Chapter Twelve
Landon
The cat was an easy excuse to stay, and I took advantage. I sipped my coffee despite its lack of flavor and looked around Riley's apartment.
Warm sun filtered through the white curtains. I looked again. They weren’t curtains, but sheets that had been cleverly cut and hemmed to look like curtains. The hand stitching was crooked in spots and that made the effect all the more charming.
My phone buzzed and I smiled even before I read the text from Riley. "Of course he loves you —the cat needs money to buy fresh-caught salmon."
I laughed out loud and showed the startled cat the text. "I love it. No one jokes with me about money because sooner or later everyone asks for some. Except Riley. She strikes struck me as the starve-before-asking-for-help type," I said to myself, as if the cat was actually listening to me.
The cat stood up, stretched, and stalked off my lap with his tail in the air. Even with my excuse gone, I sank back into the soft couch cushions. Every corner of the small apartment had green, thriving plants. I loved thinking of Riley tending to each one.
My phone buzzed again, except this time it was Lyla. She was spewing her usual disaster scenarios just because I was skipping a few social engagements. All my important work had been pushed back, thanks to Lyla's very helpful new assistant, who apparently had not thought to ask Lyla first.
I felt bad for the fallout her assistant would receive, but it was a relief to be free and clear of Lyla's barbed guilt trips. A few days and I would face the music, but until then…what?
I wanted to get to know Riley. I needed to know why just being in a place she had been made me feel better, more relaxed, and more myself. I jumped up from the couch and wandered around the small, sunny apartment.
Tangled in a vibrant ivy were framed photographs: Riley and Anna together at Anna's graduation; Riley and her grandfather on the front porch of an old, white farmhouse; Riley and Anna standing with a lanky man in front of a rollercoaster; Riley in a black bikini making margaritas at a pool party.
I gave the last photo another, longer look. The same hunger I had felt last night rumbled through me, but I was glad nothing had happened besides kissing yet. The thought of Riley being another mistake, another failure for my cousin to throw in my face, was unbearable. This time, I would get to know her first, no matter how long it took.
My phone rang and I was relieved to see it was Andrew. "How's The Sand Dollar? What's the gossip from town?"
"The gossip is probably how I just spent a half an hour getting the third degree from your cousin."
"She called you? Why don't you just hang up on her? That's always been a dream of mine."
Andrew didn't laugh. "No, she actually came down here and about scared all the customers away. She marched right into the bar and starting firing off questions about where you'd gone and what horribly irresponsible thing I'd encouraged you to do this time."
"What'd you come up with?" I asked.
"Nothing. I didn't tell her anything, so she left more pissed than when she came in. And, to be honest, I'm pissed, too. I mean, if anyone's going to encourage you to be reckless, it should be me. So now you have to tell me what you're up to."
I hesitated a second too long and heard Andrew's hurt harrumph.
"Fine —I decided to stay a few extra days in Santa Cruz," I said.
"Oh, it's that simple, is it? You just decided to stop off and what? Go surfing?"
"Why not?" I asked. "Sun, surf, easy-going people."
"College babes in swimsuits?" Andrew asked. "Your cousin mentioned you didn’t stay in your hotel suite last night."
"James wouldn't rat me out,” I muttered. “Damn, I bet it was that security guard."
"So you're just relaxing on the beach?" Andrew asked, although his tone had already dismissed any answer I might give.
"Fine, yes. There's a woman, but it's not what you think. You'll never guess who I ran into here." I picked up the photograph of Riley in the black bikini.
Andrew laughed. "Riley."
"How do you know?"
"I remember that's where she said she was heading. Plus I haven't heard you sound this happy in a while. The last time was when you were helping tend bar with Riley as your waitress."
I sighed. "So, you caught me, but you don't blame me?"
Andrew snorted. "I can't believe you didn't look for her sooner. She actually agreed to go out with you again?"
"Call me lucky," I said.
"Not just yet. Lyla's going to find out much faster than you want. There are tabloid shots of you at some beachfront restaurant. Riley's obscured by a plant, but it won't take Lyla long to figure out who you've stopped to see."
"Damn paparazzi. You should have seen Riley's face when she realized how many people were staring. And you wonder why I never go on dates." I paced the apartment faster.
"Not me," Andrew said. "Your cousin just can't understand why you don't go out on dates with the carefully screened women that she suggests. Remember how mad she was when you turned down dinner with the countess's daughter? She's gonna shit when she finds out you’re hanging around in Santa Cruz for Riley."
I growled. "I hope she does. It's about time Lyla and I had a serious talk about boundaries. I'm not her Michel Fund puppet."
"So what are you going to do today?" Andrew asked. "Eat cotton candy and hot dogs on the boardwalk? Ride the Giant Dipper? Actually, I'd advise against that order —eat after you ride."
"Nah, none of that, at least not today. Riley's in class. She's going to graduate school."
Andrew laughed. "I'm sorry, are you just hanging around in her dorm room while she's in class?"
"No. She lives in an apartment with her friend, Anna. They have a view of the beach."
"Sorry, but there is no way it compares to the views in Michel's Beach," Andrew said.
I groaned. "No, of course not, but I like it here. It's, I don't know, relaxing. A tiny, relaxing little spot."
"Tiny, little…are you feeling a little cramped?" Andrew asked.
"I said I like it here," I snapped.
Andrew laughed. "I know. You always went for homes over showcases no matter the size. If you're not going to the boardwalk, what's your plan?"
"I think I might have offered to cook dinner tonight." I ran a hand through my hair, remembering my boast about lasagna. I groaned. Omelets were about the only thing I really did well in the kitchen. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
"Get something to write with and don't worry, this recipe is foolproof."
* * * * *
I stared at the scissors on Anna and Riley's desk for at least five minutes. Then I picked them up, weighed them, tested the sharpness on a piece of junk mail, and put them back down. My khakis were still obviously expensive dress pants and all I wanted to do was blend in. Santa Cruz was not only a college town but a surfing town and a tourist destination. Not many well-dressed businessmen strolled down the main street just before lunch.
If I called James, he could pick up something for me at a local store and bring it over. I imagined him picking out a Hawaiian shirt and shook my head. That would only make things worse.
I considered the scissors again. If I could just cut the bottoms off and roll them up into shorts. Then I pictured what the final effect of my hack job would look like, and I shook my head at the cat.
"Pretty sure cut-offs are best with jeans and even then it's not the best look. Guess I'll just have to go as I am."
I at least left my white button-down shirt untucked and rolled the sleeves up. There was nothing I could do about my shiny penny loafers besides slip them on without socks. I resisted the urge to kick the table leg. Next time I packed for a business trip, I was going to make damn sure I included some of my actual clothes and not just the work-appropriate outfits Lyla selected.
When I finally rounded up my wallet, phone, and keys, I heard a dull thump outside the front door. Riley and Anna's apartment was on the second floor with a staircase only a few steps away. It could have been any of their neighbors, but considering it was mid-morning, I was curious.
Last night, Riley had been nervous. She had peered in the bushes, checked the parking lot, and scanned the apartment hallway before we went inside. Someone must have been lurking around, and while I was grateful they gave her a reason to let me stay, I knew it bothered Riley.
I groaned and caught the cat's unimpressed stare. "Get ready to have your picture taken," I told the white cat. "I bet it's one of those photographers. I swear they crawl around like cockroaches and appear out of cracks."
I stepped to the front window and was glad for Riley's profusion of green plants. Outside was a tall young man, maybe an inch shorter than me, though he was thinner. He looked familiar, and I wondered if he'd gotten in my face for a photograph before. He knelt down in front of the apartment door.
I couldn't hear anything. The young man didn’t move, and I held my breath. This was probably the ex-boyfriend who had been lurking around Riley. I wondered if he had any idea how nervous he was making her. Someone needed to tell him and I felt up to the job. I glanced around the apartment for a suitable blunt object, just something to make my message clear, and that's when I spotted the photograph of Riley, Anna and another guy in front of the rollercoaster. The man kneeling on the doormat was probably Riley's ex-boyfriend.
He stood up and was heading toward the stairs when my phone rang. He whipped his head around and marched back to the door.
I had no choice but to answer it. "Morning, James."
"Not a good one?" he asked.
"It was."
James sighed. "I'm sorry, sir. You asked me to check in. I'm not here to enforce your cousin's schedule. Though, I must say, she was very adamant that I try."
"Let's count that as you trying," I said. "I'll be right down."
I opened the apartment door and surveyed the stairs. Riley's ex-boyfriend had retreated to the parking lot where he stood next to a rusted car. Right next to him was James and the sleek black luxury car that he polished twice daily. It was a stark contrast, and I was so distracted by it that I tripped over something on the doormat.
"Careful, man! What's your problem?" Riley's ex charged up the steps.
I regained my balance and prepared for a fight, but he just knelt down and scooped up the small rosemary plant. He carefully patted it back into its terra cotta pot and then glared at me.
"Sorry, I didn't see it there. And you are?" I asked.
He sneered at me. "I'm Owen. I know who you are. You're that disgusting playboy with his own private jet, aren't you?"
"Is that spiky little plant for me? You shouldn't have."
He all but snarled. "It's rosemary, you dumbass. It's for Riley and Anna.”
"Rosemary. They’ll like that. I'll see that they get it." I reached for the plant, but Owen snatched it back.
"Why would I trust you, rich pig?"
"Really?" I asked. "Do you really need to call me names?"
Owen bounced from foot to foot. Then he shuffled forward a few inches. "You're right. What I really need to do is punch you in your smug face. Who do you think you are hanging around Riley? She's not interested in your type. She doesn't need money or fancy things."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "I haven't offered her any of those things. Yet." The last word was a mistake. It was a lit match against his already explosive attitude.
"You smug piece of shit." Owen took two steps toward me, only to find his arm yanked so far behind his back that his hand almost touched the back of his head.
I caught the rosemary before the pot smashed on the ground. "Not necessary, James. This is Riley's ex-boyfriend, Owen. Owen, this is James. If you can't tell already, he's a retired police detective itching to use some of his old skills."
James let Owen's arm go, but kept a hand at the back of his neck. He waited until Owen had unclenched his fists before he let his hand drop.
"You don't know me, man," Owen said.
He looked like a kicked dog. Stringy blond hair fell over his pale blue eyes. When I held out the rosemary, he snatched it back and held it to his chest.
"I recognize you from a photograph inside." I nodded toward the apartment.
"How would I know? I haven't been invited in." Owen flinched away from my driver and eyed his rusted car in the parking lot.
"It's in a frame, and all three of you are standing in front of a rollercoaster. Riley’s holding your hand." James raised an eyebrow at me, but I had to tell him. Owen looked like he hadn't gotten a lot of good news lately.
"Yeah, that's me." Owen’s blue eyes turned misty. "We were at Six Flags. She and Anna always made me go on trips like that."
"You didn't like going on weekend trips with Riley?" I asked.
"I went, didn't I?” he said. “I don't know who you think you are, but I'm telling you, you're just the rebound guy.”
It seemed to me that plenty of time had passed since their break-up, but I’d talk to Riley about it to make sure. I wasn’t about to consult with Owen on the issue.
"Well, you must have done something wrong,” I said. “You're her ex-boyfriend for a reason and that has nothing to do with me."
"She told you I borrowed money from her?" Owen stuck his chin out. "I thought I had the business in the bag but the deal went wrong. Start-ups aren't easy but what would you know? You were probably born with a silver spoon up your ass, right?"
I uncrossed my arms and leaned on the doorjamb. "You borrowed money from Riley and then blew it all? Not a good way to impress a lady."
"Anna gets it. Riley used to get it," Owen said. "She knew I wanted more than some nine to five bullshit. But, yeah, I borrowed the money and lost it all. I can't believe she told you that."
"She didn't," I told him.
"See?" Owen said. "Riley gets it. I've got these great ideas for products, plus some sweet ideas for the tourist industry around here. All I need is the capital to get it all started and then she'll see. I've got plans and everything—I just need the cash."
James shook his head, he had heard more than enough. He stepped between us and reached for Owen's arm. The young man was half a foot taller than him but was right to be afraid.
"Sorry, Owen. James has dealt with more than his fair share of people asking me for money," I said.
"Ask you for money?" Owen jolted off the railing. "I'm not some sort of charity case and there's no way in hell I would take your money. You know what impresses Riley? People who earn what they have. People who work for it."
Something about his fierce, earnest expression and his pride impressed me. "Leave the man alone, James. He's not a charity case, and he's not asking me for money."
James stopped and crossed his arms.
"So you plan to get some cash, start your own business and product line, then pay Riley back the money you borrowed?" I asked.
Owen blinked —he clearly had not thought of the third action. "These things aren't easy. Anna’s been helping me make some plans. I don't have regular hours, I don't have an office or fancy khaki pants, but I'm not a bum, if that's what you were thinking."
James’ raised eyebrow said that was exactly what he was thinking. I watched the tick in his cheek and knew he was just waiting to escort Owen down to his rusty car. If I asked, James would scare Owen right out of Riley's life. Though the way Owen kept saying Anna’s name made me wonder how much of a threat he actually was. It sounded like he wasn’t that interested in Riley anymore.
"You know, that's the way my family legacy was built," I told Owen. "My great-great grandfather worked two jobs, one in a slaughterhouse, so he could raise enough capital to buy a printing press. It didn't get easier for a long time. Like you said, irregular hours, big losses and small gains, but in the end, he built a publishing empire."
I pushed off the doorjamb and headed for the stairs. Owen skirted around James and carefully placed the small rosemary plant on the front mat for Riley and Anna to find. He patted the loose dirt back in and swept the outside of the terra cotta clean before he stood up.
"Are you late for work? Need a lift?" I asked Owen.
He scowled. "Of course you don't listen. Why would you listen to me? I told you, man, I don't have a regular job right now. I'm trying for something more, and I can't do that if I'm chained to some desk working while someone like you gets rich and fat."
I paused at the top of the stairs. "I wouldn't think you'd care who you were working for or what you were doing as long as the paychecks came in. When was the last time you had a regular paycheck?"
"I don't know. That's not my thing." He shrugged.
"But it's an easy thing," I said. "You must know how much money you need, down to the last cent. Then you can calculate just how long you need the job before you can go out on your own. That way you don't owe anyone, right from the start. You were right about women liking a man who earns his own way."
Owen snorted. "How would you know? You don't have a job. From what I hear, you just flit around on your private jet or some yacht the size of a small island. You don't even drive yourself. Can you even drive?"
I laughed. "Would you believe me? I'm pretty sure you don't want to hear about all my cars and which ones I like to drive." I went down the steps. James waited expectantly, but I said to him, "I'll call you if I need anything."
James pinned me with a dark look. Then he slipped into the sleek black car and sat like a statue behind the steering wheel.
"Kinda psycho," Owen said. He gave my driver a nervous glance as he shuffled past to his rusted car.
"The opposite," I said. "James can spot a lie, a scam, or a conspiracy from five hundred feet. Sorry about the twisted arm, but he likes the exercise."
Owen rubbed his arm and glanced back up to the girls’ apartment.
"They’re both in class,” I said.
Owen stepped toward me again. "I think Anna likes you, but Riley doesn't really want you in her life. You're not her type."
I ignored the feeling of doubt that dropped in my stomach. "Since you don't have a job to get to, how about you show me around Santa Cruz?" I asked.
Owen's jaw hit his chest.
I smiled. "No big thing. Just grab something to eat, maybe talk a little more about your ideas. I might have some ideas of my own about finding you a job to earn that start-up money."
"No, no, that's crazy." Owen threw his long arms up. "You're crazy if you think I want to be anywhere near you. How am I supposed to sit across a table from you when you’re trying to use Riley."
"You can sit across from me, Owen. We can have a nice, civilized lunch," I said.
"See? You rich bastards never listen to what people are actually saying—"
"No, Owen," I said, "you're not listening. I'm saying you shouldn't have any problem sitting across from me at lunch because I’m not trying to use Riley. I really, genuinely like her."
His pale blue eyes rounded. "You’re not stringing her along? She’s gone on dates with some total losers."
I took a deep breath and tried not to laugh at the irony—according to Riley, Owen was a total loser. "I promise —I only have her best interests at heart. I want to get to know her."
Owen's expression changed. His forehead smoothed, his mouth relaxed, and a warmer light gave his pale eyes more color. "Yeah, I guess I believe you.”
He didn’t care that I was going after Riley. It only strengthened my suspicion that he had a secret crush on Anna. "So, know any good places for lunch?"
Owen grinned. "Yeah, but we have to take my car."
I looked at the rusted out sedan. It was impossible to tell the original color because every paint scrap that hadn't been eaten away was faded from the California sun. Inside, the cloth seat covers were torn and splotchy.
"No problem. Where are we going?" I cranked open the rusty door and got in.
"There's a surf shack up the coast about three miles. Don't worry, I'll drive slow so your henchman can follow."
I laughed. "Drive fast. I wanna see the look on his face if you lose him."