Chapter 5
five
AUTUMN
Trey: What’d you decide about the man-child?
Autumn: That he’d probably leave mid-show to bang one of the other models in an alley.
Trey: So we’ll put an ankle bracelet on him. Problem solved.
Even though I did manage to fall asleep again last night—yes, after stroking myself free of the mental image of Zeke’s devilish smile—I’m still pretty groggy by the time I roll up downtown and whip my car into a parking spot across from my boutique.
I don’t even know why I bother to get here on time with the sparse smattering of customers I get across the span of a week—most of whom don’t even end up buying anything—but I’m trying to be professional.
You know, fake it ’til you make it and all that.
I sit in the car a moment, finally sending Trey the contact info for the tech crew I hired to man my show, and then check the time.
There’s still fifteen minutes until I need to open the shop, and it’s already been—checks notes—one whole hour since Trey and I sat at the counter sipping our respective cups of coffee before he hit the road back to Boston.
Hawthorne Bay’s sole coffee shop, Brewed Awakening, is just down the street, and after last night, I’m going to need all the caffeine I can get. I deserve it.
I step out from my Mercedes, and no sooner have the heels of my leather ankle boots hit the sidewalk than a woman two cars down spins to face me. She peers at me over the top of her sleek sunglasses, and my heart sinks.
Because would it really be a Monday morning after a sleepless night without a chance encounter with one’s former mother-in-law? Fucking awesome.
“Autumn, hi,” Susan Carroway croons as she clips along up the sidewalk toward me. She’s impeccably dressed, her blonde hair straightened and sprayed to perfection. When she smiles at me, though, with that tight-lipped grimace of hers, I’m glad to see at least her lipstick’s starting to feather.
“Hey, Sue,” I nod, trying to appear friendly.
Sue and I have never been close—probably because there was nothing I could possibly do to measure up to the mythical woman she felt her precious son deserved—but I’ve always tried to be nice.
Next to the insane wealth of the Carroway family, which I’m no longer a part of, niceness is the only currency I have. “How’re you this morning?”
“Oh, I’m wonderful—just wonderful.” Sue brushes her bangs out of her eyes with a manicured hand. “Patrick was in town this weekend, so we flew up to the Maine house on Saturday to host a dinner. Got to hear all about that interesting start-up he’s funding now.”
God, these people. I forgot about the Maine house.
What a world.
“That’s great,” I say. “I’m off for coffee. It’s nice seeing you, Sue.”
“Sure, darling,” Sue says, cocking her head at me with a pitying smile. My heart clenches. “And listen—I just want you to know how sweet we all think it is. You know, that you’re still chugging along with your little hobby even though the going’s rough. Very inspiring.”
I can’t stop myself. “Excuse me?”
Sue inspects her fingernails, clacks them together before laying a gentle claw on my forearm. I shrug her off.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Autumn. I didn’t mean to offend you—really.
It’s just, you know, we’re your landlords.
We’re well aware of the traffic in and out of the building, and we commend you for sticking with your rent despite the dwindling numbers.
We’re so happy we can keep supporting you in your little endeavor. ”
Um, what. Did she actually just say that to me?
I stare at her, feeling my blood pressure rise. “Supporting me? You have no idea how much money I make, Sue.”
And then this bitch gives me a smug little smile that makes my blood boil. She presses her feathery lips together and nods like she’s humoring a two-year-old who just told her they’re going to be an astronaut.
“Right.” Sue flicks her talons in the direction of Brewed Awakening, starting to walk toward her Range Rover. “I don’t mean to keep you from your coffee, honey. It was great running into you—take care.”
I don’t even bother with a response. I just head straight down the sidewalk without a look behind, trying to shake Sue’s awful energy off and failing.
I am fuming. How dare she? What—does she think I’m some kind of charity case who’s got no hope of succeeding without her—what’d she call it?
—support? She can fuck right off. I’ll show her and Patrick.
I’ll show them all. I don’t need their stupid, filthy money, their support, to make something of my—
What the…?
I stop. There’s a group of teenage girls crowding the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop.
They’ve got their faces pressed up against the glass, giggling as they fall all over each other to look at something inside.
A few of them have got their phones out and are trying to film themselves along with whatever the hell they’re all freaking out over in the background.
I like social media as much as the next millennial, but I will never understand these TikTok trends.
This shit is weird. But as I slip past the girls to get inside the door, I hear a squeal.
“Holy shit, holy shit! It’s actually Zeke. He’s in there.”
What? I do a double take, whipping my head around to face the girls.
“Ohmigawd,” another girl gushes. “He’s so dreamy. Move—I need to see again!”
This last outburst makes me cackle out loud, and the entire group of girls turns to stare at me.
I mean, they’re not wrong—this was basically me last night, albeit with a bit more decorum.
I bet these girls would absolutely lose it if they knew they were staring at the chick who owns the cabin Zeke takes his filthy showers in.
They’d be all over that shit, asking for details, following me to the boutique…
Oh. Oh.
Goddammit. Trey was right.
My boutique—my show in two weeks—needs all the publicity it can get, and Zeke Holloway has publicity in droves.
Granted, the buzz I’m seeing in front of me is giving major teeny-bopper vibes, but Zeke’s been living rent-free in my head since last night, and I’m an adult woman.
Not only is Zeke the perfect build for the line, but if any of these munchkins get wind that he’s walking in the show, it could also drum up some organic interest…
Yep. Zeke’s my best option.
I stride into the coffee shop, scanning the tables for Zeke’s tousled blond head, and spot him at a booth in the corner.
He’s got a huge pair of headphones jammed over his ears and is lounging back against the vinyl seat, one lithe arm slung over his head.
He’s squinting at the laptop screen, but looks up at me as I approach.
A slow grin spreads across his devilishly handsome face and he pulls the headphones off his ears so they’re hanging around his neck.
“Long time no see,” he says, his blue eyes glinting.
“Yeah, sure.” I fix my eyes on him, willing my heart to stop its stupid drumming. My reaction to this twenty-three-year-old is honestly ridiculous, and I need to get over it if what I’m about to ask him is going to pan out. “Listen, I’ve got a proposal for you.”
He raises an eyebrow, still grinning. “Your place or mine?”
“Your place is my place,” I say. “Anyway, gross. No. I’ve got a favor to ask you.”
Zeke removes the headphones from around his neck and sets them on the table. “I’m listening.”
“I’m having a fashion show for my sustainable clothing line in two weeks. It’s for my autumn collection, and I need someone to model the menswear. The guy I had lined up can’t do it—you want to walk for me?”
Zeke rubs his chin. “Do I want to walk for you…?”
“Yes,” I say, trying hard to keep my tone even and professional. “In the show.”
Zeke narrows his eyes like he’s mulling it over. He glances out the window at the crowd of girls who are still trying to catch a glimpse of him, then looks back at me. The edges of his lips curl, and I see a flash of straight, white teeth. “What’s in it for me?”
I sigh, exasperated. “Well, I’ll pay you, obviously—”
Zeke shakes his head. “Nah. I mean, we could do that, but I’d rather make a trade.”
Now it’s my turn to narrow my eyes. “I swear to god, Zeke, if you ask me to sleep with you—”
Zeke throws his head back and cackles. He puts a hand on his chest in a feigned display of shock. “God, how could you even say such a thing? I would never.”
“Look, I don’t have all day. You gonna tell me what you want or what?”
“Fine.” Zeke straightens up in his seat, looks me dead in the eye. “Last night—when I was at the door? I was sensing hella ghosts in your house, and I want you to let me film something there.”
“I’m sorry—what?”
“Your house, Autumn,” Zeke says, more in earnest now.
“It’s got ghosts in it. I didn’t have time to get a feel for what the deal is, but I’m telling you, there is drama there.
The SyFy Channel’s got this competition for a new ghost hunting series they want to produce, and I need to film an entry for it—and whatever your ghosts have going on will make for amazing TV. ”
I stare at him. I believe in ghosts—and there’s definitely something in my house—but this is not what I was expecting.
“Okay…” I say. “Let me see if I understood this right. If I let you film some kind of television segment in my house, you’ll walk in my show.”
“Bravo,” Zeke says, clapping sarcastically. He grins at me. “And honestly, I’d say yes if I were you. Not only do you get your model, but you also get a free little ghost hunt out of the deal. Win-win.”
I study him for a minute. The way he’s sitting there with his arm slung over the back of the booth, holding eye contact the same way he did last night in my doorway, is incredibly hot. Twenty-three or not, he is hot.
And I need him in my show. I need the crowd he’s going to draw. And maybe this trade will be good. Maybe I’ll be able to use the main guest room again.
So I draw a sharp breath in through my nose and huff it out, letting him know that I am the one doing him a favor. “Fine. Deal.”
Zeke nods, shoots me a smirk, and replaces his headphones without another word.
“Hey,” I say. I rap my knuckles on the table in front of him—because who the hell just ends a conversation like that?—and hold out my palm. “Where’s my key?”
Zeke pulls the headphones down again, making a big show of it like I’ve caused him some kind of great inconvenience. “Huh?”
“Key.”
“Oh, yeah.” He digs into the pocket of his jeans, keeping his eyes trained on me with that same stupid smirk on his face. He gives the keyring a little flip before placing it in my outstretched palm, taking care not to brush my skin as he does. “There you go, hot stuff.”
I snort. “Hot stuff? With that gaggle of girls by the window, I’d have thought you could do better than that.”
“Hmm.” Zeke flexes his jaw. Something in him has gone electric, and he tilts his head back to look me full in the face. His long fingers stroke the vinyl of the seat back as he grins. “You know what, Autumn? Challenge accepted.”
“Okay, whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes at him. “Swing by the shop on Wednesday and I’ll get the pieces altered.”
Zeke snaps the headphones back over his head, gives me a facetious little wave, and goes back to whatever he’s doing on his laptop. As I turn on my heel and make my way to the counter to finally get my coffee, I resist the urge to glance back at him, see if he’s watching me.
I don’t know what the hell kind of challenge he was talking about.
I mean—scratch that. I do know. I’d be an idiot not to know.
But once again, those icy blue eyes of his have done something to me.
Knocked me off my game. And honestly, as much as I hate to admit it, I kind of want to find out what else he’s got up his sleeve.
…or in his pants.
I’m kind of curious about that, too.