Chapter Six

Hale

 

The limo we’re in zips across the asphalt. I can’t see the ocean from here, but I can smell it, even over the overwhelming aroma of freshly polished leather. There’s no pole. Not this time. Partly because Becca’s “people” arranged our ride from the airport and partly because Mason didn’t want to spend the ride talking about Sean’s latest and greatest stripper protection devices.

Becca yaps away on her phone, Mason on his. They’re both forming their own sets of plans. One publicity. The other strategy.

Twenty professionals. That’s who makes up my defense team. They range from former white-collar investigators to accountants to lawyers. It took a long week of sleepless nights for Mason to form this high-powered team, and another two to go through all the evidence against me, postponing our plans to come down to Kiawah by almost a month.

Apparently, the Feds were tipped off by an unidentified informant. I guessed as much, but I was still pissed. Mason didn’t care and neither did the team. “We’re getting you off,” he promised. “You’re innocent and we’ll make sure the truth comes out.”

I wasn’t as certain. Not at first. Until James, the former white-collar detective, provided his first shred of evidence on our side. “Something doesn’t sit well with me and my staff,” he said. “You’re accused of seven counts of insider trading.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Tell me something I don’t know.

He smiled. “Where’s the money? Me and my boys have gone through all your holdings. You’re not married. You have no kids or close family. You have no other names or accounts linked outside your business. Nor did the prosecution provide any aliases. Aside from your apartment and your office, you own no other properties. Where is the thirty-five million you supposedly made off the trading? Me and my men can’t find shit.”

No. They couldn’t, because there isn’t any.

Which is why Mason and the legal team are going to go butt heads with the prosecution next week. Their hope is for the prosecutor to drop at least half the insider trading accusations, but also to flex their collective muscle. “Flimsy.” That’s how my top attorney, Vern Simmons, described the evidence against me. “This resembles a political move by the head of the federal agency more than an actual case against you, Hale.”

Maybe. But my reputation is still demolished to shit. Even if every last damn charge is dropped, my firm—the one I built from the ground up—doesn’t stand a chance without some major image repair, which is why Becca remains at my side.

I adjust my sunglasses, allowing them to shield my eyes so I can take my time taking in Becca. Have I flirted with her? Maybe. Just not as much as I’d like to. The whole thing sounds crazy, given that less than a month ago I could barely watch her on TV. Now, I can’t keep my eyes off her.

These past few weeks have been mostly business. Like Mason, she’s accompanied me to every meeting with my team, asking questions and offering support, all the while flying back and forth to Charlotte. I don’t know how she does it. I’m just glad she does.

Lord, help me. When I first saw her at the penthouse, it was like someone swung a sledgehammer into my chest and swung it hard. I was pissed, shocked. Did I mention pissed? I mean whose side were Sean and Mason on, anyway?

“How do you spell synchromie?” Sean asks. Unlike the rest of us, mulling over next steps, working on damage control, and reassuring our staff, Sean is mulling over a crossword puzzle.

“Synchro what?” I ask, somewhat annoyed that I have to look away from Becca.

Sean slaps down his paper like I’m the stupid one. “Syn-chro-mie.”

Mason casts a frown in Sean’s direction, all the while ironing out the details of my next court date. I have to give it to Mason, even Sean and his Sean-isms aren’t enough to break Mason’s stride.

“Sean,” I tell him. “That’s not a real word.”

“Sure, it is,” he insists. “It’s the process of buffing chrome or some shit.”

“That’s polishing,” I say, not bothering to guess where he got that other so-called word.

Sean glances down at his crossword puzzle, his eyebrows as tight as the way he presses his lips. “Oh. That makes more sense.”

Sean erases one word and pencils in another. He’s in good spirits. Relaxed. Mason is anything but. He flips out when another call comes through the line. “No, no,” he says. “This isn’t getting pushed back another month, much less two. I don’t care what the opposing team wants. Either they have a case or they don’t. We’re not dragging out this shit longer than necessary.”

“Is denominate another word for exorcism?” Sean asks.

Becca covers her phone with a hand. “No, baby. It means to label or christen, that sort of thing.”

“Fuck,” Sean says. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Becca gives him a “there, there,” pat on the shoulder. She touches Sean like we all do, more like a little brother than capable brawler. The way I touched her yesterday, though, well, there was nothing friendly about that. We were saying goodnight following a long day of meetings. I stroked her chin and debated whether or not to kiss her. Instead, I stepped away, wondering if she’d follow. She didn’t, growing flustered in a way that made me smile.

I straighten at the first sight of the ancient oaks that line the road leading to our old stomping grounds. I haven’t been back here since New Year’s. Becca broke my heart so badly, I was sure that I’d never come back. I’d experienced enough over these last ten years to make me hate Kiawah. It’s a terrible thought. I once thought Kiawah was the place I would grow old and gray. Except, that was before the dream world I belonged to was ripped away.

What happened with my folks and my brothers left me in a very perilous position and dangling over a cliff of uncertainty. I wasn’t sure this was a place I’d ever call home again. I wanted to, but when I saw the ring on Becca’s finger, I went right over that cliff, sure I’d never want to make the climb back up.

Now look at me. Not only am I climbing, I’m letting Becca climb with me and allowing her bright demeanor to warm me every few feet.

She covers her phone. “Almost there,” she whispers.

I nod. She’s been doing that a lot, reassuring me, almost like I need reminding she hasn’t yet left. Even if she didn’t speak, how can I forget? Her sweet perfume fills my nose every time I inhale, and her spirit does me in every time I catch her smile.

It takes all I can to keep my eyes on the trees and Spanish moss dangling from their thick, twisting limbs. Tourists never come down this time of year. They don’t realize how beautiful Kiawah remains even when the winds steal summer away and the cold of winter smacks us across the face. There’s no place like Kiawah. Hell, I guess I should say, there’s no place like home.

I lean back, adjusting my glasses and taking another long appreciative look at Becca. As much as I wasn’t sure Kiawah would ever feel like home again, with Sean and Mason here, and Becca, it’s more home than New York ever was.

I didn’t expect a friendly reunion with Becca. At first, it damn well wasn’t. The humiliation surrounding my current predicament and my resentment of her made her arrival strained at best. But when she told me what her Daddy did—after I left—the anger I held against her turned on him.

That son of a bitch. Of course he’d wait to beat on her until after we left. He may have held the upper hand with that shotgun, but he would have had to kill me before I’d let him raise a finger against her.

We haven’t talked about that night since, but I meant what I said. I would have helped her. I would have saved her. I’m not too stupid to recognize her need to save herself, and I more than respect her decision to stay, now. Would I have respected it then? Probably not. Especially if I’d seen how bad he’d hurt her. I huff. Knowing me, I would have made sure Becca was safe before returning to her daddy’s place and knocking on his door.

Yeah, there’s all the shit from New Year’s and beyond. Yeah, there’s still plenty of hurt that remains between us. Life isn’t so simple that I can toss all the bad between us aside, but I wish it was. I wish it could be that easy.

I take in Becca a little longer.

Nope. Life isn’t easy. I suppose love isn’t, either.

“Here we are,” Becca sings.

Mason keeps his ear on his phone as the limo snakes its way through a long driveway with more curves than those strippers Sean is now hell-bent on keeping safe. I perk up. I know this place. In high school, we used to come here for parties. A ranch house had burned down years before we were born, leaving only the foundation, the perfect place for teens to dance and set their kegs.

The windy road and overgrowth gave us plenty of coverage from the road back then. Now, instead of weeds and wild ferns growing onto and through the cracked pavement, nothing but meticulously kept landscaping line the exterior of the freshly paved driveway.

I lift my glasses for a better look. Trin and Callahan didn’t flip a house. They built a new one.

Bone white brick surrounds two stories of classic elegance. Sharp angles cut into the gray roof, creating arches over the doorways, the three-car garage, and picture windows. A modern twist to an otherwise traditional home. It’s not a big house compared to the opulence found throughout Kiawah. It’s not even as big as the house I grew up in, maybe just shy of four-thousand square feet. But it doesn’t need to be huge or flashy to be beautiful. Just like my girl, Trin, it just needs a few touches of sweetness.

We step out, Mason grinning when he sees it. “Leave it to Trin to be all nostalgic and fix this place up.”

Becca gathers the lapels of her bright blue coat when the wind picks up. “Would you ever have thought all those years ago that something this grand would stand in the same place we’d drink our faces off?”

“I think I puked right there,” Sean says, pointing to a palmetto on the opposite side of the driveway. He turns around, searching as if he dropped his keys. “Or was it there? Hard to tell, it was a rough night.”

Becca nudges me and motions with her chin to the tall tree at the center of the front garden. “I remember climbing that thing.”

I laugh, surprised, considering all that’s gone down. “I remember all of us working to get Sean down when his foot got caught between the branches.”

“That was right nice of y’all,” he says, helping the driver with the luggage. “And Trin was a real good sport about me puking in her hair.”

“No, she wasn’t,” we all mutter, remembering her screeches when it happened and when we had to hose her down in Sean’s back yard.

I reach for the last suitcase before the driver can, tipping him with a few folded bills. Anyone else would take more care in spending someone else’s money. But I’m paying all of it back if it kills me. Besides, the driver seems like a good man and a hard worker. Why should he suffer just ’cause I have?

Becca unlocks the front door and steps in to hit the security code. “Trin will be by later and so will her folks.”

“Is her momma bringing pie?” Sean asks.

“Yes, Sean,” Becca assures him.

“Pumpkin or apple?”

“She didn’t say,” Becca says, pushing a strand of her hair away.

“What about dinner? Did she say anything about pot roast?”

“Yes, Sean. She’s bringing pot roast.”

“With dem little potatoes?” He holds out his long leg to keep the heavy door open, allowing me through with the large suitcase. “She knows I like dem little potatoes, right?”

“She does,” Becca adds sweetly. “Miss Silvie is also bringing that scalloped corn you can’t get enough of. While I don’t know what kind of pie she’s making, she promised to bring one just for you.”

“See?” Sean says. “It’s like I always tell Mr. Owen. If he dies, I’m taking his woman.”

Mason holds out his hand. “I’m going to stop you right there,” he tells him.

“What?” Sean asks, all confused like. “If I were Owen, I’d want to know my wife was well taken care of. As well as my kids. Besides, Trin and Landon would like a daddy like me.”

“Sean, you’re talking about sleeping with Trin’s Momma,” Mason points out.

“I guess,” Sean replies as if Mason was asking him a question instead pointing out a fact. “But I was mostly talking about eating her food.” He thinks about it. “But if I had to sleep with her, I think I could do it. Hey, do you think she’s flexible and has all her working parts?”

Mason and I groan, pleading with him to stop.

Becca grins, speaking through her teeth. “Sean, precious, don’t make us shoot you between the eyes.” She releases the small carry-on she’s pulling and motions around. She probably thinks Sean will forget all about marrying Miss Sylvie in another minute, just like the last time he ate her food, and the time before that. She’s probably right. Still, no one needs to hear that shit.

“So?” Becca says. “What do y’all think?”

Aside from an office to our right when we first enter and what appears to be a guest suite to my left, the entire first floor is one open room. A tiled modern fireplace sits at the center, surrounded with circular and plush chairs. It’s meant to give the space a cozy feel, and it does just that.

The kitchen carries that modern cozy feel as well. The backsplash is marble subway tile, matching the sleek quartz countertop and blending in with the dark wood cabinets and wide plank floors. A dining area runs parallel to the kitchen. The rest is a family room, the large floor-to-ceiling windows opening onto a stone terrace providing a breath-taking view of the ocean.

This isn’t a house. It’s a home, where family and friends gather to laugh and create memories. Exactly what I need.

“Trin’s been watching reruns of Fixer Upper again,” I guess. “Hasn’t she?”

“Oh, you know she loves Chip and Jo,” Becca gushes. She smiles softly. “Do you love it, Hale? Trin really wants you to love it.”

I chuckle. “How can I not? It’s a part of Trin.”

I catch myself lifting an arm to put around Becca. If she wasn’t fumbling through her purse to pull out her phone, she might have seen me. The hell? Wasn’t I just saying things can’t be this easy?

Mason tosses me a look. I try and pretend I don’t know what that look means. “What are you doing?” he mouths, making it clear he knows where I was headed.

He’s right. What am I doing? Look at me going full-speed ahead. Is that all it takes? Being back here with Becca to erase all the heartbreak between us?

Becca steps away from me, taking yet another call. “Becca Shields . . . What? . . . Oh, Amy, you are a Godsend,” she says, the excitement practically causing her to jump in place. “You have the address where I’ll be? . . . Wonderful. Thanks, baby.”

She disconnects, beaming. “Operation Reputation is under way.” She pats my arm. “We’ll start first thing tomorrow morning,” she adds proudly. She walks around, counting off on her fingers. “This is a good place for the photo shoot.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “Are all your clothes designer?”

“Yeah,” I say, still stuck on the photo shoot.

“We’ll have to fix that,” she says, like I’m somehow broken.

I hold up my palms. “Wait a second. Why are we doing a photo shoot to begin with? I want to stay out of the public eye, not remind everyone I’m here and under fire.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. The article will be in Forbes—”

“Forbes?” I say. “Are you kidding me? The last time I was in Forbes was—”

“Just a few months ago, for their end of year issue spotlighting the biggest money-maker on Wall Street. Before that, it was last February. The same issue where you took over the center spread in the Alps, if I recall. You were celebrating, what? Oh, yes, the previous end-of-year-issue when you first made the cover all by your lonesome. Six months prior to that, for their November issue—”

“You’ve done the research. I get it. But you’re forgetting, all those times celebrated me, my achievements, and the legacy I was building, before everything came crashing down.”

Becca fluffs her hair as if I’m discussing sports, not my career-ending drama. “Oh, baby. The article won’t run until December.”

“December?” I ask. “But we’re shooting it now?”

“That’s right,” she answers.

What am I missing here? “Becca, that makes absolutely no sense.”

“Yes, it does,” she replies casually, ignoring Sean’s befuddled look. Never mind, he just remembered the word he needed for his crossword.

“Could you explain how?” I ask, glancing as he scribbles it down.

“From what I can decipher from the meetings and what your team has discovered, your legal problems should be behind you by December.”

Mason nods, his fingers flying across his phone as he answers a text. “But dismantling your name won’t be, Hale.” He tips his head toward Becca. “This is where Becca’s skills come in. No sense in saving your business if you have no business to return to.”

“Picture this for a headline,” Becca says, stretching her hands above her. “The Anaconda of Wall Street Slithers Back to Sink in His Teeth and Reclaim the Throne.” She thinks about it. “Or something like that. I’m still playing around with the title.”

I’d like to think Becca is as good as she claims. But she wasn’t there when the Feds read me my rights and slapped on the cuffs. “You’re nuts,” I tell her.

“No, sugar,” she says, her hands dropping away from her long mane of hair. “I’m just the best thing PR has ever seen.” She strolls toward the large open windows. “I think we should do a beach scene.” She squints, taking a good look at my face. “And as much as I’m not a fan of beards, I’d like you to grow out some scruff. Nothing neat. I’m going for relaxed. Think beach bum rather than this uptight businessman persona you have going on.” She makes an irritated motion at my face. “This way, we’ll extend your reach beyond your corporate circles and make you appear more sympathetic for the camera—”

“The fuck, Becca?”

Her fists slap against her hips. “Hale Wilder. You’ve developed a bad habit of interrupting me. If we’re going to work together, that shit isn’t going to fly? You hear me?”

I smirk. This is the first time I catch a glimpse of the real Becca, the one I fell head over boardshorts for. I stroll up to her casually, letting my gaze wander from the tiny black T-shirt dress she’s wearing to the hot pink heels. I give her legs a nice, long glance. I don’t try to hide it, allowing my appreciation for that sweet dress and the sexy woman wearing it to work in my favor. With every step I take, Becca’s eyes grow wider. No, wilder, and those fists she rammed against her hips? Well, look at that, they slide down very sexy curves I’m looking rather forward to caressing.

“What’s wrong?” I ask when only inches remain between us. “Do I intimidate you?”

She jerks her chin away. “No. I just think if we’re going to have a working relationship, you need to respect my position.”

“Position?” I drawl. “Darlin’, I’ll respect the hell out of whatever position you want.”

Her slacking jaw is enough to crack me up and leave Mason and Sean to take a strong interest in the outside terrace. “Did you just—are you? Jesus, Hale. We’re in a crisis here.”

“And?”

“And you should calm your evidently out of control sex drive, that’s what,” Becca snaps.

Okay. Perhaps “snaps” isn’t the best word here. Stammers. Yes, that works better. Oh, I like stammers.

“You sayin’ I want you?” I ask. I scratch my head. “The way you keep staring at my ass, not to mention the way you watched me shower, I could swear it’s the other way around.”

Damn, she’s cute when her face turns pink like that. In truth, I wasn’t sure she was staring at anything at all. I am now. Just to be sure, I add a little more to my claims. “I saw you in the reflection of the glass.”

I wink since that delicious remark wouldn’t taste as good on my tongue without another sprinkle of naughty. It adds another coat of pink to that lovely face. For a second too long, I wonder what kind of fool her ex fiancé was to let her go. But as Becca’s face resumes its sunnier glow, I’m reminded I’m on a roll.

“Do you like what you’ve been ogling?” I don’t wait for her reply. Her pink cheeks are enough of an answer. “I wasn’t sure if the tongue dangling to your toes was a good thing or a bad.”

I cough into my shoulder, trying not to laugh out loud. I don’t try too hard. My world as I know it was hit with a meteor the size of the sun and the ashes are currently floating into space. Y’all excuse me if I have a little fun.

Becca’s eyes narrow and for a moment, just a teeny one, I think I’ve gone too far. She smiles. It’s not that friendly smile I’ve seen her flash to her devoted fans. Come to think of it, I think sharks might have fewer teeth.

“You think I want you?” she asks, batting her long eyelashes. “Aren’t you sweet? Don’t think I didn’t see you watching me last night. Remember last night, Hale? After dinner? When that warm, delicious chocolate fondue I was dipping my ripe strawberry into dripped down my lips, drawing a line all the way down?” She trails the corner of her cell phone between her breasts, to where the deep “V” of her collar ends and a peek of hot pink lace reveals itself.

Like a dumbass, I follow said phone, recalling said warm chocolate and wishing I had the chance to lick said incident clean.

I’m smarter than hell, but I’m all man and very human.

“My, oh, my, Hale,” she purrs. “And the way you were eyeing me on the plane and in the limo, I was sure you’d take a bite right out of poor little ol’ me.” She snaps her teeth.

Yup. I be swimming in dark waters now.

Her Wonder Woman ring tone announces another call. The shark offers me a small pinky wave, tosses her long hair over her shoulder, and struts off. You might say this Southern Belle is capable of bringing any heterosexual man to his knees.

She pauses, just long enough to pretend she forgot her manners. “You’ll excuse me, won’t you, sugar?” she asks. “I have to take this if I’m going to save that sweet ass of yours.”

I rub my chin. Okay, Becca. It’s going to be like that? Darlin’, it’s on.