Chapter 8
Brock received Juliette’s text as he was dropping off supplies for one of his project sites. He stared at her message for two solid minutes before getting his ass over to the flower shop.
Juliette
Plot twist. How soon can I start?
By the time he arrived at Mystic Florals, he didn’t even have to go inside to get her.
Juliette was standing out in the cold, bundled into a fuzzy gray coat and a dark green beanie, waiting for him.
She shifted her weight from side to side, stealing glances at the window display behind her.
As soon as he pulled up, she climbed into his truck.
“Thanks for the ride, but you didn’t have to pick me up.” She pointed to the small silver car parked in the front lot. “I know how to drive.”
“I know. But I was in this area of town, anyway.” A tiny white lie, which he ignored by nodding toward the shop instead. “That front display looks good.”
Her expression instantly soured, and she let out a harsh laugh. “I thought so too. But I don’t think my mother would agree with you. Well, if I’m being fair, more than anything, I think she was mad I didn’t ask permission. I’m not sure why I even bothered with it.”
“Because you thought this time would be different.” Brock turned out of the parking lot onto Shoreline Drive, then made a left on Paradise Point Lane, which would take them a bit further inland. “It’s always the reason we bother trying again, because we always have hope for a different outcome.”
For a few minutes, she said nothing. She simply sat beside him in the comfortable quiet.
Brock kept his eyes on the road, but he could feel her gaze on him.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she said suddenly.
“Oh, yeah?” His fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel, a way to keep himself from looking over at her. “What kind of deal?”
“I’ll do interior design for you, but I’ll need a glowing recommendation when I leave.”
Her words were a sucker punch to his gut.
Leave.
“When you leave?” This time he did steal a quick glance at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was trained on her lap where she fiddled with the sleeves of her coat.
“Yeah.” Juliette sighed then, smoothing away invisible wrinkles from her leggings. “I can’t stay here forever.”
“Of course not,” he agreed, but there was no mistaking the way her gaze shot to him the moment the words were out of his mouth.
Uneasy silence settled between them, weighted down by years of unanswered questions.
“Any more progress with the beach house?” she asked, drawing his attention away from the past.
The beach house.
A spike of irritation rattled him. The beach house had been on his mind for the last few days, even more so with his father and his crew of “investors” making a surprise appearance on the scene.
If he didn’t think of a way to prevent Yaya from selling it, it would only be a matter of time before his father swooped in like a predator stalking his prey.
“Not yet.” He tried to keep the frustration from his voice. “I think I’m running out of time.”
He drove up the winding driveway lined with palms and dotted with sycamores.
His house wasn’t too typical of the type of property one would find at the beach, but since it doubled as his office for Silver Eagle Construction, he valued practicality over looks.
It was a stone front with plenty of windows to let in natural light, and a wide porch housing a swing.
He custom-built the house himself, so he converted what would’ve been a garage into a massive office space with room for conducting day-to-day business and operations.
“Wow, Brock.” Awe hung from Juliette’s voice as she got out of the truck and walked up to his property. “This is beautiful. You’ve done really well for yourself.”
“Thanks.” He darted past her to the front door. “Welcome to Silver Eagle Construction.”
He watched as her silvery blue gaze swept over the interior, drinking it all in, analyzing every detail. She focused on the dark hardwood floors and exposed beam ceiling, the stone fireplace, the brushed nickel hardware, and the placement of his leather furniture.
The corner of her mouth quirked. “It’s very...masculine.”
“Well, I’m a guy, so—”
“As am I.” Anders stepped out of the garage office with a pencil tucked behind one ear. His blue gaze zeroed in on Juliette and he offered his hand. “Anders Sorenson.”
“Juliette Laurent.” Her smile was warm, and when she shook his hand, Brock smothered the twinge of jealousy burning in his chest. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Anders is a good friend of mine. He’s also my business partner.” Brock gestured toward the office, holding the door open for Juliette. “We started Silver Eagle Construction together.”
“Really?” Juliette asked, but he could tell her mind was already focusing on the layout of his office instead.
Two large desks faced each other, both of them with multiple widescreen monitors.
A large mahogany shelving unit ran along the far wall, filled with picture frames, books, miniature models of buildings, and awards.
A black leather sofa was situated on the other side of the room along with an oval glass coffee table, its surface piled with home construction and renovation magazines.
The walls were painted a bluish-gray, and sleek black-framed posters showcasing all their remodels, designs, and projects filled almost every empty space.
However, Juliette seemed focused on the smaller picture frames decorating the shelves.
“So.” Anders tucked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. “You’re an interior designer?”
She gave a half-hearted, nonchalant shrug.
“I know a thing or two. Is this…” She peered closer at one of the pictures, then glanced back at them. “Is this the two of you?”
“Yeah.” Brock realized she was looking at a photograph of him and Anders in uniform. It seemed like a lifetime ago. “We served together.”
“Why did you get out?” Her back snapped straight, and she whipped around to face them. A blush stained her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. That was really rude of me to ask. It’s absolutely none of my business.”
“Nah, it’s cool.” Anders chuckled. “I was medically separated due to an injury. It wasn’t really my choice.”
Brock lifted one shoulder, his reasons his own. “I just got tired of the bullshit.”
And damn, there was so much of it. So much hurry up and wait.
So many tedious rules. Getting something routed up the chain of command could take weeks, sometimes longer if it was just sitting on someone’s desk.
So many people had different answers for the same questions.
So many leaders decided which orders they wanted to enforce and which ones they’d let slide. It was a total crapshoot half the time.
“Fair enough.” Juliette turned to Anders. “And you decided to come to Mystic Cove and work with Brock?”
“Yeah.” Anders shifted, adjusting the sleeves of his gray Henley. He held her gaze, but his expression was stony. “Home wasn’t really an option.”
Juliette nodded, unbuttoning her gray coat. “I can relate.”
“Here, let me get that for you.” Brock took her coat. “I’ll go hang it in the hall closet.”
He tossed it over his arm right as the doorbell to the main house chimed.
“I’ll get it.” Brock nodded to Anders. “See if Juliette wants a—”
Anders gave a mock salute, his blue eyes glinting. “So, Jules, can I get you a coffee or sweet tea?”
Again, Juliette smiled so it illuminated the whole of her face. “Sure.”
Brock headed to the front door, pausing to hang her coat in the closet, determined to brush off the fact that she let Anders call her Jules.
He rubbed his fist against his chest, like he could somehow ease the sting of envy, but it was useless.
She didn’t want to be his friend, she’d made that perfectly clear, and he had to respect her decision.
Now they were coworkers. Associates. And he’d been the one to draw that line.
It would be impossible to cross.
A coldness, like a chill of some sort, seeped into Brock’s heart. He ignored the spread of its icy grip and pulled open the door. Only to find his father standing before him.
“Brockton.” Aidan Gallagher smoothed the front of his crisp black suit.
A bright yellow and purple tie was knotted at his neck, and his shoes were smartly polished.
He flicked his wrist, and the massive face of his glittering Rolex blinked brilliantly in the winter sunlight.
He’d left the engine running on his Mercedes.
Smart man. This wouldn’t take long.
Brock crossed his arms and ignored the bite of wind creeping through his sweater and into his skin. “What do you want?”
Aidan wasted no time. “I came to talk to you about a proposal, to help you convince Yaya to sell.”
Of course his father wouldn’t take no for an answer. Brock inhaled sharply, leveling him with a hard stare. “I already told you, I’m not interested in any of your offers.”
His father held out a glossy black leather binder. He tapped it once. “This one might change your mind.”
“I doubt it.”
“Look, Brockton, if Ma agrees to sell in a timely manner, I can make some allowances.”
“Is that so?” Allowances were more like fake promises, and promises were something his father was notorious for breaking. “Like what?”
Aidan looked around as though he were simply pulling ideas out of the air.
“We can follow Hilton Head’s lead. No flashy signs.
No buildings above a certain height. Maybe a specific color scheme, something neutral.
Beach-like.” He ran his thumb along his freshly shaven jawline.
“We might even be able to find a way to restrict the number of tourists.”
Brock barked out a rough laugh. “It’s not going to work.”
He sensed Juliette and Anders coming up behind him. But by the time he registered them, Juliette was already pushing past him and standing on the front porch.
She folded her arms over her chest, eyed Aidan coolly, and cocked one hip to the side. “You’re Aidan Gallagher.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I am.” He smiled broadly. It was silky. Charming. Like that of a man who got his way no matter who he crushed or destroyed. Then he inclined his head, dipping it in greeting. His eyes took on a knowing gleam. “And you’re Juliette Laurent.”
She stumbled backward. It was barely noticeable, really, could have even been blamed on the wind. But Brock’s hand immediately shot to the small of her back to keep her steady.
His gaze narrowed in on his father. “How do you know—”
“Maybe I wasn’t as absent from your life as you’d like to believe.” The words were bitter yet eerily calm. He directed his attention back to Juliette. “What can I do for you, young lady?”
“Well, you can start by backing off.” She lifted her chin to an austere angle. “Because the beach house isn’t for sale.”
Aidan pinched the bridge of his nose and loosed an annoyed sigh. “As I’ve said—”
“It’s currently under a remodel and renovation plan,” she fired back, not giving him the chance to finish what surely would’ve been a speech filled with all the reasons why he was right and they were wrong.
“As the interior designer on this project, I’ve wasted no time in planning the proper aesthetic for the beach house, and I will not let a corporate conglomerate come in and destroy it. ”
Brock shared a look with Anders. The same concern was reflected in his eyes.
What the hell is she doing?
But neither of them held her back, they just let her steamroll right over Aidan.
His brows lifted in interest. “Is that right?”
“Yes. The sole intent of this renovation is to bring in a long-standing profit to Maureen Gallagher, as well as a steady but not overabundant, and by that I mean tourist-driven, income to Mystic Cove as a whole.” Juliette spoke with her hands, or more so, her fingers, and though Brock wouldn’t dare mention it, the movements were very reminiscent of Gigi.
“Its purpose will be seasonal,” she continued, as though there were a real plan in place. “Thereby giving periodic boosts to the economy while also ensuring our town isn’t inundated with tourists and traffic.” Her silvery eyes cut to slits. “Or overreaching corporations.”
“I see.” Aidan straightened, tucking the leather binder under his arm. A deep line furrowed across his brow. “And what, exactly, is this new purpose?”
“A wedding venue.” She spoke the words with clipped finality and zero hesitation.
Brock swore under his breath. Damn it. He could’ve kicked himself for not thinking of it first. A wedding venue was a brilliant idea.
“We’ll see about that.” Aidan shook his head, a condescending smirk pulling at the side of his mouth. “I have—”
“There’s nothing to see about, Mr. Gallagher,” Juliette interrupted him smoothly. “The renovations have already been approved by the county, and we’ve got the permits in hand.”
Brock schooled his expression into one of vague indifference. They most certainly did not have permits. Yet.
“So you see, the renovations have already been set into place.” She pulled out her phone, opening the calendar. “As a matter of fact, our first wedding is already on the books for June of next year.”
Brock locked his jaw in place to keep it from falling open. Anders, on the other hand, stood there with a wide, foolish smile on his face. Juliette had definitely impressed him.
Seconds ticked by while Aidan remained quiet. So quiet, only the faint howl of the wind and the distant call of the ocean occupied the space between them.
“Very well,” he said finally and turned to leave. “But this isn’t over.”
Of course not. Brock wouldn’t expect anything less. He watched as Aidan slid into his Mercedes, then slammed the door and drove away.
“Fucking genius, Jules! A wedding venue!” Anders pulled the pencil out from behind his ear, ready to get to work. “You handled that like a boss.”
“Thanks. I suppose I picked up a few things from my mother.” The wind pulled a couple wispy strands of her dark brown hair from her bun, and she absently smoothed them back from her face. “She’s a pro at dealing with difficult people.”
“Seriously, Juliette, you were amazing.” Brock tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans to keep from lifting her in the air and spinning her around.
To keep from hugging her. Or touching her.
Something he would’ve done easily in the past but was now a privilege lost to him. “There’s only one small problem.”
“We still have to convince Yaya?” Anders suggested, flipping the pencil between his fingers as he headed back inside.
Juliette followed, flushing pink and ducking her head like she was preparing to be scolded. “We need to book a wedding?”
“Shit, I just meant we have to get the permits.” Brock laughed, suddenly more at ease than he had been in a long time. “Okay, maybe we have three small problems.”