The Harlowe Island 2: Falling For The Painter
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S. L. Adams
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37
Chapter 1
MYRA
Book 2: Falling for the Painter
“There’s no way I’m doing that.”
“Myra, I’m not asking you to spend the night with the man,” Dad barked.
“Why can’t Audrey schmooze him into signing the stupid contract?”
“You think a contract worth that much money is a stupid contract?”
“I think taking on a project like this is gonna be a nightmare.”
“Do you now?”
“Yep.”
“Last time I checked, young lady, you weren’t in charge of running this company. I was.”
“Actually, Dad, Theo is in charge.”
“I still have the final say in major decisions! And Hardy’s stupid fucking tower is a major project!”
“So you admit it’s stupid?”
“Of course it is, Myra!”
“Then why do you want it so bad?”
“Because if Harlowe Homes doesn’t build it, some other company will!”
“Oh well!”
He gritted his teeth, running his fingers through his thin white hair. “Myra, if you want to work in the family business, you have to be a team player.”
“Fine. I’ll get the geeky creep to sign your stupid fucking contract.”
“Thank you.”
“Whatever, Dad,” I muttered, pushing back my chair. “I have to go and get dressed.”
I stormed up the stairs to the suite I was sharing with my sisters.
New Year’s Eve was supposed to be fun. The last place I wanted to be was at The Bristlecone Bay Builders Association and Chamber of Commerce party.
Harlowe Homes was our family construction company. My grandfather built it from the ground up, with my father eventually taking the reins.
We served the entire Muskoka region, known as cottage country. The area was a popular getaway for not only city folks from Toronto but wealthy celebrities looking for a private place to relax.
With sixteen hundred lakes, surrounded by dense forest and stunning nature, it was a popular area for cottagers. And the wealthy customers weren’t building cabins in the woods.
My father drilled it into our heads that our business was a twenty-four-seven operation. We didn’t take holidays, and any time we left our private island, we were representing Harlowe Homes.
When we were online, we were representing Harlowe Homes. If we didn’t wipe our ass properly, it could affect Harlowe Homes.
“That bad?” Naomi asked, wincing when I yanked my dress from the closet.
“Dad wants me to get Silas Hardy to sign the contract.”
“He’s pimping you out?” she gasped.
“No,” Audrey sighed. “All he wants is for Myra to butter him up. Apparently, the creepy billionaire geek has the hots for her.”
“How does Dad know that?”
“Hardy was asking around about her in town.”
“Why can’t you do it, Audrey?” I whined. “How old is that guy, anyway?”
“He’s only thirty, Myra.”
“Gross! He’s old.”
“Thirty is not old.”
“Not for you,” I snorted. “You’re twenty-seven. I’m twenty-one.”
“Nobody is asking you to fuck him. Just dance with him and maybe flirt a little bit. That’s all.”
“Why can’t you just do it, Audrey?”
“He doesn’t like me.”
“How do you know?”
“We don’t get along.”
“When have you spent any time around him?”
“I spent four hours going over the electrical specs with him when we were doing up his estimate. He is the most annoying, arrogant, self-important fucking asshole I’ve ever met in my life.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing. I’m a professional. I would never compromise a project like this by being a cunt to a customer.”
“Then you hang out with him tonight.”
“I’m not doing this, Myra. It would be a disaster. You need to do it. End of story.”
“Do you know who you sound like right now?”
“Don’t even say it,” she warned.
“C’mon, guys,” Naomi said. “That’s enough. You’re scaring poor Milly.”
“I’m just sitting over here, minding my own business,” Milly said with a nervous laugh.
Milly was my brother’s new girlfriend. He brought her home for the holidays. They lived in Florida, but Levi was moving back to Canada.
I had no idea what was going to happen to their relationship when Milly returned to Key West, and my brother stayed in Bristlecone Bay. Levi seemed pretty smitten with her.
“Let’s get you dressed,” I said, reaching for another garment bag.
Milly accepted it, sliding open the zipper. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said when she pulled the dress from the bag. “It might not fit me.”
“Yes, it will,” I assured her. “We’re similar height and chest size.”
“How do I wear a bra?”
“You don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t worry. It has built-in cups to keep your girls secure.”
The bedroom door opened, Milly emerging in my sexy dress, her hair and makeup done to perfection.
“You okay there, Levi?” Audrey asked, rubbing his shoulder.
“You’re drooling a bit,” Naomi whispered, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a tissue.
“You look absolutely stunning, angel,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “You look good in a tuxedo.”
“I don’t wear them too often.”
“Well, you look good.”
“Do you like my dress?” I asked, spinning in a circle.
“Uh,” Levi mumbled, diverting his eyes away. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“Shut up, Levi!”
“You’re such a prude, Levi,” Naomi snorted.
“Your dress doesn’t seem to be missing any chunks of fabric, Naomi,” he noted.
“I could never pull off Myra’s dress,” she sighed. “I’m too short.”
“You’re not short,” he said.
“Compared to Myra, I am.”
Levi crossed the room, holding out his hand to Milly. “Shall we go dance the night away?”
“I don’t know if I have the guts to leave this room with my boobs on display,” she whispered.
“If you were wearing Myra’s dress, I wouldn’t want you to leave the room. But you’re fine. Perfect, actually.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my dress, Levi!” I cried. “You’re such a prudish old man. And the dress your girlfriend is wearing is mine! I loaned it to her.”
“He’s just being a typical big brother,” Audrey said. “You’re his baby sister. Don’t you remember my grade eight graduation? Levi and Theo scared the crap out of my poor date.”
“Oh yeah,” Naomi chuckled. “I thought Dave Noonan was gonna piss his pants. Why did you go with him anyway? He was such a nerd. Still is.”
“I don’t know,” Audrey said. “I was fourteen.”
“Let’s go,” I grumbled. “Apparently, I have a nerd to woo tonight.”
***
I headed straight for the bar. Flirting with Silas Hardy wasn’t a task for a sober woman.
“What can I get you, Myra?” the bartender asked.
“Two shots of tequila to get me warmed up, and then a dirty martini, double up the gin.”
“Coming right up.”
“Hold the vermouth and the olive brine.”
“So you just want a glass of gin?”
“Yeah.”
“You and I should go out partying some time.”
“Don’t you have a kid now, Moxy?” I asked.
“I’ve got two. What does that have to do with going out drinking? They have dads who can babysit.”
“I suppose.”
Moxy Peters was a local, born and bred. She was thirty-one, the same age as Levi. She was well known around Bristlecone Bay as the town tramp and gold digger.
I downed both shots and picked up my glass of gin.
“You might not see the new year come in if you keep drinking like that.”
Silas Hardy sat on the stool next to me, his smarmy smile sending my tequila-soaked gut into a nauseous spin.
“How are you, Mr. Hardy?” I asked politely.
“That depends, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Did you come to this party with a date?”
“No, I’m flying solo.”
“Not anymore,” he said. “Would you like to dance?”
“Sure,” I agreed, downing my drink before I slid off the stool.
The nerdy creep could dance. I’d give him that much. And he smelled pretty good. He was stacked, too. I never paid that much attention to him before, but when we were slow dancing, I could feel his muscles.
Do not sleep with him.
Or at least not until after he signs the contract.
That would make you less whorish.
“I need to use the ladies’ room,” I whispered after we’d been dancing for what felt like an eternity.
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll get us drinks. What would you like?”
“How about a good old Canadian?”
“You got it, pretty lady.”
I headed to the bathroom. When I came out of the stall, Milly and Audrey were there.
“There’s the future Mrs. Hardy,” Audrey laughed.
“Shut up,” I grumbled. “I’m just doing what Dad asked me to.”
“I don’t know,” she teased with a sly smirk. “You two were getting pretty cozy on the dance floor.”
“Jealous?”
“Hardly,” she scoffed.
“I saw Dr. Beaverton,” Milly said. “He’s here with his pregnant daughter.”
“I saw them,” I muttered.
“Myra and Chelsea Beaverton weren’t exactly friends in high school,” Audrey explained.
“We used to be best friends,” I said. “Right up until the night of grade eight graduation.”
“What happened?” Milly asked.
“I caught her kissing my date out behind the garbage dumpster.”
“Why would she do that to you?”
“Because she’s a little slut.”
“And you guys never made up?”
I opened my purse and pulled out my lipstick. “It took us until twelfth grade to start speaking civilly again,” I said, pursing my lips after I slathered a fresh layer of velvet pink across them. “And then she did it again.”
“She kissed your date behind the garbage dumpster again?” Milly gasped.
I snapped the cap on and shoved the lipstick back in my purse. “Worse. She slept with my date on prom night.”
“That’s awful!”
“There was a private party at this fancy cottage up on Lake Joseph. I didn’t go because I wasn’t ready to have sex. My date was less than impressed. He dropped me at the marina and took off. Theo came and got me. Chelsea sent me a picture of my date sleeping next to her in bed.”
“She sounds like a terrible person.”
“She is.”
“Karma is a bitch, though,” I laughed. “He never called her after that night, and he told everyone that he just used her for sex because I wouldn’t put out.”
“Dr. Beaverton said she’s married to a military guy.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, apparently. I don’t know how she ended up with him, or where they met, and I really don’t care.”
When I returned to the party, Silas was nowhere to be found. I guess I had to get my own drink.
“He went off with your father,” Moxy informed me.
“Who?”
“Silas Hardy.”
“Oh.”
“Are you dating him, Myra?”
“No,” I laughed.
“Interesting.”
I took my beer and wandered across the room.
“Hello, there, Myra.”
“Oh, hi, Dr. Beaverton,” I said, smiling up at the sexy gynecologist who brought me into the world. “How are you?”
“Good, and you?”
“I’m well.”
“Hello, Myra.”
“Hello, Chelsea,” I said politely. “How are you?”
“I’m great,” she gushed, rubbing her gross, protruding belly.
“Congratulations,” I offered, mustering up as much fake enthusiasm as I could for the boyfriend-stealing bitch.
“Your date is kinda cute,” she said. “He doesn’t look familiar. Is he from around here?”
“No,” I replied, my forced smile stretching from ear to ear. “And he’s not my boyfriend, so you wouldn’t be interested in him.”
“I’m a married woman, Myra,” she snorted.
“And?”
“I can’t believe you’re still going on about things that happened in high school.”
“What are you ladies talking about?” Bart asked, his eyes darting back and forth between me and his daughter.
“Nothing, Dad,” Chelsea sighed. “I’m very tired. Do you mind if I head up to my room? There’s no way I’m going to make it to midnight.”
“Of course, honey,” he said. “Go get some rest.”
“Nice to see you again, Myra,” she said, rolling her eyes before she turned to walk away.
“What happened to you two?” Bart asked. “You used to be inseparable.”
“I don’t think you really want to hear the details.”
“Probably not.”
“Did you bring a date tonight, Dr. Beaverton?”
“My daughter was my date.”
“Well, it seems as though both of our dates have ditched us,” I sighed, glancing around the room.
“Would you like to dance, Myra?”
“Why not?” I said, setting my empty glass on the table.
He held out his hand, leading me onto the dance floor just as a slow song replaced the upbeat music.
“Perfect timing,” he whispered, sliding his arm around my waist.
“You don’t like to boogie, Dr. Beaverton?” I teased.
“Can you please call me Bart?”
“I could probably do that.”
“I don’t mind fast dancing,” he said. “But this is nice, too.”
Bart was tall. I was five-ten, and I had to tip my head back to look up at him. He was the epitome of a silver fox.
Tall and buff.
A full head of gray hair, styled in an Ivy League cut, with sexy sideburns.
A five o’clock shadow.
Piercing blue eyes.
Full kissable lips.
“You’re a very good dancer,” I said.
The full kissable lips broke out in a wide smile. “As are you, my dear.”
“Thank you.”
“How long have you been dating Silas Hardy?”
“Oh, we’re not dating. He’s not even technically my date tonight. My dad just wanted me to butter him up so he can get him to sign the contract for his cottage tonight.”
“Ah, I see,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Your father always was one to make deals day and night.”
“Yep. That’s my dad. He has no qualms about whoring out his daughter to make a deal.”
“I’m sure that wasn’t his intention.”
“I don’t know, but Silas is off somewhere with Dad right now, so I guess I accomplished my task.”
“You didn’t look like you were suffering any distress while you were dancing with him.”
“He’s not as bad as Audrey makes him out to be.”
“I heard he’s got quite a project planned up on Miller Point.”
“Yes, the tower,” I sighed.
We were into our second song when my father reappeared with Theo and Silas. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on me.
“Uh-oh,” I whispered. “I might be in trouble.”
My father gestured for me to come over.
“Thank you for the lovely dance, Myra,” Bart said.
I leaned up on my toes, pressing my lips to his ear. “Don’t go anywhere,” I whispered. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” he chuckled.
“Myra,” Dad said. “We’ve wrapped up all of our business for tonight.”
“That’s good.”
“I’m gonna go find Tracey,” Theo said. “I look forward to overseeing the construction of your cottage, Silas.”
Silas held out his hand. “I have the utmost confidence in Harlowe Homes.”
They shook hands before my brother disappeared into the crowd.
“I’m going to find my wife,” Dad said. “Pleasure doing business with you, Silas. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“Best wishes in the new year, Mr. Harlowe.”
“Shall we pick up where we left off?” Silas asked, reaching for my hand.
Fuckity fuck fuck.
I want to dance with Bart.
What now?
“Of course,” I said. “I’m just gonna go freshen up in the ladies’ room, and I’ll come find you.”
“I’ll grab us a couple of beers.”
I didn’t really have to pee. It was just an excuse to get away from him and come up with a plan.
How am I going to ditch him?
Business comes before pleasure, Myra.
You’re representing Harlowe Homes every time you leave this house.
“I hate my fucking life,” I muttered.
Silas was at the bar.
“Hey,” I said.
“Everything okay?”
“Yep,” I assured him with a bright smile.
“Silas, my man!”
Gunter Flindall.
Owner of Flindall Homes, and our biggest competitor.
Please distract him.
Please, please, please.
“Hello, Gunter,” Silas said, shaking the other man’s hand. “Happy New Year.”
“Listen, I heard that you went with Harlowe for your cottage.”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “They have the manpower needed for a project of this magnitude.”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “No hard feelings. It’s business.”
Moxy glanced at me, grinning when I rolled my eyes while the two men droned on about politics and other shit I didn’t care about.
“You want some help?” she whispered.
“With what?”
“You know what, sister,” she mouthed, nodding her head toward the far side of the room, where Bart was sitting alone.
“Sorry, Myra,” Silas said, sliding his arm around my waist after Gunter wandered away. “No more business talk tonight.”
“What can I get you to drink?” Moxy asked Silas.
“How about a vodka and cranberry juice?”
“Coming right up,” she said, turning her back to mix the drink.
“What about you, Myra?” she asked when she returned with Silas’s drink.
“I’ll just take a Canadian,” I said.
“Oh right,” Silas chuckled before he took a sip of his drink. “I keep meaning to get you one, and every time I do, I get sidetracked.”
“You must’ve enjoyed that vodka and cranberry juice,” Moxy observed when Silas drained his glass.
“I did,” he agreed. “Make me another, will ya, sweetheart?”
“You betcha,” Moxy said, winking at me before she went off to mix his drink.
What is she up to?
After Silas finished his second drink, we headed out onto the dance floor. He tried to pull me in close. I intercepted his hand, holding it while I put a little distance between us.
Bart was dancing with a woman around his age, triggering a stab of jealousy in my gut. I wanted to dance with him, not the tipsy billionaire who was starting to get too touchy-feely.
The clock was ticking closer to midnight. If I didn’t find a way to escape from Silas, I was going to end up kissing him. And those were not the lips I wanted on mine at the stroke of midnight.
“I’m not feeling so hot,” Silas said. “I think I’m going to sit the next one out, Myra.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, barely suppressing my glee.
I followed him to a table, trying to come up with an exit strategy. “Would you like me to get you a glass of water, or maybe a ginger ale?”
He winced and doubled over. “I need to use the washroom.”
“Okay.”
I watched him sprint toward the bathroom. Bart was still dancing with the old broad, so I settled at the bar next to Naomi.
“Why are you sitting here all alone?” I asked, counting the shot glasses lined up in front of her.
“I’m always alone,” she slurred.
“No more alcohol for her,” I advised Moxy.
“She’s cut off,” Moxy confirmed.
“Where did your new boyfriend go?” Naomi whispered loudly.
“He’s not my boyfriend, and he went to the bathroom.”
“Just ten minutes to midnight, folks,” the DJ announced. “Find the person you want to kiss. It’s now or never.”
“Are you gonna be okay, Naomi?” I asked.
“Yes!” she yelled. “Go! Kiss the rich frog!”
I pushed off my stool, scanning the room. There was no sign of Silas.
How many times was he going to ditch me?
Fuck him.
He’s not your date.
You don’t owe him anything.
And the papers are signed.
A familiar set of dreamy blue eyes locked with mine.
Bart whispered something in his partner’s ear. She nodded and patted his chest before disappearing to the far side of the room.
My belly did a backward flip, my pulse kicking into high gear when he walked toward me. I met him halfway on wobbly knees.
“I see your date has abandoned you again,” he said.
“Sorry about ditching you earlier.”
“I understand.”
“I’m free now.”
“Me too.”
“Would you like to dance, Bart?”
“I would love to, Myra.”
He pulled me into his arms, resting his hands on my lower back while we glided across the floor.
I gazed up at him, caressing the back of his neck. “Who was the woman you were dancing with?” I asked.
“A neighbor.”
“Oh.”
“It’s almost midnight,” he whispered.
“I know,” I whispered back.
My heart pounded as the DJ counted down.
Dr. Beaverton was going to kiss me!
How did I get so lucky?
Every girl in Bristlecone Bay had probably fantasized about kissing our local gyne doc at one time or another.
“Happy New Year!”
He dipped his head, brushing his lips softly against mine.
Fireworks exploded in my belly.
Heat poured from between my legs.
I wanted more than a vanilla kiss.
And one way or another, I was going to get it before the night ended.
