Chapter 23
This must not be my year, Kean thought as he opened the online banking and read the balance of his account. When Charli walked into his life, he’d had a feeling she would turn it upside-down and she did, in a good way at first, but all of a sudden things had snowballed at reckless speed. As if it hadn’t been enough that his baby brother’s promising career was probably going to be over, or that his parents would be forced to sell the house they loved because of him, the one woman he’d fallen head over heels in love with walked out of his life, leaving him broken and unable to feel anything for anyone else—his failed attempt at starting anew with Paige had been the proof. And now his business was going down the drain. Life had a sick sense of humor.
The digits blinked at him from the computer screen. Ninety-nine dollars and fifty-five cents. Well, it was an improvement from last month’s seventy-two dollars and thirty cents, but it was a meager consolation. He’d thought things would get better, but work had been lagging, and even though he’d taken up a couple of projects just outside Gold Beach, they’d barely been enough to pay his two workers and the suppliers. He was lucky he ate at his mother’s for free every night, or he’d have to play his guitar for coins and one-dollar bills on the streets. It wasn’t that residents didn’t want to help him; it was because they all did when he’d just started his company that now they no longer needed repairs or renovations.
Charli had been right—he should’ve aimed higher, he should’ve had bigger goals for his company, he shouldn’t have sat back and watched as word of mouth brought in clients. He needed a website just like she’d said. If he could reach people outside Spring, he knew his company would be safe. He didn’t want to call it quits, accept defeat and go back to work for someone—not until he’d done everything he could think of to resuscitate his business. And since he had no one waiting for him at home, he could take on projects from all over Oregon—even from other states. He hadn’t traveled much in his life, so this would be an opportunity to see his country while earning money.
He closed the browser, switched off his laptop and picked up his guitar from the corner near the fireplace, where he’d placed it after Charli left. He hadn’t been able to play it, that specific guitar, because every time he picked it up, he remembered the night she’d shown up on his porch, and how she’d admitted, hours later when they were naked in his bed, that seeing him play turned her on. He still played with the guys on Saturday nights, but that was another guitar—it wasn’t Charli’s guitar, as he’d named it after she left. Everything in this house reminded him of her. He was afraid he’d have to sell it eventually, because he couldn’t keep living in a place where he saw her, smelled her, heard her wherever he went.
He plucked a string, played a chord and winced at the out-of-tune sound. He walked out onto the porch, the warm mid-June air enveloping him like an embrace. He sat on the rocker where he’d been sitting that night, tuned the guitar and started playing the exact same song he’d played that night, hoping that, like in the most sickeningly romantic movie, Charli would show up in his driveway, wobbling on her sexy stilettos and smiling brightly at him.
A moment later, the sound of tires crunching on gravel made his heart race. His head whipped up, his fingers freezing on the fretboard, but when a dark blue Porsche approached his house instead of a convertible silver Beetle, his hopes shrank just like his heart.
Dude, she’s not coming back. Deal with it.
He stood up and placed the guitar on the rocker, then went down the steps to meet the man who was getting out of the car. Kean did a double take when the last person he would have expected, or wanted, to show up on his doorstep stood in front of him, moving his head left and right as if to stretch out the kinks of a long drive. Rupert Galloway wasn’t a welcome guest, not since he’d cost Kean his career and twenty-thousand bucks he still owed his parents.
Surprise was his first reaction, but it soon gave way to anger as old feelings washed over him.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s good to see you too, Kean.” Rupert’s voice held that smooth tone he used whenever he wanted to win a client over. Coupled with the million-dollar smile, it was clear the man had something in mind.
“I doubt after four years you’ve come all the way from Portland just because you missed me. So I’ll ask again: what are you doing here?”
Rupert chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough. Guess I deserved that.” He straightened his tie that didn’t need straightening and cleared his throat—two things he used to do when he was ready to get down to business. Usually, it was just before he sank his teeth into his victim; just before he moved in for the kill.
“An old client came to the office for a new project and asked about you. Remember Mr. Kowalski? The luxury estate complex just outside Portland?”
Kean nodded. Hard to forget one of his best projects, as well as the client who’d made him earn in one go what he now earned in a year, and who’d basically paid off half of his college loan.
“Turns out he’s just bought a new piece of land and wants us to build some kind of high-end hotel. Or rather, he wants you to do it.”
Well, wow. He wasn’t expecting this. Mr. Kowalski was one of the richest businessmen in Oregon, like a modern Midas with an eye for good investments. The fact that he’d asked Rupert to find Kean for this new project flattered him—and thrilled him at the same time. Sure, he loved working on small projects, and he was grateful for whatever job came up, but he was an architect at the end of the day. He liked designing stuff—the bigger and more complicated, the better.
But going back to the high-rise modern building in Portland and working for the man who’d destroyed his life wasn’t exactly Kean’s biggest dream.
“I don’t want to work in an office all day. And I definitely don’t want to work for you again, Rupert,” he said, ignoring the voice screaming inside his head, reminding him how badly he needed the money.
Rupert shrugged. “Fine, you can take this up as a freelance gig, no commitment. You can show up at the office whenever you need to, and I’ll pay you a commission. It would still be a high five-figure payment that will be transferred into your account upon completion of the job. We could negotiate the exact amount.”
Five figures. How long had it been since his bank account had shown five figures? Probably not since the loan he’d gotten to start his company had been credited.
“Let me think about it,” Kean said, with a confidence he didn’t feel. It was true that beggars couldn’t be choosers, but this man had destroyed his life, and even though he needed the money, he didn’t want to give in too easily. He should play hard to get, see if his ex boss would increase the commission just to make sure his company wouldn’t lose the deal. If he had to endure the sight of Rupert, the least he could do was make an awful lot of money from it—so he could save his parents’ house and his company.
“Okay, well. Here’s my card. Don’t take too long, though—Kowalski doesn’t like waiting.” He handed Kean a fancy card, which made him realize he didn’t have one he could give to potential clients—another stupid mistake he was sure Charli would reprimand him about if she knew. He shoved away the thought of her. She no longer deserved to have a place in his mind.
“I know we didn’t see eye to eye in the past, but think of the money this would bring in, of the popularity when your name was associated with Kowalski.” Rupert took a step back and fidgeted with the golden key ring in his hand. “After all, if you’re on your porch playing the guitar at two in the afternoon on a week day, one could only assume your business isn’t exactly thriving.”
Kean wanted to get in his face and teach him the lesson he should have taught him four years ago, when he’d had to rein in his emotions because he didn’t want to end up in jail after he’d just managed to avoid it. His blood boiled in his veins at Rupert’s patronizing tone, but it was the truth in them that caused the biggest damage to Kean’s already bruised ego.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I know you’ll make the right choice, Kean. You never were a stupid guy. You lacked ambition, yes, but definitely not talent or brain.”
Rupert got back into his car and a moment later the engine roared to life, the rumble echoing even after the Porsche disappeared, leaving Kean alone with his thoughts.
Still a little shaken by the unexpected visit, he picked up his guitar and went back inside. He slumped on the couch and leaned back, closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath. The words from his former boss—the man who’d destroyed his career and his finances—haunted him in the quiet of the house. He hated to admit it, but this time, the damn sleaze was right. Even if Kean spent his whole life working on small and medium-sized projects in Spring and the neighboring towns, he’d never be able to repay the debt he owed his parents.
Charli’s words echoed in his head. Maybe she was right. His lack of ambition had been the cause of most of his trouble, and it was time he grew a backbone and did something to take his own life into his hands. He had to take that job. It would only have to be long enough for him to complete the project and earn the money he owed his family, and then he could go back to Spring, and to his company.
And maybe a change of scenery would help him erase the memories of the Tex-Mex tornado who had turned his life upside-down and left only chaos and debris behind her.