Chapter 5
FINN
Iwatch Darcy disappear into the library, her heels clicking against brick with determined purpose. My heart's still going like I just stuck a landing, and I tell myself it's just because she caught me off guard. Okay, I can also cop to a bruised ego.
She despises me. At first, I thought I was imagining it. I mean, who in their right mind drops three grand on a weekend with someone they hate? Evidently, Darcy Gable does.
The woman who just paid to boss me around for a weekend is nothing like the quiet bookworm I remember.
That Darcy used to hide behind novels, wielding vocabulary like a shield.
This one just went toe-to-toe with me without flinching.
Called my bluff. Ordered me around like my net worth means nothing.
It's... irritating. And a little impressive.
And under the porch lights her hazel eyes had done the thing they used to do in fourth-period English when she was about to dismantle somebody, the gold in them catching.
I hated that I still knew to look for it.
Ten years, six continents, and apparently that particular piece of intel never got deleted.
I adjust my collar, still feeling the phantom heat of her glare. Out of habit, I check my reflection in the library window. My charm has roughly a ninety-nine percent summit rate. She looked at it like a spot of bad weather. Didn't even blink at the smile that makes Manhattan socialites swoon.
"Nine o'clock sharp," she'd said, like I'm some employee she can summon at will. "Leave the thousand-dollar jeans at home."
I glance down at my Brunello Cucinelli denim. Okay, so maybe they're closer to fifteen hundred. But that's not the point. The point is that Dictionary Darcy just managed to do what ten years of extreme sports couldn't—genuinely rattle me.
A burst of laughter from inside draws my attention. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of her rejoining her friends, head high, shoulders straight. No trace of that nervous teenager who used to triple-check her grammar before speaking. When did she get so... confident?
More importantly, why do I care?
I should be planning my escape. Making calls about that Colorado deal. Finding a way to pass this "weekend of service" off to some proxy. Instead, I'm standing here like an idiot, replaying the way her eyes sparked when she told me I wasn't in Manhattan anymore.
She's right about that, at least. Nothing about this situation fits my usual rotation of boardrooms and headline-grabbing product launches. Darcy Gable just dropped the price of a decent watch to turn me into her personal handyman, and I'm actually looking forward to seeing what she has planned.
I must be losing my damn mind.
Somewhere in Manhattan, four billionaires are playing cards around my empty chair. If they could see me right now, fixing my collar outside a small-town library because a schoolteacher took me down a peg and told me what to wear, our wager would have a new favorite by midnight.
With one last adjustment of my jacket, a gesture that feels more like armor-checking now, I head back inside. Time to face the music, and the startling reality that the girl I used to tease might just be my biggest adventure yet.
The library's main room bustles with excitement as I step back inside. Every head turns my way, but for once I'm not basking in the attention. My usual easy confidence feels off-kilter, like a parachute with tangled lines.
"Mr. Bardot!" The auctioneer waves me over, beaming. "Quite a bidding war we just witnessed. Though I must say, none of us expected Ms. Gable to—"
"Life's full of surprises," I cut in smoothly, though my smile feels forced. Across the room, Darcy stands with a cluster of women, probably plotting my imminent downfall. She’s become a true beauty. And the confidence in her bearing draws my eye despite my best efforts to look anywhere else.
She's different here. Not just different from how she was in high school, but different from the woman who just faced me down outside. Here she's in her element, moving through the crowd with an easy authority that has nothing to do with money or status. People gravitate toward her naturally.
"Quite a coup for our library fundraiser, landing the famous Finn Bardot." Mrs. Warren appears at my elbow, Mattichogue's longest-serving realtor and notorious gossip. "I certainly didn't expect Darcy Gable to be the highest bidder."
"That makes two of us." I manage my press-ready grin, the one that usually deflects uncomfortable conversations. But Mrs. Warren just raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"She's done quite well for herself, you know. Such a respected teacher. The whole town's proud of her." Her emphasis on "respected" isn't subtle. "I trust you'll be on your best behavior during your service hours."
"Naturally."
My usual charm fails me completely when Darcy looks my way again.
Whatever's in her expression, it goes straight past every defense I've built since high school.
She turns back to her friends, but I can't shake the feeling that in one glance, she's seen right through the glossy magazine version of Finn Bardot to the teenager who used to pull her metaphorical pigtails.
I need a drink.
I spot Evan in a quiet corner of the library, his broken leg propped on a leather ottoman that's probably as old as the building itself. His pain-med grin is way too satisfied.
"Not. One. Word." I drop into the armchair beside him.
"Did I say anything?" He gestures broadly at his cast. "I'm just a poor injured man, enjoying the show. And what a show it was."
"How are those meds treating you?"
"Well enough to fully appreciate watching my big brother get outmaneuvered by Darcy Gable." He tries to shift position and winces. "Man, the look on your face when she won—"
"I thought you were in too much pain to make it tonight." I slide him an annoyed look. "Or was that just for Mom's benefit?"
"Please. I wouldn't miss this for anything." His grin softens slightly. "Though I gotta say, when I signed up for this auction, I didn't expect it to turn into a family affair."
"When you signed up?" I arch an eyebrow at him. "More like when Mom guilted you into it."
"Hey, some of us actually enjoy helping the community." He pauses. "Though probably not as much as you're going to enjoy it. Darcy’s looking good, isn’t she?"
I lean back and ignore the question, studying the library's vaulted ceiling. "I could still back out. Write a bigger check instead."
"No, you couldn't." Evan's voice is annoyingly certain. "And you won’t. Not after the way she looked at you."
I don't have a response for that. Because he's right. Backing out now would mean letting Darcy win. And I've never been good at backing down from a challenge.
"You know what's funny?" Evan shifts his cast again, clearly enjoying himself despite the pain. "All these society women from the city keep throwing themselves at you, and the one who finally catches your full attention is the same girl who used to correct your grammar in English class."
"Nobody’s caught anybody." I watch a group of elderly women whispering and pointing in my direction. "This is just temporary insanity brought on by family obligation and your inability to stay on a storage loft ladder."
"Right. Because you weren't just staring at her like she's your next wingsuit challenge."
"I was assessing the threat. That’s all."
"The threat." Evan's laugh turns into a grimace. "Wow. The great Finn Bardot, extreme sports legend, threatened by a high school English teacher."
"I'm not..." I catch myself before finishing that denial, because Darcy chooses that exact moment to walk past us. She doesn't even glance my way, but the deliberate way she doesn't look at me makes my pulse kick up.
"Not threatened at all," Evan murmurs. "Nope. Totally cool and collected."
"Shouldn't you be resting?" I try to inject some older-brother authority into my voice. "Doctor's orders and all that?"
"Can't leave yet. I’m still waiting to see what other surprises tonight has in store." He grins up at me. "Like watching my fearless brother try to figure out why a small-town teacher just dropped three grand on his sorry ass for a whole weekend."
"I know exactly why." But even as I say it, I'm not so sure. Because the Darcy I remember would never have done something this bold. The Darcy I remember wouldn't even meet my eyes, let alone challenge me in front of the whole town.
"Keep telling yourself that." Evan's voice has that annoying knowing quality that little brothers shouldn't be allowed to use. "But from where I'm sitting? This weekend is going to be very interesting."
I open my mouth to argue, but movement by the door catches my attention. Darcy's gathering her things, preparing to leave with her friends. She still hasn't looked my way again, but somehow I feel dismissed all the same.
And I really don't like how much that bothers me.
I wait until Darcy and her friends disappear through the library doors before standing. "Time to get you home before those pain meds wear off."
The next bachelor is being introduced as I help my brother navigate through the crowd. Every few steps, someone stops us, offering sympathy for Evan's leg, throwing knowing looks my way, or making not-so-subtle comments about Darcy's winning bid.
"You know what I think?" Evan says as we finally reach the entrance.
"I'm sure you're about to tell me."
"I think she likes you." He grins at my sharp look. "And I think you like her back."
I roll my eyes. "That's the pain meds talking."
"Is it? Keep telling yourself that." His grin is insufferable. "I saw your face when she won. You're into her."
"I'm not into anyone." I hold the door for him to hobble through ahead of me. "In fact, I've got a million-dollar bet with my poker buddies riding on exactly that."
"A what now?"
I try to wave him off, but he’s not moving now. I push out a sigh. "Last Billionaire Standing. My idea, actually. We all put a million in, last single man who successfully avoids falling in love takes the pot."
"Let me get this straight." Evan stops at the top of the steps. "You invented a bet about never falling in love? That's both sad and hilarious."
"It's a sure win for me." But watching Darcy's taillights disappear into the darkness, I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince. "And it’s completely irrelevant, since this is just two days of charity work. Nothing more."
"Right. Because you always stare at 'nothing more' like she's your next adrenaline fix."
I don't have a response for that. Because for the first time since inventing that ridiculous wager, I'm wondering if a million dollars is enough to bet against whatever feeling Dictionary Darcy is stirring inside me now.
Shit.
This weekend can’t be over fast enough.