“Perfect.” Having a co-conspirator should feel good—a sign that I’m not fucking up everything with this plan. But ultimately, Harlow is on Keeley’s side. I can’t lose sight of that.

  So…I’m alone. What else is new? And why does that suddenly bother me?

  Chapter 7

  Keeley is still asleep when I leave for the office. I know it would piss her off, but I sneak into the spare room. I have to make sure she’s all right, don’t I?

  She takes my breath away. Lying on her back with her arm cocked up and knuckles brushing her smooth, pale cheek, she looks angelic. She also appears as if she’s sleeping naked. I want to peek under the blankets to be sure, but I can’t risk waking her up and inciting her wrath. I’m smart enough to pick my battles. Still, I don’t see any sleeves or spaghetti straps. If she’s in the buff, maybe that’s a silent sex invite.

  Or not, dumb ass.

  When my phone starts buzzing in my pocket, I slip out so I don’t wake Keeley. All through my workout, I speak to a client in Vienna. After a quick shower at the hotel’s fitness facility, I head to the office. There, the pace doesn’t change all day. It’s one phone call after another from clients buying or selling amazing properties on Maui. They have multiple demands. This sort of thing has beaten me down over the last few days. But right now I’m energized. I’m making it happen. Tonight, I’ll go home to Keeley. She’ll fix me food. Hopefully, we’ll talk, preferably in more than monosyllables. Then…who knows?

  I smile.

  As afternoon slips toward quitting time, Britta drops a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I lost my temper.”

  It’s unlike her, so I know Keeley’s ideas about healing the rift between me and my brother upset Britta on some level, probably the one where she’d be forced to see Griff—and maybe share their son—if we mend fences. “Don’t apologize. You have a right to your thoughts and feelings.”

  “And she has a right to hers.” Britta looks down, peeling a bit of old turquoise polish from her thumbnail. “I think I was a bit jealous, too. If Griff meets Keeley, even to negotiate peace, I’m sure he’ll be attracted to her.”

  Britta sees that, too. Nice validation of my plan…not so nice reality for my assistant’s feelings. She knows precisely what kind of woman attracts Griff since she’s paid attention to the wide swath of females my bonehead brother has “dated” since their split. That tears her up, probably more than usual because she couldn’t really date in the same way. She gave birth to a much bigger responsibility that doesn’t allow for random sating of her sex drive. I’m glad for her that she has a seemingly steady someone now, even if it still seems weird to see her with someone else.

  “Hey, why don’t you take off early? Go spend more time with your little man. Jamie would like that.”

  “I can’t. He had a field trip today. They won’t be back at daycare until five.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  “Jamie? Every day but—”

  “Griff.”

  Britta falls dead silent. She presses her lips together. A furrow takes up residence between her brows.

  She’s not the same woman she used to be. Before everything went to hell, Griff and I decided that Britta would become my assistant so the two of them didn’t keep mixing business with pleasure. He hired an empty nester looking for something to occupy her time since the last of her kids had gone to college. Sheila still works for him, I hear. But three years ago, Britta always wore bright colors and a smile every day, along with heels and short skirts and a cocky attitude.

  Today, she’s got on a navy pencil skirt that almost covers her knees, a plain white starched blouse, and a beige cardigan that does nothing to liven her up. She’s scraped her blond hair into a tight bun. If she wore makeup this morning, it’s gone now. Britta dresses like a librarian. She acts like an old maid. She looks as if she has the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  “No,” she answers hesitantly. “I don’t miss him.”

  She sounds as if she’s trying to convince herself.

  “Be honest.”

  We haven’t talked about this in well over two years. At first, when the anger was still fresh for us both, we ranted and railed and trashed her apartment together. We grieved. We grew close. I wonder why I’ve never wanted to have sex with her. Under her current frump garb, she really is gorgeous. I guess in my head she always belonged to Griff.

  In so many ways, she still does.

  Britta swallows and won’t quite meet my gaze. “I tell myself I shouldn’t. He obviously hasn’t looked back.”

  “But you do?” My heart softens. It’s been doing that a lot lately.

  I’m not a fan.

  She sighs in defeat. “Sometimes. More than I want to.”

  “Me, too,” I tell her. After all, I don’t want her to feel alone.

  Besides, Griff is a ghost in the room all too often. I kept meaning to move my offices elsewhere after he left. I just…didn’t. Never enough time, never high on my priority list. I never got around to it.

  “But it’s over and it doesn’t matter anymore.” She forces a chipper expression. “Tell me, what’s the deal with you and Keeley? I thought she’d be temporary.”

  I frown. “Why would you think that?”

  “Not that many people meet the love of their life in a bar, Maxon. And I admit, that tight animal-print dress just said ‘bimbo’ to me…which I realize is judging a book by its cover and that’s unfair. She’s nice?”

  I nod. “And interesting. Smart. She makes me laugh. She even makes me think.”

  “You, think? That’s a feat.” Britta gives me a teasing grin. “Oh, my gosh, you like her.”

  “Yeah.” I won’t deny the obvious. But I also can’t tell my assistant more. “We’ll see what happens. Maybe nothing.”

  “Or maybe she’s the someone you can finally invest your heart in. That would be great. I’d be really happy for you.” She turns quiet. “You deserve better than Tiffanii.”

  Can’t argue there. “What about you? You deserve to be happy, too. Are you still seeing Makaio?”

  “Yes.” Her smile turns muted.

  “He seems like an okay guy. How’s that going?”

  “He’s a good man. Kind. Patient. Funny. He seems to love spending time with Jamie. I’m lucky.”

  The words she uses to describe this guy suggest he’s top-notch boyfriend material. She might say she’s lucky, but she doesn’t sound happy. She’s not in love, though I suspect she wants to convince herself she is. “You guys have been dating for…six months?”

  “Eight.” Her voice has gone quieter.

  “Getting serious?” I ask.

  I don’t think she’s ready for that.

  “He’s spending a couple of nights a week at my place.” Britta hesitates. “I have this feeling—intuition?—he’s thinking about proposing.”

  I sit back in surprise. “Really? That’s…fast.”

  “A little,” she concedes.

  “How do you feel?”

  “He says he loves me.”

  I analyze her expression, her body language. She’s closed off, her movements small, her voice gone soft. She didn’t actually answer my question. “You don’t love him back.”

  I see a crack in her outer shell. “I care a lot. And if he asks me to be his wife, I can’t think of a single reason to say no. He’s loving and steady. He has a good job, a great family. He treats Jamie like his own. He helps with everything when he’s around the house. His heart is open…”

  In other words, he’s perfect—for someone else.

  “You can’t help it if you’re not ready to move on.”

  “I need to be! I loved your brother. But he’s gone, and I can’t stay stuck here.”

  She’s got a point…but one point isn’t the whole picture. “If Makaio wants to marry you, don’t you owe him your whole heart? Is it fair to make him settle for only the parts of you that you’ve wrested free from Griff?”

  Now she looks agitated. “Maybe knowing I’m committed will make a difference. Maybe that will free up my heart. All I know is that Griff has taken years of my past, and I refuse to give him more of my future.”

  That’s wishful thinking. “I get it, but—”

  “Why are you grilling me like this? In the old days, you would have just asked if he made me laugh and if he was good in bed. What’s with the probing questions about the state of my soul?”

  I can’t refute her. Normally, I would ask those very questions. I might claim I want details just to watch her blush. But I fear the reason I’m different now has something to do with Keeley’s bad influence.

  “You’re right. It’s none of my business. I’ll shut up.”

  She sighs with regret and shakes her head. “Sorry. You asked fair questions. I just don’t have any answers.”

  “I’m always here if you need help figuring it out.”

  “Thanks. You’re one of my best friends.” She gives me a sisterly pat on the shoulder. “I mean this in the most loving way but, at least for now, I need you to butt out.”

  If she was grilling me hard-core about my love life, I’d probably be touchy, too. “All right. I’m butting out. Just don’t rush into anything, okay?”

  “It’s been three years. I’d hardly call that doing a ten-yard dash to the altar.” She picks up the last of her stuff. “I think I’ll go ahead and leave. I can run a few errands before I pick Jamie up. Good night.”

  “Night.”

  I’ve got two hours before I can go home. I return a few phone calls, answer a few e-mails I’ve been putting off. Rob and Britta have assembled a “war room” in Griff’s former office and filled it with ideas for the Stowe estate. I poke around, see their progress, make a few mental notes. Something is bugging me about everything they’ve laid out so far. I was loving it yesterday but today it feels like too much hoopla. Like we’re planning a rockin’ New Year’s Eve party in March. The strategy seems overdone and outdated. The visuals look like overkill. Everything feels…wrong.

  What would be right?

  No damn idea. What do I know about the Stowe kids or their preferences? I don’t usually research clients. What’s there to say? They have a house to sell and I know how to list well and find a buyer. End of story.

  Except my gut tells me not this time.

  When I plop behind my desk again, my eyes go immediately to the clock on my laptop screen. Seventy minutes until I can close up shop.

  Could this day drag on any more?

  I can fill it by staring at a wall and thinking about all the fantastic things I’d like to do in bed with Keeley. With the sleek line of her shoulders and back, along with the feminine flare of her hips, she’d look great if I fucked her from behind, filling my hands with her tits. Mentally, I throw in a few of her gasps and cries because of course I’m going to make her come. On the other hand, she’d look great on top, too. That bright hair thrown back, exposing the delicate, pale curve of her throat, breasts bouncing with every thrust as she grabs my shoulders and cries out my name.

  Yeah, I can picture it now.

  Unfortunately, it also makes my cock so hard my pants are damn uncomfortable. And I still have sixty minutes before I can leave. Even when I get there, no matter how much I want to touch Keeley, she’s not going to say yes simply because I want her to. If I press her, she’ll remind me that she’s not fair game.

  Maybe I should pull my brains out of my dick and focus on work.

  Google tells me that the Stowe descendants are George, twenty-seven, and Vivienne, twenty-three. Their father died a decade back after a lingering bout with cancer. The elder of the Stowe kids finished an MBA from Yale three years ago and has been running the family business day to day since. Shortly thereafter, their mother moved to Maui and remained until she died of an unexpected heart attack ten days ago. Vivienne graduated from Vassar last year and, though planning to be married soon, is making the Stowes’ legacy, their syrup company, her number one priority. The Burlington Free Press even included a picture of the siblings clutching hands and sharing a moment of grief on the snowy day of their mother’s funeral.

  I sit back, ponder. By all accounts, these heirs value family, tradition, and their New England roots. George was quoted as saying that he had never stepped foot in his mother’s Maui home and never planned to. He sounds proud of that fact. It seems a bit like sour grapes to me, but I imagine that if I’d come from a normal family—which I didn’t—if my father had died and my mother took off to someplace seemingly exotic seven time zones away, I might be bitter, too. Confused at the very least.

  It also makes me realize that George and Vivienne probably aren’t attached to the idea of having Griff list their place, as their mother had been. They simply don’t have a good reason not to. If I give a better pitch than my brother, I might have a real shot at this listing.

  With a curse, I tear everything pinned up on the war room’s walls down, tuck all the ideas away in a drawer, find a marker at the white board, and write two words: Think Simple.

  I return to my laptop and pound out an e-mail to Rob and Britta, linking them to the articles I’ve read about the Stowe siblings. I close with assurances that we’ll regroup and discuss tomorrow. We can get this done.

  I’m onto something. I feel it. Griff is going big, bold, loud—and he’s in deep with that strategy. Somehow, I know that’s so wrong and I’m completely right. I’m going to find a way to win. I just need one more advantage to get it done.

  Keeley. I look at the clock and I smile.

  Now it’s time to go.

  Game on.

  When I enter the condo, I find all the doors and windows open. Ocean salt mixes in the air with ginger and sizzling sesame oil that smells like one of my favorite restaurants.

  Keeley is cooking. More than my stomach jumps with excitement.

  “Hi.” I set my keys and laptop on the bar and peer at her behind the stove. “What are you making?” And what are you wearing under that little sundress?

  She turns with a distracted glance. “Asian.”

  I peer closer. “I had a wok?”

  “No.” She huffs out a breath that says she doesn’t want to speak to me but knows she has to. “When I finished school, I came back here to start homework. The groceries arrived on time, but you have almost no pots, pans, utensils… How did you think I would cook the food?”

  That might be a fair question. “I had, um…a couple of saucepans, didn’t I? A skillet, a cookie sheet, and some other stuff.”

  She rolls her eyes. “And how long have you lived here? Never mind. I already know your excuse. You’re not home much.”

  “Right. So, the wok came from where? Did you have one in your boxes?”

  “No, I used my homework time to run to the Target in Kahului to buy a few things I’ll need if we’re going to eat reasonably in this place for the next month.” She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a strip of paper, and slaps it on the bar. “Here’s the receipt.”

  I glance at it. She managed to fill my kitchen with stuff for less than a hundred and fifty dollars. Frugal. I would have ordered a bunch of crap from Williams Sonoma and paid the exorbitant shipping fee for the convenience. But the fact that she stopped what she was doing to take care of me…

  Well, probably not all for me. She’s feeding herself, too. But she’s including me, so that counts. And it smells spectacular.

  “I’ll give you cash,” I promise her. “I didn’t consider that my kitchen wouldn’t be stocked. Sorry.”

  She softens and shrugs. “I know. But you’re on dish patrol. I’ll finish my homework then, so we can get started on…whatever.”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks for laying out my yoga mat, by the way. I really enjoyed my morning workout. What time did you leave?”

  “Six thirty. The usual.”

  “You put in a twelve-hour day?” She frowns like she’s worried.

  Does that mean she cares a little?

  “Eleven. I worked out first. Actually, I cut today a little short, but coming home to these smells makes it worthwhile. What’s in there?” I try to peer across the space between us and into the wok.

  “Not telling. You have to try it first and let me know whether you like it. I set some placemats and silverware out on the lanai. And some wine. This will be ready in two. Go change.”

  “You’re bossy.”

  “You need it,” she tosses back without missing a beat.

  I laugh, relieved that she’s giving me more than clipped, one-word answers today.

  After a quick change into shorts, I come out of my bedroom to find her carrying two plates outside. The evening is warm, pleasant. Sunset beckons over the glittering blue water, filling the sky with shades of pink, orange, and yellow. I pour wine as the sultry breeze grazes my skin. It’s nice out here. Why didn’t I ever spend time outside before? I can’t really remember a reason. Just…busy.

  But I’ll change that to savor every moment I can with Keeley.

  She sits beside me, staring out at the water and sipping her wine. “Good day?”

  “Interesting. Britta sends her apologies for yelling at you. She’s got a lot going on.” Vaguely, I worry about whether Makaio will propose to Britta and how she might answer. The idea of my parents divorcing niggles at me, too. But I can’t borrow any more trouble now. I need to focus on prepping Keeley to become the distraction Griff can’t afford…while figuring out how to bend her no-sex rule—a lot. “I might be making some progress on the big deal I was telling you about.”

  “Yeah?”

  I shovel the first bite into my mouth. My taste buds are ready to declare undying love. This is probably more vegetables than I’ve eaten in the last month, but everything is so crisp and fresh. I’m devouring it with my eyes and my mouth—and I’m loving it. Maybe she’s right about dining out too much. Nothing at a restaurant ever tastes like this. “Hmm. This is amazing.”