Loving Mr. July (2 page)

And Sharon.

Blake may be his only brother and his best
friend, and Sharon, as Blake’s new wife, the sister he never had,
but he recognized their hand in this caper. And knew why they had
done it.

Cynthia.

Who was Sharon’s business partner and her
best friend. And a thorn in Kurt’s side ever since they’d met. No
one ever had gotten under Kurt’s skin like Cynthia. Which is why
he’d flat out refused to even consider the calendar, good cause or
not. But now Blake had effectively twisted his arm with no way
out.

“Shit.” Kurt tossed his cellphone back into
the locker. He glanced at the clock and realized he was now going
to be late for the board meeting.

“Shit. Shit.” He headed for the showers at a
jog. He was under the spray when it hit him. The board members all
received that newsletter. And he would be ribbed mercilessly.
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” Kurt pounded the shower stall harder with each
word.

“You okay in there?” Mario’s voice came over
the noise of the water.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He yelled back. He sighed
and muttered, “just great.”

Kurt finished his shower and rapidly dressed,
all the while mulling over his options. Which weren’t many
considering how Blake had forced his hand. He had felt a little
guilty when Cynthia first asked him to be in the calendar. It
wasn’t that he didn’t think the charity deserving. He’d personally
picked it for RentBro’s yearly charity foster selection, after all.
And posing for the calendar wasn’t
that
horrible. Although
with Mario’s crunch comment in mind, he looked down at the extra
five pounds he’d added over these last busy months. Yep, those
would have to go, and fast. He had his pride after all.

No.

He had to admit to himself it was Cynthia
that had held him back. He got along with just about everyone.
Never even considered why. He liked people and they liked him right
back. Women especially. He never had to work all that hard at it.
Which is why Cynthia was such a puzzle to him. From the moment they
had met prior to Blake and Sharon’s wedding, she seemed to dislike
him. And for the life of him, he didn’t get it. It irritated him.
He found himself wanting to change her opinion to the better. And
that made him even madder.

It wasn’t as if she was model-gorgeous, after
all. In fact, even though she was always meticulously and
impeccably dressed, with her short blond hair usually styled to the
nines and pretty face perfectly made up, she was sort of ample in
the size department. Yet she intrigued him. He’d seen the way she
acted around Blake and Sharon and it was completely different. She
was the laughing, life of the party, who seemed to get along with
everyone else, especially the men. So why dislike him?

Yep, they were all going to pay, but Cynthia
most of all. If he was going down for this one, he was taking her
with him. And he knew exactly what he was going to do.

Cynthia unwrapped the last Delft platter from
the shipping box and set it on the counter, marking it off on her
inventory list.

In her humble opinion, Sharon had gone a
little nuts on the last buying trip. The Delftware was great and
all, but between that and the Majolica, Grandma’s was rapidly
running out of shelf space to display pottery. They had already
filled most of the china hutches out on the sales floor. Which was
going to be a major pain when someone wanted to buy the furniture,
but she and Sharon didn’t really have a choice. And for some odd
reason, pottery had become one of the biggest income makers.

Go figure.

She straightened to stretch her sore back.
Her feet hurt. Her manicure, that had been perfectly ‘Passionate
Pink’ this morning, was now distinctly lacking both passion and
pink. She sighed. And for the umpteenth time that evening wondered
why their twenty-something assistant couldn’t have picked another
weekend to go off on a self-discovery quest. There were piles of
packing paper littering the floor, boxes to break down for
recycling, and data to enter into the computer. And for this, she’d
toiled for two years in pursuit of an MBA.

She wanted to go home and drink a glass of
wine. Or two.

Now.

Only her electronic calorie counter told her
she hadn’t worked out enough to make up for that almond croissant
she had nabbed from the bakery on the way into work. Shoot. When
was she going to learn that it was a lot harder to work it off her
butt than stick it in her mouth?

She sighed again. And about jumped out of her
skin when she realized she wasn’t alone. The stationary shadow on
the far wall wasn’t so stationary any more.

She turned very slowly, only to see Kurt
Renton leaning against the barn door, hands in his pockets, and
with very little expression on his face.

“Geez, give me a heart attack why don’t you?”
Cynthia’s earlier fear gave way to anger. Not to mention
humiliation that Kurt was seeing her with dirt on her clothes, and
no date on a Friday night. It put an edge in her voice. “How long
has your pretty face been decorating my wall?”

“Might want to rethink that customarily
congenial attitude of yours. Seems to me you need to be in major
suck-up mode right now, given the little stunt you all pulled on
me.”

“Wasn’t my idea.” Cynthia put up her hands in
defense. “I told Blake you had turned me down flat.”

“Uh huh.” Kurt ambled closer. “He just
decided on his own without any coaching at all to send me up the
river?” He stopped a few feet away in a wide-legged stance, and
crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t think so.”

Kurt angry. Now this was something new,
Cynthia thought. He was a little intimidating without his normal
veneer of friendly charm.

“Think whatever you want. Doesn’t change the
truth,” Cynthia said. “Though I’d hardly call setting you up to
take a few photos sending you up the river.”

“I don’t see you posing in a bikini.”

“Yeah, well. We weren’t all blessed with good
genes,” Cynthia said, turning away so he wouldn’t see the pain his
words induced. She was too tired to come up with a witty response
that made light of her generous size as was her normal defensive
habit. “And if it’s such an imposition, don’t do it.”

“Since you all have taken away that option
from me by announcing to the entire company that I was committed,
it’s a little too late for that now,” Kurt said. “Nope. Way I see
it is you owe me.”

“I. Owe. You?” Cynthia pointed from herself
to Kurt. “For what? You haven’t done a thing for me.”

“Yet,” Kurt acknowledged with a nod. “But you
need me. You may not want to admit it, but you do. I know how the
Bocher Foundation works. No one. And I mean
no one
does a
thing for that organization without a thorough background check.
It’s required even if you’re not going to work directly with the
kids. They’re fiercely protective of the kids and don’t want even a
hint of scandal. And you know as well as I do that you aren’t going
to get another soul through that vetting process in time.”

He was right. She knew it. And he knew that
she knew it. Cynthia looked at his set face. Oh how she would love
to tell him where to put it. But she couldn’t. There was no way she
would let down the foundation or the kids it helped. She’d been in
their shoes once.

“Okay, I’ll play,” Cynthia told him, sighing.
“What favor is it that you think I should do for you?”

“Oh, it’s favors, as in plural,” Kurt
replied.

Cynthia raised her eyebrows. “For one
picture?”

“We’ve got way more than one picture going
here and you know it,” Kurt said, getting in her face to make his
point. “There’s the photo session, the ball itself, the weekend I
have to set time aside for, the arrangements for the fantasy
weekend, not to mention the cost of it all.”

“Your mother Marjorie would have insisted you
and Blake go to the ball anyway,” Cynthia retorted. “And the
fantasy doesn’t have to go too over the top.”

“I’m not going to have it said about town
that I’m cheap.” Kurt backed off a little, but not enough for her
comfort.

“Knock yourself out then.” Cynthia started
gathering up the packing paper. Folding it gave her something to do
with her hands, and kept her brain from thinking too much about how
gorgeous he was. And how insanely, unreasonably, and unfathomably
attracted she was to him. Why him? Why couldn’t it have been Terry
the UPS guy, or Bob the plumber, or even Sam the fireman? Why did
it have to be the one guy she had no chance in hell of ever
attracting?

Wouldn’t do to boost his ego by drooling
either.

He looked different tonight, Cynthia
realized, sort of disheveled. He was a little sunburned and his
blond hair, windblown. Instead of his usual knife-edged khakis, and
pressed button down with tie, he wore older Levi’s and golf shirt.
And could that be flip-flops on his feet?

“Oh, I’m not going to knock myself out. Not
too much, anyway. But you are.”

Cynthia looked up at that.

“Yep. You are going to arrange the entire
fantasy weekend for me. And that’s just the start.” He picked up a
packing box. “These need to be broken down?”

“Uh, yeah?” Cynthia said. She watched,
bemused, as Kurt started to break down and stack the packing boxes,
as if pitching in to help her was the most natural thing in the
world. Couldn’t say that his mother Marjorie hadn’t trained her
boys right. Neither one of them was a slacker.

“You’re also going to work out with me twice
a day until the pictures get taken.”

Cynthia stopped her paper folding to stare at
him. “What is it about this body,” she motioned to herself, “that
gives you the first indication that I’m a personal trainer. Or in
fact, know anything about working out?”

Kurt shrugged. “The way I figure it, if I
have to suffer through a crash program to get in top shape, you’re
going to suffer right along with me.”

“You look fine.” Cynthia gave him a
dismissive wave. “And we can always Photoshop you. No one will
know.”

Kurt stopped stacking boxes long enough to
scowl at her. “I’ll know.”

“My working out with you will only slow you
down.” Cynthia tried another tack.

“Your meeting me twice a day will ensure that
I go running and get to the gym. You’re going to be my workout
buddy. You’ll meet me in the morning, at my house, and we’ll go
running on the beach. You’ll come back in the evening, and we’ll
hit the gym.”

“Am I serving you meals too?” Cynthia said it
in a sarcastic tone, then immediately realized her mistake. But it
was too late.

“Great idea. My trainer at the gym gave me a
high protein, low carb cookbook. You can create our meals from
that. And we will both have to eat them. No way am I going to eat
fish and salad for three weeks by myself.”

“Kurt, I’ve got a job here. Not to mention
the entire second job that the Bocher Foundation volunteering has
turned into. What you’ve just described has me practically living
at your house. I know I owe you one, but come on, be
reasonable.”

“I’ve got plenty of room. You want to move in
for a few weeks, go right ahead.” He finished breaking down the
last box and joined her in folding packing paper.

Cynthia studied his set face. She had seen
the look only once before, when her partner Sharon had first met
his brother Blake and a misunderstanding had put Cynthia on one
side of a negotiating table representing Sharon across from Kurt,
representing Blake.

He wasn’t going to back down.

And she needed him.

So she had to put up with some discomfort. It
wasn’t going to kill her to stick to a healthy diet for a few weeks
and work out a bit more. Well, actually, it probably would, but she
couldn’t let those kids down, could she?

“Okay.” She admitted defeat in a quiet voice.
“I’ll play. But don’t have high expectations of me in the physical
fitness department. That’s never been my forte.”

“I’m only asking that you suffer as much as I
do.” Kurt’s face was enigmatic as he reached into a pocket,
extracted a key and tossed it in her direction. “You know where my
house is. Feel free to use any of the spare bedrooms.”

Cynthia looked down at the key in her hand,
momentarily speechless. Kurt meant it. Live at his house, with him,
on the beach in Del Mar with a 180-degree view of the ocean. How
was
that
going to work? “Isn’t this going to cramp your
style with the ladies?”

“Like I’ll have time for that in the next
three weeks,” Kurt responded, picking up the huge stack of packing
boxes and paper they had created. “This stuff going to the recycle
bin?”

At her nod, he walked to the door with the
pile, saying over his shoulder, “Be at my house at six a.m.
tomorrow. We’re going running on the beach.”

Cynthia didn’t have time to protest. The door
slammed behind him.

~ ~ ~

He had to be out of his mind, Kurt thought,
as he got out of his BMW X5 and unlocked his beach house door. Not
only had he just committed himself to two workouts a day, and where
was he going to find time for that? But he had also essentially
forced Cynthia to live with him for the next three weeks.

Why? What was it about her that got under his
skin so much? He’d had such a mad on when he first entered the shop
this evening and watched her toiling away. Then he had started
feeling sorry for her, working so hard by herself.

She’d looked tired, and sort of down.
Vulnerable in a way he had never seen her look. She had always been
so feisty around him. That look had gotten to him. And then he felt
guilty for being so obstinate about the silly calendar. Which in
turn made him mad again, and apparently irrational.

He tossed his keys on the counter and
unlocked the door to the tiny yard to let Lucky, his chocolate
Labrador, inside. She greeted him with the enthusiasm that only a
dog could. It brought a smile to his face.