Chapter 20
UGH, I HATE IT WHEN HE’S CUTE.
BILLIE
I needed those forty-eight hours away from him because, I mean, why did my body decide the fact he went to the library was hot?
And what the hell was up with the bubbly feelings I got when he oh-so-patiently asked me to slow down and then proceeded to make a list of all my random thoughts?
It makes zero sense. Balsam Bay’s library is awesome, but decidedly unsexy to me since most of my memories from the place are of being told to be quiet while my mom browsed the shelves.
And I could have made a list on my own, I’m sure. Eventually. Even though I hate lists.
Anyway, I’m glad I’ve had a couple of days to cool off from the absolute chaos my hormones were causing.
I was so ready to cancel that meeting and stay in bed.
It would have been so easy to give in, let the Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder dictate my day once again, and wallow a little longer.
In the end, I couldn’t come up with an excuse to cancel that wouldn’t be a lie or wouldn’t cause Peter to ask questions, so I went.
I was late, of course, but I made it. And by the time we left, I felt lighter than I had in days.
Getting my period yesterday also guaranteed I wouldn’t be a teary mess today, but nothing can be done about my time-management skills. Usually, I err on the side of caution, trying to give myself more time than necessary, but it doesn’t always work out in my favor.
Managing to be over thirty minutes early today, I decided to hop into Shore Thing for a coffee.
Thankfully, Matt knew Peter’s usual order, so I got him a flat white after I reminded Matt that Darcy’s name is, in fact, Peter.
I need to do a better job of remembering not to call him by his first name.
Or think of him by his first name. Not that I think about him. Much.
As I absolutely do not think about the man I spent three orgasm-filled nights with, I walk back to Victoria Hall. While I’m attempting to balance our cups in one hand so I can grab the bag I left in the backseat of my car, Darcy pulls up next to me.
“Let me give you a hand.” He’s out of his fancy rental and taking the cups in record time, smiling down at me easily as he always does. “Thirsty today?”
I bang my elbow on the truck door, pulling my bag a little too hard. “Fuck me,” I mutter, biting my tongue to hold in the wail wanting to come out.
Why do they call it a funny bone? There is nothing funny about this.
Once I straighten, bag firmly on my shoulder, I’m faced with the tall, handsome man who always manages to smell heavenly. He’s got his lips pulled between his teeth, like he’s doing his best not to laugh. In his defense, he says nothing.
“The little one is yours,” I say, shutting the truck door and walking ahead of him toward the building.
When I don’t hear him behind me, I turn back to see where he is. The son of a bitch balances both cups in one hand, opens his car door, pulls out a laptop and a folder full of papers, and doesn’t spill a drop. He also doesn’t bruise himself in the process. He makes it look so easy.
We walk in, greeting the receptionist, who already knows we have the room booked, and she waves us in.
Once I have all my things laid out in front of me: laptop, notebook, pen, a pencil just in case, and my water bottle, Peter places my black coffee next to my right hand. He makes sure to turn the cup so the opening to drink from is facing me.
“Thanks for the coffee, Bill.” He winces. “Nope. Don’t like that. Gonna stick with Billie if Beth is really out of the running?” His stupid, hopeful puppy-dog eyes are almost enough to convince me to let him call me the name that sends a shiver down my spine every single time I hear it.
“You’re welcome. And Billie it is.” I pull up our shared document with notes from our last meeting. “Okay, so environmental assessment was one of our next steps since it’ll inform everything else, so I can reach out—”
“Actually, I’ve looked into it. There’s a firm in Halifax specializing in marine environmental work. They can do the assessment in four to six weeks for us.”
With scrunched eyebrows, I ask, “You already found a firm?”
“I made some calls and got a preliminary quote.” He slides a sheet of paper across the table to me. “It’s all in the budget.”
I stare at the piece of paper, not seeing any of the numbers. “When did you have time to do all of this?” I don’t mean to ask it so accusingly, but what the fuck? Things do not move this fast around here. Ever.
“I’ve… had a lot of free time.” His sheepish smile fades. “Turns out you can get a lot of shit done when you’re not working eighty-hour weeks.”
I don’t like the self-deprecating tone one bit, but I don’t ask any further questions. We’re not here to be buddies. I need to keep reminding myself of that.
“Anyway,” he continues, “I ran the numbers three different ways. The conservative estimate puts us at 1.4 million for phase one, which is the parking lot, boardwalk, and vendor infrastructure. The moderate is 1.8, with optimistic coming in at 2.2.”
I whistle. “Damn, that’s a lot of money for a town of five thousand.”
“It is, but check this out.” He flips his laptop, showing me a spreadsheet with way too many numbers.
“I looked at three other towns in the Maritimes that did similar waterfront development. All of them saw roughly a fifty percent increase in summer tourist revenue within two years, and a twenty-five percent increase in year-round business activity.”
I can’t help the awe in my voice. “You built an entire financial model?”
“With comparables and sensitivity analysis.” There’s no bragging or arrogance in his tone. He’s stating facts. “If we can get provincial tourism grants—which I also looked into a bit, and this proposal conveniently checks all their boxes—we could cover around thirty-five percent of the cost.”
I arch an eyebrow. “We?”
“Well, the town. You know what I mean,” he answers sheepishly, his ears turning bright pink.
Ugh, I hate it when he’s cute. He clears his throat and continues.
“Local business investment could take care of another twenty percent, leaving a little over six hundred thousand for the town to finance. And I think private investors could cover a lot of that, too. But I didn’t want to include those numbers since that’s not a sure thing. ”
“This is incredibly detailed.” I skim over the numbers and formulas he seems to be so comfortable with, knowing I could never achieve this on my own.
“It’s what I do. Did. Do.” Pulling in a ragged breath, his eyes lower to the table, brows tight with an emotion I don’t understand.
I lower my face, attempting to meet his eyes.
“It’s impressive, Darcy.” At the softened tone of my voice, he looks up.
“My dad is gonna shit himself when he sees this.” I smile, hoping to loosen some of his tension, and he chuckles, muscles visibly loosening.
I shush the little voice inside my head that’s currently celebrating the fact I made him laugh.
“Well, I sincerely hope he doesn’t. I was thinking we should probably have some visuals for the community presentation, though. Not just blueprints, but artist renderings of what everything could look like.” He recovers quickly, moving along with the conversation, back to his usual easy-going self.
I snap my fingers. “Oh, my friend Peyton does 3D modeling for architectural projects. She’s great. I can reach out and—”
“We could have different views, like from Main Street, the boardwalk—”
“From where people will actually be standing, yes.”
“And maybe a before and after comparison—”
“So they can see what’s there now and the potential of what could be.”
We’re both leaning in when we stop abruptly, the realization we’ve been finishing one another’s sentences settling heavily in the air between us.
“I had coffee with your dad.” Darcy breaks the silence, forcing my head to snap back.
“What?”
“Yeah, he invited me. Wanted to talk about the town, the Business Bureau. He didn’t mention the marina specifically, but he did ask a lot of questions about my background, my plans for staying in Balsam Bay, and whether I’ll be investing in the town.
” He sips his coffee casually, obviously not as affected by this as I am, if the way my insides twist is any indication.
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth,” he says simply. “That I’m here, at least, for the summer, I’m enjoying the slower pace of life. I’m interested in seeing the town grow sustainably. I might not live here full-time, but I chose to have my cottage here because something about this place felt… right, you know?”
“And? What did he have to say to all that?” I’m on the literal edge of my seat here.
“He seemed… receptive, I think. But also like he was feeling me out for something. I don’t know.” Sounds like my dad. Always trying to get information.
“Did you talk about anything else?”
“You, actually.” He smiles proudly.
“Me?” I practically shriek, making him chuckle.
“Yeah, he told me about how you took over the company, made a ton of changes. He didn’t seem… thrilled, if I’m honest.” His face hardens into an almost scowl.
I scoff, attempting to dismiss his concern. “Understatement of the decade. He thinks I ruined his legacy. Hates that I hire women and people who are new to the country.”
Darcy takes a breath. “For what it’s worth, everyone I’ve spoken with has praised Cameron Construction.
From your reliability to the quality of your work, your reputation is rock solid.
” He eyes me carefully, and I nod in response.
“I also told your dad that when he was complaining about the changes.”
My face falls. “You didn’t.”
“I did. I said the town seems to think highly of the company under your leadership. That hiring skilled workers, regardless of their gender or background, sounds like smart business to me, given how positively it’s impacting the entire community.
” He shrugs while my mouth opens and closes as I attempt to ask what came next, but no actual words come out.
“He changed the subject quickly after that.” Darcy’s smirk is unmistakable.
“I don’t think he’s used to being challenged. ”
A humorless laugh spills out of me. “No. No, he is not.” I pause, trying to digest what’s just happened. “You didn’t have to do that, you know?”
”Yes, I did.” He doesn’t let the heavy silence linger for long. “Anyway, the next bureau meeting is in three weeks, right?”
“Yeah. It’ll be tight, but I think we can make it work.” I start gathering up my things. “I’ll add you to the email about the 3D renders once I’ve had a chance to call Peyton.”
“Perfect. And I’ll forward you the comparables research, if you’d like to see it.”
“I would. Thanks.” We go over a few more details—me letting him know of a few more locals he can chat with, and him taking notes on everything, setting up a schedule for us to follow.
When we finish, I stand, and he follows suit, taking both of our empty cups.
“This was good. You… you’re good at this. The research, the analysis, all of it.”
“So are you,” he says, walking to the garbage can in the corner of the room. For some stupid reason, I follow him. “The construction expertise, seeing the practical implications…” He breaks off, noticing I’m standing right next to him.
“We make a good team,” I practically whisper. “Professionally. For work.” My cheeks heat with the realization of what I just said. Somehow, we’re standing even closer. Nearly touching. “I should go.”
“You should,” he replies with a nod, neither of us moving.
“Darcy, I—”
“I know. I know what you said. Professional. Friendly. Civil. I’m trying, okay?” There’s something so earnest and desperate in his voice.
“I know.” I look down but still make no attempt to leave. “I was going to say you should be careful with my dad. He can be charming when he wants something.”
“What could he want from me?”
I shake my head. “That’s what worries me. I don’t know. He has this way of manipulating situations to his advantage. Just… please be careful, okay?”
“I will. Thanks for the warning.” Somehow, he feels even closer.
“Yeah, well, I’d do the same for any… for anyone.” I don’t even sound convincing to myself right now.
“Would you?” His rumbly, low voice is too familiar, too intimate, too much.
“Darcy,” I plead, looking up at him.
“Strictly professional. I’m not even touching you, see?” He holds up his now-free hands for good measure.
“Then why does it feel like you are?” My breathy question makes his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t miss a beat.
“Because you want me to,” comes his confident answer.
“That’s not—I don’t—”
“You’re gonna start lying now?” His words make my blood boil with frustration. Screw him for throwing my own words back at me.
“This isn’t fair.”
“No,” he says, so low I might have missed it if we weren’t so close. “No, it’s not. It’s not fair, I can’t touch you the way we both want, but I told you I’d follow your lead, and I meant it.”
I’m torn between wanting to fuck him right here on the conference room table and wanting to shove him against the wall and tell him to shove his assumptions about what I want where the sun don’t shine. “I have to go.” I settle for those four words instead.
“I know.” He steps back, leaving me more than enough space to walk around him to the door. He doesn’t follow. And even after I’ve spent a few minutes calming myself down in my truck, there’s still no sign of him.