Chapter Seventeen #3
Jack leaned in, his hand finding the small of her back and making her skin feel a size too small. “Tell me you’ve crashed a party before.”
Cora glanced at him, wide-eyed. “Are you kidding? I once got hives sneaking into an R-rated movie. This is way outside my skill set.”
“Good. Then I get to teach you how to be a rule-breaker.”
“What makes you think I want to be a rule-breaker?”
His grin turned wicked. “You’ve got that look about you.”
Her pulse jumped, but she forced herself to focus. Then she took a deep breath, plastered on her best “I totally belong here and didn’t just glue glitter to my flip-flops” smile, and stepped into the Worthingtons’ perfectly manicured backyard.
When they split up, Aggie and Bea headed straight for a group of gossip-hungry blue-haired ladies. Winston smoothly joined a debate about local politics, leaving Jack and Cora to find a way into the house.
They made their way toward a side entrance, Cora’s heart pounding in her chest. Just as Jack tested a window in the bushes, a voice startled them both.
“Excuse me, what are you doing?”
They spun around to find a housekeeper eyeing them suspiciously.
Cora froze. “We’re, uh . . . checking for termites!” she blurted.
The housekeeper blinked. “In the rosebushes?”
“You’d be surprised where those little rascals hide,” Jack said smoothly, flashing a smile that could’ve charmed the thorns off the roses currently slicing into Cora’s arm.
“Termites are crafty. Almost as crafty as they are dangerous.” He leaned in, voice low.
“And almost as dangerous as letting a beautiful woman like you wander the grounds alone.”
The woman’s cheeks flushed pinker than the roses she was supposed to be protecting. “Oh, my,” she giggled.
Cora rolled her eyes so hard she was surprised they didn’t pop out of her skull and roll across the Worthingtons’ obscenely manicured lawn. “Almost as dangerous as flirting on the job, wouldn’t you say, Jack?”
Jack, the picture of innocence, squeezed her shoulder. “My partner here takes termite control very seriously,” he stage-whispered.
The housekeeper giggled again, clearly charmed. Cora would never again doubt the power of a man in a well-fitting jacket.
“We should really get back to work,” she said, tugging on Jack’s arm. “Those termites won’t catch themselves.”
“Of course,” Jack agreed, giving the housekeeper one last charming smile. “Thanks for your cooperation.”
As they sauntered away, trying to look casual, Cora waited until they were out of earshot before whispering, “Thanks for your cooperation?”
Jack leaned in, his breath tickling her ear. “Says the woman whose brilliant cover story was termites. In rosebushes. That’s the best you could come up with?”
She elbowed him in the ribs, gentler than she wanted to but harder than she should have.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you have preferred I told her we were here to raid Nathaniel’s office for incriminating evidence?
‘Excuse me, ma’am, but can you point us to the nearest safe full of nefarious plans? We’re on a bit of a tight schedule.’”
He dipped his chin. “Fair point.”
“At least I didn’t try to flirt our way out of it,” she shot back, ignoring the fact that his arm was still casually draped over her shoulders.
“You wound me, Lockwood,” he teased, leaning in enough to make her pulse jump.
“If I’d really been flirting, we wouldn’t have just gotten away with it.
We’d have gotten VIP access and maybe even a private tour.
Flirting’s a valuable skill.” His voice dropped, low and smooth. “You sure you don’t want a lesson?”
Her face heated up instantly. Was this what flirting looked like now? Because it felt similar to a cardiac event. “Pretty sure I can manage without your expertise,” she muttered, trying and failing to sound unaffected.
He chuckled. “Suit yourself.”
“Let’s focus on not getting caught, okay? I look terrible in prison orange.”
“Noted,” he chuckled, steering them toward a less crowded area. “But for the record, I think you’d be a knockout.”
She gave a very unladylike snort. “Do your lines always work?”
“Usually.” He shrugged. “What can I say? Women love a man with a bad reputation.”
She tried to roll her eyes, but her heart did an involuntary little flip instead.
Being attracted to Jack was a very, very bad idea.
He was trouble wrapped up in a sexy package, and she was already knee-deep in complications.
She was supposed to be selling the café, packing up her memories, and getting out of town as quickly as possible, not swooning over a flirty bad boy determined to crash her carefully laid plans.
With a mock bow, he swung open a door. “After you.”
Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of lemon polish and snobbery.
The mansion’s interior was exactly what she expected from a family with more money than taste—gilded frames, crystal chandeliers, and enough gold tassels to make King Midas blush.
She almost expected to see wallpaper made of dollar bills.
“Where to?” she whispered.
Jack scanned the hallway, suddenly serious. “If I had incriminating evidence, where would I hide it?”
“Probably not in the room labeled Incriminating Evidence,” she replied, earning an exasperated look from Jack that shouldn’t have been as cute as it was.
They made their way through the house like a pair of bumbling cat burglars, ducking into alcoves and behind potted plants.
At one point Jack pulled her into a narrow space between a bookshelf and a wall that was definitely not built for two.
His body pressed against hers as another housekeeper walked by, and suddenly she was acutely aware of every point of contact between them.
Finally, they found themselves in front of a heavy oak door that practically screamed evil lair. The brass nameplate read ‘Nathaniel Worthington, Esquire’ in a font so pretentious it practically had its own trust fund.
“Bingo,” Jack whispered, trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slim tool that looked suspiciously like a lock pick.
Cora blinked. “Okay, wow. You just carry that around?”
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “You never know when you might need to break into a building.”
She squinted up at him. “That’s not normal behavior.”
The edges of his mouth curled. “What? You don’t know how to pick locks?”
“No,” she said. “But I wish I did. The lock on my bathroom door in New York is broken, and I have this irrational fear I’m going to get trapped in there and die, and then the fire department will find my rotting corpse three weeks later, wrapped in a towel and clutching my loofah.”
Jack choked out a laugh as he crouched down to fiddle with the knob, but before he could make much progress, Cora stepped forward.
“Let me try something,” she muttered.
She slammed her shoulder into the door, and it popped open with a loud crack.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t locked? Just stuck?”
“Humidity. It makes doors swell. Does the same thing to my hair.” Cora patted her updo and motioned for him to follow her inside.
The office was exactly what she’d expected, a shrine to Nathaniel’s ego. Leather-bound books lined the walls, and a massive mahogany desk sat in the center, gleaming and intimidating.
“Where would evil plans hide?” she muttered, rifling through a drawer filled with expensive pens and pristine stationery.
Jack tugged a file drawer open. “Should I check under E for Evil Plans? Or M for Mwahahaha?”
As she was about to reply, a voice echoed in the hallway, getting closer.
Jack grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the nearest hiding spot. “In here.”
“Here” turned out to be a closet approximately the size of a postage stamp.
They squeezed in, and she found herself pressed against Jack’s chest again, his arms around her as they wedged themselves behind a row of sport coats that smelled like mothballs.
The space was so tight his heartbeat practically echoed through her ribcage.
“Well,” she said, her face inches from his, “this is cozy.”
“Shh,” he whispered back, but she could hear the smile in his tone.
Nathaniel’s voice drifted into the room. “Once we acquire the café, the rest of Main Street will follow. The old bird was stubborn, but her granddaughter seems more . . . pliable.”
Cora bristled, and Jack’s grip on her hand tightened.
“We’ll be ready to move by the end of the month. Don’t worry, I’ve got Cora Lockwood handled, and the demolition team is on standby. As far as I’m concerned, we’re good to go for planning the groundbreaking ceremony for Worthington Resort.”
After Nathaniel’s voice faded back into the hallway, they stayed frozen for a moment, hardly daring to breathe. Jack’s heartbeat was steady against her cheek as she let the weight of Nathaniel’s words sink in.
Finally, she whispered, “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah,” Jack replied, his voice tight. “It seems old Nate’s plans go beyond just the café. He’s gunning for all of Main Street. The Spoon is just the beginning.”
Before they could process it further, the closet door swung open.
“Again?” Aggie stood there, eyebrows raised. “I’d tell you two to get a room, but it seems you already have. A bit small, but who am I to judge?”
Cora scrambled out of the closet, her face burning. “It’s not what it looks like.”
Aggie smirked. “Oh, I’m sure it isn’t, sweetheart. But if you two plan on making this a regular thing, might I suggest a closet that doesn’t smell like my Aunt Lula’s attic?”
Jack emerged from behind her, looking far too amused. “Thanks for the tip, Aggie. We’ll keep that in mind.”