Playing the Playboy (8 page)

Then she’d sprayed Andrew at close range with the pressure washer, which had terrified her so much her knees were still rubbery.

She might have really hurt him.

If that hadn’t been enough to handle, she’d been shocked and upset by his sharp tone. She was used to Andrew being friendly and charming—easing his way through life, through relationships, with as little friction as possible. And she had no idea how to handle the fact that he’d spoken to her with such curt authority and that he’d somehow managed to silence her.

She tried to shake off her lingering trembling and start the pressure washer again. She hadn’t finished cleaning the wall, and she never left a job unfinished.

She couldn’t do it, though.

She needed to check on Andrew, to make sure he really wasn’t hurt.

Then she needed to figure out what to do about the inn.

Maybe she could smooth over her inappropriate response earlier. She could just act like she’d been surprised before but, now that she’d thought it over, his offer was worth considering.

It
wasn’t
worth considering, but if she closed down the lines of communication completely, then she’d lose any advantage she’d gained over the last few days.

She wiped her hands on her pants and went up to Andrew’s room. She knocked on the door.

There was no response.

She waited a minute and knocked again. She waited, listening, and heard some movement in the room. A few seconds later, the door swung open.

Andrew must have just gotten out of the shower and thrown on some clothes. His hair was wet and he was pulling on a white camp shirt over gray trousers.

“Oh,” she said, taken aback. “Sorry.”

He looked at her without smiling, his eyes uncharacteristically quiet and watchful.

“Are you all right?” she asked at last.

“I told you I was fine.” He looked more annoyed than anything else, but he moved out of the doorway, which she took for an invitation to enter.

He was buttoning his shirt, but she reached over to stop him, remembering horror stories she’d heard involving pressure washer accidents. “Can I please look at it to make sure it’s all right?” she asked, her voice wobbling in a way that made her cringe.

She wasn’t like this. She wasn’t this person. She always had a plan for handling circumstances efficiently. She always had things under control.

He let out a textured exhale but dropped his hands, letting his shirt fall open.

She stepped over and carefully, almost delicately, pulled the fabric apart to bare his chest. She tried not to think about how attractive it was—the well-developed muscles and clean lines made somehow more masculine, more human, by the dark hair and the faint white scar etched from his right shoulder to his nipple.

She didn’t focus on any of that, though. She focused on the splash of angry red spreading down his left side from his chest to his flat stomach. “Damn,” she breathed, “I did hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” he said, his voice more gravelly than normal. “It’s fine.”

“At least the water wasn’t turned up hot. Some people get badly burned. Do you think it will bruise?”

“No. Let it go, Laurel.”

She didn’t want to let it go. She wanted to fix it.

She wanted to fix everything.

She couldn’t quite meet his eyes, so she just stared at the redness on his chest. Her fingers trembled as they gripped the edges of his shirt.

He gently pulled the shirt out of her hands and started to button it.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I know you didn’t. I shouldn’t have startled you. I thought you heard me and were just ignoring me.”

“I didn’t hear you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to say sorry again.”

She took a shaky breath and had no idea what to say.

He said it for her. “About our offer…”

She swallowed hard, trying to remember that she really needed to keep him on her side and so she couldn’t antagonize him more than she already had. “I…I can look at it.”

He peered at her too closely, with too much scrutiny, as if he could somehow see into her head. She didn’t like it. She wasn’t used to feeling so vulnerable. She lowered her eyes so he couldn’t read her expression.

“You’ll look at it?”

“Sure,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I can’t promise I’ll agree to it, but I might as well look at it. We can set up a time to meet with my lawyer to go over it.”

There was a long pause before he said, “You don’t mean that.”

“Sure I do.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t know why you’re bothering to pretend. Your first reaction was the real one.”

She tightened her lips, a wave of resentment washing over her. “That’s presumptuous. You have no idea what my real feelings are.”

“Of course I do. Do you think you’re fooling me with the easy-going routine? You’re not easy-going, and there’s no use pretending you are.”

“You don’t know me at all.” She tried to keep her voice even and not yell at him the way she wanted. The insufferable arrogance of his assumption that he knew who she was or what she thought was infuriating, as infuriating as his belief that the inn belonged to the Damons and not her.

“I
do
know you. You’re used to managing things—making things happen according to your plans. You might have gotten pretty far with managing everything else, but you’re not going to manage
me
.” He sounded resentful, as if he’d deserved better from her.

She was so angry now she was shaking with it, his face blurring slightly in front of her as she tried to hold back the force of emotion. “I have no desire to manage you,” she snapped. “I would prefer you to just leave me alone.
You’re
the one who’s used to strolling through life and charming people into doing what you want. You’re just annoyed because I’m not falling for your normal routine. I said I’d look at the offer. What more do you want?”

“I want you to be real for once in your life and not say things because they’re what you’ve planned.”

She gasped in surprise and indignation. “You arrogant jackass! You have no idea what’s real about me. And what’s real is that this inn belongs to me.”

“It doesn’t belong to you.” He was angry now too, she could see it in his tense jaw and in the intensity in his green eyes. “It belongs to Damon Enterprises. You gambled poorly on your rich husband. Maybe being a trophy wife was a logical step toward whatever your endgame is, but you chose the wrong man and the wrong bank account. It happens. But you can’t expect us to give up what’s ours because of your mistake.”

She had to clench her hands at her side to keep from slapping him. She was used to people believing she married only for money—which simply wasn’t true—but it hurt that Andrew believed such a thing. “I don’t expect anything from you. If your uncle had been serious about this property, he wouldn’t have sent you to handle it. Everyone knows that Harrison is the one who gets things done. You’re just a stand-in. Obviously, I’m not too worried about the situation.”

For just a moment, she thought she might have hurt him. He grew very still, and his expression went strangely blank. Then he smiled, a smooth smile that was utterly empty. “I tried to make things easy for you, but since you clearly have no desire to cooperate with us, this won’t be easy anymore.”

Her stomach dropped sickeningly as she realized what she’d done, how much she’d blown in the angry outburst. To hide her reaction, she gritted out, “Get out. Get out of my home!”

He didn’t respond, just stood and looked at her. She suspected he was still furious, but he wasn’t showing it now in any way.

She’d thought she was just as good at hiding her feelings, but she obviously wasn’t.

She turned on her heel and left the room, resisting the impulse to slam the door behind her.

Then she hurried up three flights of stairs until she’d reached the dogs’ yard. They were all lying out in the sun, having their afternoon naps, but they jumped up when she came out and hurried over to greet her.

She knelt down to pet and stroke them, letting them nuzzle her affectionately. When Theo sniffed her face in concern, she wrapped her arms around his fuzzy neck.

Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in his fur.

She’d messed up. She’d ruined everything. There was absolutely no way the Damons wouldn’t come after her now. She’d had a chance to maneuver a way out of this, get Andrew on her side and get him to support her side of the situation.

But she’d blown it completely. He would never take her side now.

And she might have just lost her inn—her home—in the process.

Andrew had been right about her. She was used to managing things on her own. Making things happen. She’d managed to be self-sufficient all her life.

She had no idea what to do now, though. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so helpless.

She wasn’t a woman who cried. The last time she’d cried had been when Jerry died. But her shoulders kept shaking, and a few sobs choked out before she could suppress them.

She wanted to blame Andrew, but it wasn’t really his fault.

She was the one who’d blown it. The fault was all hers. But she wasn’t the only one who would suffer for it.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about it,” Andrew said through a clenched jaw, his phone tucked between his chin and shoulder as he ineptly folded a pair of trousers and tossed them in his open suitcase. “She rejected our offer in no uncertain terms.”

“What’s wrong with the woman?” his uncle demanded on the other end of the line. “Is she holding out for more money?”

“I don’t think so. She thinks the inn is hers, and she wants to keep it.”

Andrew managed to keep his voice level and business-like, as if this was simply an unexpected complication, but he didn’t feel business-like. He was deeply disturbed by his last encounter with Laurel, by how much he’d wanted to kiss her when she was looking at his chest, compelled by an aching tenderness that was entirely new to him.

When immediately followed by the desire to wring her neck, it was enough to unsettle him completely.

He no longer needed to put up with this, with
her
. His life had always run along effortlessly. It had gotten harder last month, when he’d taken on some of his brother’s work responsibilities, but even then he hadn’t felt like his life was spinning in every direction at once.

He didn’t like this feeling, and he didn’t have to put up with it. He could go back home and deal with the inn from a distance, through an army of lawyers if necessary.

It had always worked for him before. When things got messy, Andrew just moved on. It was long since time to move on from here.

“Andrew? Did you hear me?”

“No,” he said, startled by his uncle’s annoyed inquiry. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked what your next step was going to be.”

“I’m heading out now, and then I’ll figure out the best legal strategy. It will take longer this way, but I don’t think she’s going to budge. I’ve never met a more obstinate woman.”

There was a too-long pause. Then Damon said, “You shouldn’t make decisions when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry. I’m just fed up.” Andrew had finished packing his bag, so he zipped it up with a feeling of relief. “You’d understand if you had to deal with her. I can get a flight off the island pretty quickly and be back by this evening.”

Another pause—one that made Andrew nervous. Then, “You can’t leave.”

“What?”

“You can’t leave. It will put us at a disadvantage we can’t afford.”

“She told me to get out. There was no mistaking it. I’ll stay on the island if you need me to, but I’ve got to leave the inn.”

“You can’t leave the inn. Part of the reason I wanted you there was because, for the legal system in certain areas, actual possession of the property has a higher claim than any sort of official documentation.”

Andrew made a sound of disgust.

“I’m serious. We’ve seen it make a difference in the past. We lost that property in Slovenia for just that reason.”

“There was more going on in that situation,” Andrew objected. “And this is Greece, not Slovenia.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not worth the risk. Your brother could tell you a thing or two about property law in Greece.”

Andrew had picked up his case, but now he set it down on the bed again. He took a deep breath and made himself ignore his uncle’s last comment.

He was perfectly well aware that his brother knew more about the law than he did. Andrew hadn’t gone to law school, and his only experience was a decade of thrill-seeking and partying.

Harrison wasn’t dealing with this, however. Andrew was. And, despite his uncle’s assumptions, he wasn’t a complete incompetent.

“What would suggest I do? Barricade myself in this room?”

“I doubt it will come to that. She wouldn’t risk bringing in the authorities to evict you at this point. Is there someone on the premises who is physically capable of throwing you out?”

Andrew thought about Hector and Agatha. “No. Unless she’s friends with a gang of thugs I don’t know about.”

“If you think there’s physical danger to you, then naturally we’ll make other plans, but otherwise you need to stay put, so she can’t claim possession of the property over us. Do you think she would resort to physical force to remove you if she could?”

Andrew was tempted to say yes, just so he could get out of this mess. Some nagging sense of conscience wouldn’t let him, however. “No. She’s not like that.”

“All right then. Remain where you are, and work out a strategy from there. Morris Provost is an expert on these kinds of situations. You’ve met him, haven’t you? Get in touch with him, and he’ll help you put a plan together for moving forward.”

“I’ll have to do something about food, unless you think it’s appropriate that I raid her kitchen during my prolonged sit-in.”

“Don’t be melodramatic. You have more right than she does to live in the property. I’m sure you’ll manage to feed yourself in the meantime. Call me later today and report.”

Andrew stared at the phone for a minute after his uncle ended the call.

He just wasn’t used to this sort of thing. He was usually quite adept at avoiding conflict, either by convincing the other person there wasn’t any cause for ill-feelings or by simply leaving. He certainly had never been forced to put so much effort into dealing with a difficult situation and have absolutely no way to get himself out of it.

He didn’t like it. No wonder he’d spent so long avoiding his family’s business. He wished he was more like Harrison and could distance himself, keeping professional issues in a little compartment that didn’t bleed into the rest of his life.

Laurel hated him. Andrew could understand why she did, and there was no telling in any given moment whether he would want to strangle her, have sex with her, or somehow fix all her problems.

But this was his job now. For the first time in his life, his uncle was really counting on him. For once, he wasn’t going to let him down.

***

Laurel wasn’t a bit hungry, but she made herself eat a sandwich as she reorganized the pantry. The pantry didn’t need reorganizing, but she needed a distraction from Andrew, and organizing always made her feel better, more secure—as if there were things in life she could really control.

She couldn’t control Andrew, and that fact was really upsetting.

As she worked, she tried to think of a new plan. She’d given up on her first plan, since she wasn’t cold enough to have sex merely as ammunition to use against the Damons. She’d ruined her next plan of earning his sympathy by getting angry. Andrew would never be on her side now, but there must be something else she could do to give herself an advantage once the legal process started up for real.

She knew the Damons must have a very good legal argument for their claim to the inn, or they wouldn’t be doing this. Cyrus Damon had an intimidating reputation for playing hardball, but he’d never been known to cheat or steal. The fact that she still didn’t know exactly what their claim was to the inn worried her.

They hadn’t told her since they didn’t want her preparing a defense.

She didn’t have money for a good lawyer. She didn’t even have money for the lawyer she had. Waverly had agreed to help her out of the goodness of his heart, but his legal expertise wasn’t worth much anyway. He was only going to provide a minimal amount of protection against the army of lawyers the Damons would send after her.

She was good at making plans. She’d figure out something to do. She just needed to focus.

After removing all the canned goods from a shelf, wiping down the shelf, wiping down each can, and then replacing them in neat rows with the labels easily visible, she finished her sandwich and went to throw away the napkin she’d been holding it in.

As she did, she caught a glimpse of Andrew climbing the steep stairs toward the parking area.

He must be leaving. She was glad. She never wanted to see him again.

He made her feel confused and helpless and a lot of other emotions she should never have indulged even briefly.

She wondered why he didn’t have his bags with him as he left.

That incongruity was strange enough to prompt her to walk up to his room. The door was locked, but she had a master key, so she let herself in.

He hadn’t even started to pack. His clothes were in the drawers and the closet. His laptop lay closed on the desk. A pair of brown leather shoes were tossed haphazardly in the general vicinity of the closet.

She instinctively lined them up on the floor of the closet. Then she realized what she’d done.

He wasn’t her guest, he wasn’t her friend, and he wasn’t her lover. He was unlawfully trespassing in her home when she’d told him clearly to leave.

She went back to the closet and pulled out his suitcase. She set it on the bed, opened it, and started to neatly fold his clothes up until the closet and dresser drawers were empty.

Then she went into the bathroom and gathered his shower and shaving supplies, packing them efficiently in the case he’d left on the counter.

She felt a little strange handling his personal items this way. Her belly twisted uncomfortably as she thought about him doing domestic things like shaving and brushing his teeth. She ignored the feeling, however, and finished packing him up, concluding by sliding the laptop into the beat-up leather messenger bag he used for a briefcase.

If she’d been someone else, she would try to get into his laptop and see if she could find any helpful or incriminating information. He probably had it password-protected, however, and she wasn’t a thief or a spy.

She hauled his bags down the stairs and set them in a neat pile on the entry terrace, just at the bottom of the stairs.

She nodded in satisfaction and went around and locked every door in the inn, so he couldn’t get back inside. There were a lot of them. It took her several minutes.

She told Agatha and Hector what was happening, and they didn’t even raise their eyebrows. Just nodded and went about their business.

Laurel wasn’t exactly pleased with herself. She felt kind of sick. She needed to proceed with making a plan for saving her inn, though, and the first step was getting rid of Andrew.

She went back to reorganizing the pantry, but she regularly checked out the window to see if he had returned. Nearly an hour later, she saw him walking down the steps.

She went closer to the window so she could see more clearly.

He’d been taking the stairs quickly, but he slowed halfway down, as if he’d just seen his belongings waiting for him down on the terrace.

He was carrying several canvas bags hooked over his arms. They were bags one could get at the local grocery store.

Laurel sucked in a breath, a new and disturbing idea coming into her mind.

She had to go to another window in order to see the terrace. By the time she had, Andrew had reached his stuff.

He adjusted the canvas bags onto one arm and used the other to pick up his luggage.

Then he carried all of it—not up the stairs toward the road but toward the inn. He didn’t try to go into the lobby but instead walked around the main building, she assumed heading toward the back door that led up to the room he’d been using before.

Laurel sucked in an outraged breath. Surely he wouldn’t… There was no way he could think about staying when she’d told him to leave.

She ran around the building and caught up with him just as he’d reached the back door.

“It’s locked,” she said, slightly breathless. “You’re not welcome here anymore.”

Andrew glanced back at her, his face relaxed, almost pleasant. “Yes, I had realized that.”

As she watched, he pulled something out of his pocket—it looked like one of those multi-tools that held dozens of handy devices in one—and, without even pausing, he flipped out a tool that looked like a thin screw driver.

“This particular lock is quite old and should probably be replaced,” he said with a smile. He inserted the tool into the lock, jimmied it for a few seconds, and then pulled it out when they both heard the lock click. “It’s very easy to get in.”

Laurel froze with shock and indignation as Andrew turned the doorknob and entered the building.

When the reality had fully processed, she followed him into the hall and then into room she’d cleaned out less than an hour ago. “You’re breaking and entering!”

“That’s only true if the inn belongs to you.” He put the pile of bags he held on the bed and shook his arms out.

The bags must have been heavy, since he’d been carrying what would have taken her three trips to haul in.

“It
does
belong to me,” she gritted out, bewildered and shocked—and absolutely hating that feeling. “Get out.”

“Your claim on the inn is obviously under dispute. As such, I have just as much right to stay here as you. Since you can’t open for guests until this is settled, there’s obviously room for me. I won’t get in your way.”

He spoke as if they were discussing a simple business matter, as if nothing were unusual or problematic about his behavior. As if he weren’t invading her home.

She was almost shaking with anger, but she knew the anger was dangerous. He was completely controlled at the moment, so she needed to be too.