. A wave of nausea washed through her.
‘I should have known,’ she said. ‘All that fuss over “consulting” the community. Of course, it was about a big transformation. I guess he saw me — and my leverage — as a convenient way to smooth things through.’
‘He really never mentioned it?’ Sam asked. ‘Not the hotel, not his business interests, nothing?’
She shook her head, glancing again at the bathroom door.
‘No, he really didn’t.’
‘Then he should have,’ Sam said. ‘Whatever else you can say about him, he’s not stupid. If he’s keeping quiet, it’s deliberate.’
‘Indeed.’ Her voice had gone flat. ‘See you later.’
She ended the call, slipped on her shoes, picked up her bag and jacket and, after a brief search, found a pen and notepad on his desk.
She wrote quickly, dropped the note on the coffee table where he couldn’t miss it, and let herself quietly out of the apartment.
As she hit the lift button, her only clear thought was that Oliver Perry-Warnes was going to regret using her as a stepping stone to destroying the heart of MacLeod’s Cove.
When Oliver finally emerged from the shower, towel around his waist, rubbing at his hair, he wasn’t immediately worried that the living area was empty.
She’ll be on the deck, he thought. Or back in the bedroom looking for something. Or making coffee.
But a quick check of the different decks, and then the bedroom, told him otherwise.
She’d gone.
A tight, unpleasant knot formed low in his gut.
He picked up his phone and called her. It went straight to voicemail. No ringing. No chance she simply didn’t hear it.
He was sliding the phone back onto the coffee table when he saw the folded sheet of paper. He opened it.
The note was short and unambiguous. It didn’t quite tell him where to go, but it came close enough. There could be no mistaking her meaning: she knew. And she was done.
He swore under his breath.
He hadn’t meant for it to happen like this.
After last night — after the stupid, reckless tenderness of holding her while she slept — he’d decided he had to tell her the truth.
Not the whole truth of why the hotel mattered to him, he wasn’t that far gone, but enough.
He’d planned to frame it as an opportunity.
With a few tweaks to the plans, he could have made space for her business, for their precious ‘community’.
He knew she was smart. A realist. A businesswoman. Given the right information, she might even have seen sense. Now that option had been ripped away.
He read the note again, then set it down carefully. His gaze flicked to her empty coffee mug, to the throw folded over the back of the sofa, to the faint indentation where her head had rested.
What had given him away?
Presumably she’d turned on her phone and googled him. He should have thought about that. It wouldn’t have taken much to find out about his current works in progress. And she’d put two and two together, and unfortunately, she appeared to be as good at maths as she was at everything else.
And then there was Sam. He swore again. What were the odds that a business acquaintance would not only live in MacLeod’s Cove but also be dating Lucy’s sister?
Then he reminded himself, not for the first time, that he was in New Zealand now.
Everyone knew everyone. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be bumping into half his old girlfriends, he thought bleakly. And wouldn’t that be miserable?
He had to face the facts. He’d failed.
And the result was worse than a lost building or a delayed project. Somewhere between that first glance across the street and last night on the sofa, his feelings for Lucy had slid from amused admiration into something far more dangerous.
She’d got under his skin.
And that, he thought bleakly, was worse than losing.