Chapter 2
Seb froze as he studied the woman holding his sister’s dog and tried to wrestle his thoughts into some cohesive order. Seeing Digby was a relief, but what the hell was he supposed to do now? She had a camera at her hip. Obviously, she’d been snooping.
His smart watch chimed, kicking him out of the fog of frustration. “You have to go.” He stepped closer and reached for the dog.
She tucked Digby closer to her chest. The road behind her was empty.
Where had she come from and why? How had the paparazzi found him already?
He’d thought Brookwell Island would be different.
One of his best friends had headlined their big summer music festival a couple years ago and she had sworn the locals were chill.
This woman didn’t look chill, she looked increasingly wary, though he was sure that smile worked on most people.
He was not most people. He did his best to avoid most people. He made a mental note to contact his personal security company and get them back on the job.
“Holly Brooks, editor of the Brookwell Bugle,” she replied, sticking out her hand.
He had no intention of touching her.
Apparently oblivious, she started toward him, forcing him to stand his ground. “You must be Sebastian Sterling. My co-editor Vince had car trouble and asked me to handle the interview today.”
Co-editor? This was the reporter? “No.” Sebastian didn’t want to deal with the stress of a last-minute change. “Give me the dog. And get off my driveway.”
She looked down at Digby. “You sure you’re safe here? You can hang with me for a while if you want.”
“Not funny.” The dumb dog gave her a smile and licked her chin. He fought off a moment’s temptation. His sister would kill him if he outsourced the dog-sitting. “You can’t just steal the dog.”
“Technically, Digby found me.” She tipped her head back toward the road. “And on public property.”
He wasn’t so sure about that, but proving his point would mean revealing the security tech he was installing.
“He looks like he’s had a rough morning,” she mused.
“Makes two of us.” Sterling raked a hand through his hair. “And he started it.” He pulled a leash from his back pocket.
“Aww. He looks like he’s ready for a bowl of water. He might even prefer a friendly face to the ‘brooding tech-guru’ vibe you’ve got going on.”
The dog whined, licking Holly’s chin again.
“See?” Holly grinned. “The press has already won him over. Your move, Mr. Sterling.”
He rolled his eyes. Why had he agreed to take on this pampered mutt? Oh right. Because he loved his sister. “I’ll take care of him.”
She stepped forward, a wary light in her eyes. Ignoring whatever that look was about, he clipped the leash to the collar. When his hands brushed against hers, the brief contact charged the air between them. Close now, he could smell the sunshine on her skin.
Weird.
Digby squirmed in his arms, painting kisses all over his face. “Chill, my dude.”
He scrubbed the dog’s chin, avoiding eye contact with the reporter.
“He must have gotten out through a gap in the fence.” Glancing up, he caught her smile and his breath hitched.
Her golden hair was made for the sunlight and now that he held Digby, he could see the Brookwell Bugle logo on her shirt.
Her muddy shirt, thanks to the dog. “I haven’t had time to walk the entire property and make it dog-safe,” he said when he realized he’d been staring too long.
“Clearly.” Holly rubbed her palms together but the dirt remained. “I can help,” she offered.
“Why?”
“We could do the interview at the same time,” she mused.
“Two birds, one stone.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “In a town like Brookwell, folks notice when a beautiful dog goes wandering around like he’s auditioning for one of those tear-jerker commercials.
The sooner we fix the problem, the better. ”
He rarely enjoyed team efforts. Aiming a scowl at the dog, he asked, “Why do I care what folks notice?”
“Small towns.” She tsked. “A bad first impression can last for generations,” she warned.
He rolled his eyes. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Your lesson to learn.” She shrugged. “I should probably mention the risk of predators. Since you’re new here.”
Now he scowled at her, though she seemed impervious. “What predators?” He didn’t care for the way she eyed Digby.
“Foxes, snakes, alligators.”
“Hear that?” he asked the dog. “You’re better off with me, inside.” Digby’s tail wagged wildly. “Thanks for the assist.”
She didn’t take the hint and leave. No, she leaned closer. “About the interview?”
“Bad time.” He took a step back. “I’ll reschedule.”
“I’m here now. We could just get it over with.”
Seb searched her gaze, looking for the trap. All he found was Holly’s relentless, genuine enthusiasm.
“What do you want?” Digby squirmed again and he set the dog on the ground, holding tightly to the leash.
“The interview you granted Vince. I’m pretty sure he sent me over because he knows you’d rather do anything else.”
“He’s right about that.” The confession slipped out way too easily. Not cool. He was usually too guarded for those mistakes. And he had given Vince his word. “Will the two of you collaborate on the article?”
“Of course.” She crouched down when Digby wandered closer, looking for more attention. “I have a recorder with me to make sure you’re not misquoted on anything.”
He snorted.
“How about one question off the record?”
If he didn’t know better, thanks to years of experience with reporters, he’d swear her full attention was on the dog. “Ask.” Better to get this over with and start adjusting to the curiosities of small-town life.
“Tell me why a man who could live anywhere chose this fixer-upper estate on a tiny island in South Carolina.”
“First of all, not a fixer upper.” It just needed redecorated—his taste leaned more toward clean and modern than stately Southern antiques. “Everything has been remarkably well-maintained.”
She nodded slowly, standing once more. “Except secure fencing for a small dog.”
“Except that,” he agreed.
The silence stretched and he could hear the persistent drumming of the incoming tide. Seb watched Digby snuffle the grass at the edge of the driveway. Why wouldn’t she take the hint and leave?
“Shall we get started? On the perimeter,” she clarified. “I really can help.”
“No thanks. I’ll just keep a closer eye on him.”
“Uh-huh.”
Her skepticism was annoying. “You don’t even know me.”
She whipped out a voice recorder and smiled at him. Why was the sparkle in her eyes so intriguing? “I’m happy to change that. I promise it won’t hurt a bit. We’ll just have an easy conversation.”
Of all the reporters he’d met, he almost believed this one meant it. Almost.
Her shoulders sagged. “Fine. We won’t talk. Vince will reschedule. But Digby needs some water and I’d love to wash my hands before I walk home.”
“Sure.” They were halfway to the garage when he had to ask. “You walked here?”
“Biked, actually.” She tipped her face to the clear sky. “The chain broke. It’s easier to fix it at home than wrestle with it before I go.”
Seb let out a long, defeated sigh that caught Digby’s attention. Ears perked, the dog cocked his head as he pranced along at Seb’s heel. “I’ll drive you and your bike home.”
“On what conditions?”
“None,” he replied, offended. “I was trying to be, um, neighborly.”
She laughed. “Oh, good to know.”
Seb regretted many things in his thirty-four years, some questionable investments came to mind, along with his overly-documented, extremely brief relationship with a volatile actress. But letting Holly Brooks onto the property was rapidly climbing to the top of the list.
She was beautiful and friendly. Possibly even sincere. Digby’s immediate adoration for her was a solid endorsement. But she was a reporter, one with the power to lower his guard.
He could practically hear the questions humming through her mind and though she was being subtle about it, he knew she was cataloging every visible inch of the estate.
The next gate was a privacy fence that framed a generous courtyard between the pool and kitchen. At some point, someone had installed a very modern outdoor shower with a dog wash station. Neither of which he’d ever considered valuable features until Digby came into his life.
He looped the leash into the tie and filled a bowl with water for the pup. Turning, he saw Holly had stopped to stare at the view. With her lips parted and her hand over her heart, she looked stunned.
He understood the feeling. Down to the bone. Walking out of the kitchen that first day, he might’ve stood there for an hour. The view still stole his breath—when he let it.
“That’s why I bought the place,” he said, walking back to stand with her.
He had an incredible view of Charleston harbor.
On a clear day, it was obvious how White Point Garden at the tip of the peninsula got its name.
To the left, the brackish water of the convergence of two rivers and the ocean lapped gently at the shore.
“You should see it at night from the dock.”
Now why the hell had he said that?
“It’s…” Her voice trailed off for a long moment before her smile returned. “Wow.”
“When did you move to the island?” he asked.
Her eyes returned to the view. “I’m Brookwell born and raised. But this? I’ve never seen the harbor from this side of the island. Aside from school field trips to the lighthouse or from the water.”
Oh, man. Was that why the Bugle editors were pushing so hard for the interview?
Had they somehow learned the lighthouse ownership had shifted to him along with the Marion estate?
His lawyers had assured him the records were separate and buried under miles of paperwork.
The reasoning might look sketchy, but it was mostly temporary.
He didn’t need the locals pressuring him about his plans for that parcel of prime real estate while he was trying to navigate a multi-million dollar merger.
Digby barked his displeasure at being ignored and Seb jumped on the distraction. “I need to clean him up.” Going to war with the dog would set him back hours, but it had to be done.
“I’ll do it for you.” She raised her dirt-stained hands. “It helps both of us.”
“What’s the catch?” He folded his arms.
“Answer three of Vince’s questions.” She bounced on her toes. “Plus a quick tour of the interior.”
“A hard bargain.”
That smile bloomed across her face, mesmerizing him.
He could almost hear the gears turning in her head, filing away the details of his disheveled state for colorful commentary in the article.
He should have taken the dog and closed the gate without asking her anything.
Just set that standard of being the aloof bastard from the start.
Instead, he was playing host to a woman who looked like a literal ray of sunshine and smelled like citrus and salt air when he should be working.
“Of course, there’s one more thing I can offer, if you promise to answer five questions, Mr. Sterling.”
He rolled his eyes. “Call me Seb. And what are you talking about?”
“I can tell you how to stop Digby’s escapes.”
Now she had his full attention. Among the many responsibilities he was currently juggling, any trouble or harm to Digby would be the end of him. His sister loved the little dog more than anything else in the world. Including Seb.
And despite their typical sibling nonsense, he would never hurt her.
Digby whined and Seb picked him up, keeping the leash attached. “Once he figures out the b-a-t-h is imminent, he turns into a Tasmanian devil.” That alone would be worth the price of letting her deeper into his space.
“I can handle it.”
He doubted that. “We’ll see. But you’ve got a deal.”
“Great. I’ll wash my hands first.” She walked over to join him in the shade. “Then I can bathe him while you find a way to prevent another escape.”
“How is that?” Seb looked around. “How is he getting out?” When he searched earlier, he hadn’t found a space big enough for Digby to squeeze through.
She pulled out her voice recorder, turning it on and stating the date, time, and his name. “Mr. Sterling, what is it about Brookwell that appeals to you?”
He appreciated the slow-pitch start. And he was desperate to protect Digby. Or maybe protect himself from his sister’s wrath. “Do you know Lucy Benson?”
“The lead singer for Wish Blender?” Holly’s eyebrows lifted. “I wish. She’s one of my favorite performers.”
Seb nodded in complete agreement. “She’s a good friend of mine. I started looking at property here on her recommendation. In fact, I visited once last year.”
“Really? I don’t remember hearing about it. Pretty sure you’re the type who would’ve stayed at the Inn.”
He chose to be amused rather than offended. As if he didn’t have a certain expertise in traveling without drawing attention. “Is that another question?”
She laughed at being caught and deliberately turned off the recorder, tucking it away. “I guess it’s bath time, Digby.” She held out her arms and the dog wriggled, eager to return to her embrace. “If you want to let him off-leash out here, you’ll need a paver or some gravel and a few bricks.”
“And I’ll put them where?”
She kissed the top of the dog’s head and set him down. Walking to the wooden privacy fence, she pointed out a few inches of separation between the fencing and the ground. “Right here.”
“No way,” he argued, looking back at the dog.
She knelt and flattened the grass in front of the spot. “Way.” She tipped her face up to his. “Digby was following a slide left by something else.”
It took a second to process what she was saying. With her on her knees and peering up at him, his body had dragged his mind to places best ignored. He took a hasty step back, then went through the fence to check it from the other side.
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered.
Her low chuckle rippled through the air like a dare, stirring his senses. He should send her away, immediately. Because being attracted to the local reporter was a disaster waiting to happen.