Chapter 2
Luke
“Good job, guys.” Tucking my nail gun into its weatherproof case, I nod to the men on my crew. “Based on how far we’ve made it this month, we’re on track to finish a week ahead of schedule.”
Two guys from the roofing team trade high fives as my sheetrock contractor packs up his tools. He lets down his tailgate with a bang. “Wanna grab beers at Big One’s to celebrate? It’s six-dollar smashburger night.”
“Wish I could.” Nothing sounds better than a beer and some discounted beef.
Nothing, except the chance to see Hazel Spencer alone. “Gotta meet with the boss lady.”
One of the roofing guys gapes. “Ice Queen? You’re meeting her in person?”
“Holy shit.” His buddy goes visibly pale. “I heard she’s a bitch on wheels.”
“Knock it off.” I glare at them both so they know I’m not kidding around. “Ms. Spencer’s a professional. She doesn’t deserve that shit.”
Both guys duck their heads. “Sorry, boss.”
My sheetrock contractor slams his tailgate shut. “She asked to see you?”
The way he says it sounds like I’ve been summoned for execution. I do my best to play it off like it’s not a big deal. Like I get called to company headquarters all the time.
“Yeah, got an email this morning.” I’m kinda annoyed by how formal it was. “I’m meeting her in the boardroom at five thirty.”
The roofing guys trade a scared look. “You think we’re in trouble?”
“Nah.” My project manager looks thoughtful. “You heard what Luke said—we’re kicking ass on this job. Bet somebody’s getting a raise.”
That’s followed by nods of agreement and some murmurs like, “You earned it, man.”
I brush it off with modesty, but the truth?
I hope that’s the case. I’m good at my job as a construction foreman. I’m smart and hardworking and try hard to be a decent guy. A raise would be nice, but here’s what I’m not telling the crew:
That email from Hazel? The one requesting my after-hours presence in the boardroom? It specifically said, “Please come alone.”
Hard not to read into that, right?
True, she’s barely spoken a word to me since our scorching-hot hookup nearly four months ago. But that’s about to change.
“Good luck, man.” My sheetrock guy gives me a fist bump, then gets in his truck. “Let us know how it goes.”
“Will do.”
“Yeah, good luck.” One of the roofing guys nods. “Hope you get a real big raise.”
“Thanks, man.” I trade some high fives with the crew, then hop in my truck for the ten-minute drive to the Spencer Holdings headquarters.
The main office—that’s the other thing tipping me off this might be important. I’m not being summoned on behalf of Spencer Development, the construction arm of Hazel’s family business. Spencer Holdings is the bigger corporation. The conglomerate, the umbrella organization, the big leagues.
Whatever this is feels like a big deal.
Parking my truck at the edge of the lot, I glance at my watch. It’s stopped working again, unless I’ve somehow entered a time warp and bounced back to lunchtime. When I glance at the clock on my dashboard, I see I’ve got ten minutes to kill. Might as well call my sister.
“Hey, Ames,” I say when she answers. “How’s my little angel?”
“Great,” she reports. “Jessa’s driving and voting responsibly and just got into her first-choice college.”
“Atta kid.” Since my niece is a toddler, I know Amy’s kidding. “How are you?”
“Good.” She pauses. “I looked into Dad like you asked.”
“Oh yeah?” Blood roars through my ears like a tidal wave. “Did you use your high-tech cop tools to track down the bastard?”
“I couldn’t find much.” No response to the bit about using official cop resources to find our long-lost father.
Amy’s a rule follower, so I’m sure she did it all by the book.
“The last records I could find for Edward Clifford Lovelin were two outstanding speeding tickets in Vermont and a donation to a children’s cancer fund in Florida. ”
“At least he’s balancing out the bad with the good.”
“You sound bummed.”
“Nah.” That’s a lie.
My sister knows it. She even deploys her gentle mom voice. “He clearly doesn’t want to be found. Considering how much back child support he probably owes—”
“Asshole.”
“Obviously.” She pauses. “Why the urge to find Dad all of a sudden, anyway?”
“Not sure,” I admit. “Guess it’s the sorta thing a guy does when he gets older.”
“You’re my kid brother. You can’t be getting older because then I’m older.”
“You’re ageless, Ames.” I glance at the clock on my dashboard. “Gotta go. I have a meeting.”
“Okay, I love you.” She pauses. “You’re staying out of trouble, right?”
Here we go again. “Yes, Mom.”
“I’m serious, Luke. Turbo-charging cars in your spare time is a stupid hobby for a guy with your conviction on his record.”
“I’m not keeping the cars,” I point out. “Just rebuilding them for other people. And I’ve only done a few.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Noted,” I say, eager to wrap up this line of discussion. “Love you, Ames. Kisses to Jessa and Cooper.”
“I love you, too,” she says. “Be good.”
“Yep.”
I click off the call, then get out and dust off my jeans. Guess I could have gone home and put on something more presentable, but Hazel’s invitation didn’t leave time for that. Besides, I’m a construction foreman. It’s not like she expects me to show up to this meeting in an Armani three-piece.
Ambling along the waterfront path, I take a few seconds to look over the lake.
As a guy who grew up in landlocked Central Oregon, I still can’t get over the marvel of living in a place where the town’s namesake lake practically kisses the churning Pacific.
There aren’t many places where you stand on a grassy-green lakeshore fishing for bass on a cool, misty morning, then turn and walk six hundred steps to the beach where you roll up your pantlegs to prowl velvety sand as you hunt for razor clams.
I dreamed about that sorta stuff when I was locked up.
And here I am now, foreman of a construction crew for the biggest development firm on the Oregon Coast. Look at me, marching down the hall to some fancy boardroom like a man who belongs here.
Like a man who has every right to walk into Hazel Spencer’s space and ask if she’d like to grab beers later on.
I don’t plan to start there, but if the vibe feels right, I’ll go with my gut here.
Clearing my throat, I rap twice at the boardroom entrance. I’m expecting her to greet me, to swing open the hand-carved walnut door and welcome me with a cool little smile that counters the warmth in those eyes like watercolor skies.
“Come in.” Her voice sounds crisp from inside the room.
Okay.
I push open the door, and the first thing I see is that we’re not alone. She might’ve asked me to come solo, but Hazel sure hasn’t. The back of my neck starts to tingle as I survey the faces around the teak table.
There’s a woman in front of a laptop, a neat stack of papers piled to her left and a buttoned-up look that matches her stiff, pinstriped suit.
The woman beside her wears pink-framed glasses and a starched white lab coat with a name stitched over her heart in bright pink.
I can’t make it out, and I don’t want to look like I’m leering.
Behind her big glasses, her eyes trail my forearm where I’m sporting a gash from a minor jobsite mishap.
Hard to tell if she’s wanting to stitch me up or grope me.
Next to Lab Coat sits a third woman wearing the brand of perky-cool smile I recognize as the official expression of public relations professionals. I’ve seen her type on the set of Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge where my sister lives.
Swinging my gaze back to Hazel, I fight the uneasiness churning my gut. “What’s this about?”
“Mr. Lovelin.” The woman in the pinstriped suit points to a chair. “Please take a seat.”
“I’d rather not.” Dragging my gaze back to Hazel, I see she’s refusing to look at me. She’s shuffling papers and nibbling a hangnail. “Am I in trouble here?”
“Mr. Lovelin.” Pinstripes sounds pissy now. “If you’ll just have a seat—”
“Thank you, but I’d like to stay standing until I know what’s going on here.” Call me paranoid, then blame it on months spent in prison. I like having a quick escape route. “Can somebody clue me in?”
Pinstripes frowns at the unexpected power struggle. “As soon as you’re seated, we’ll get down to business.”
“Doc?” I lock eyes with Lab Coat. “Is there some medical reason I need to sit?”
“I—” A pink flush floods from her throat to her face. “I don’t believe so, no.”
Perky-Cool Smile steps in next. “Let’s just take a breath.” She kicks up the super-smile wattage. “We’re all here to have a conversation. Just a calm, cooperative, adult conver—”
“About what, exactly?” I look from Lab Coat to Pinstripes to Hazel.
“Because I’m feeling kinda blindsided here, and the only person I know in this room can’t seem to look me in the eye.
Can someone please say what’s going on here?
Am I getting fired?” Jesus, it’s worse than that, isn’t it? “Do I need a lawyer?”
Pinstripes perks up at that. “I’m a lawyer.
And if you refuse to be seated, I’ll treat you as a hostile respondent and simply jump right in.
Mr. Lovelin, the document you see at the head of the table is your copy of a motion for voluntary relinquishment of parental rights.
Starting on page two, you’ll see I’ve sticky-tabbed sections requiring your signature for—”
“Wait.” Wooziness whips through my gut. It takes out my knees, and I catch myself gripping the back of a chair. “What did you just say?”
Pinstripes continues like she hasn’t just flipped my whole world upside down. “You’re welcome to have your own legal counsel review the documents, but I’m certain you’ll find the terms simple and fair and designed to bring the most private, expedient conclusion to the matter at hand.”
My tongue is a limp piece of sourdough bread. “I’m sorry—did you say parental rights?”