Chapter Fourteen
Landon
I wished I could walk out the door and start all over. I'd even take the groceries, pack them up again, and fumble them as I knocked. If we started over, I wouldn't mention Owen, and Riley wouldn't get upset.
There was no way I could lie to her about it, though. For one thing, she’d hated that I’d lied by omission about who I was when we’d first met. For another thing, Owen would probably tell her at his first chance. The Owen she remembered was a lot different than the ambitious and determined man I had sat across from at lunch. Maybe she couldn’t see that yet, and I couldn’t blame her.
"It's nice of you to take an interest in Owen, but it's also really awkward," Riley said.
"Even if all I want is to help him get on his feet so he can move on in a different direction, away from you?" I asked.
She slid down the kitchen counter away from me. "My grandfather never trusted Owen. Not even after he moved into the farmhouse."
I rocked back on my heels as the news hit me square in the chest. "Wait, you lived with him?"
Riley shrugged. "He lost his lease and needed a place to crash until he found a new apartment."
"And he never found a new place?" I guessed.
She laid a light hand on my arm. "So maybe you want to rethink hiring him?"
I shook my head. "I can't. I'm sorry. I was just trying to help him, and he seems genuinely interested in making the most of the opportunity."
"That's what you should be afraid of," Riley said. "And what do you mean, you can't?"
I crossed my arms over my chest. "I gave him my word. Human Resources will be notified, and he'll start next week."
Riley turned her back to me and, with both hands on the counter, drummed a fast rhythm. She was upset and there was nothing I could do.
"I wonder what your grandfather would have thought of me," I said.
She turned and considered me from head to toe. The sensation of her chocolate eyes sweeping over my body made it hard to feel dejected. "He would have thought you were a fool for trusting Owen," she said, "but a good man for giving him a chance."
She raked her hair off her face and blew out a breath. She tried to avoid my smile, but I dodged in front of her and stayed in her line of sight. "A good fool? I don't think anyone's ever called me that before. I'm not really one of those bosses that surrounds himself with 'yes men,' but I have to say I like your honesty."
She smiled. "Fine, all right. How about you tell me what all of these ingredients are going to make? I've been trying to figure it out."
I surveyed the kitchen and, for a moment, completely forgot the foolproof recipe Andrew had given me. "Well, how about we get started on dinner? Maybe you can guess."
Riley jumped out of the kitchen as I started whipping open cupboard doors. She sat on a stool at the island and watched me with those dark, velvet eyes. I had no idea what I really needed, so I just took out things that looked useful.
"Oh, yeah, I'll need a pan," I said, mostly to myself.
Riley grinned and settled her elbows on the island. "A spatula and tongs? Must be complicated."
I put the tongs away and pulled out a wooden spoon. Andrew's instructions were starting to come back. "Do you have a colander?"
"Corner cupboard," she said. "Watch out or you'll—"
The cupboard door stuck, and when I pulled too hard it flew open and whacked me in the kneecap. "Oh yeah, I need a pot with a lid too," I said through gritted teeth.
"Want me to make the salad?" Riley finally took pity on me and jumped down from the stool.
I forgot about the pot I was holding and watched her. Her familiarity with the tight kitchen had trained her to move with a certain grace and efficiency. Next to her slender figure, I must have looked like a hulking oaf.
"All right, all right. I'll confess," I said when she caught me staring. "Andrew gave me the recipe and promised it was easy but impressive. The only problem is I don't understand half his directions."
Riley laughed and held out her hand. I gave her my phone with Andrew's recipe on the screen. "Pan-fried salmon and orzo with a butter sage sauce. He was right —this would have been impressive."
"Order from anywhere and I'll pick it up to go," I said.
She shook her head and elbowed me out of the way. "Andrew was right about the other thing too. It's easy and we can do it."
I filled the pot with water and added a big pinch of salt as she instructed. Riley took the salmon out of the refrigerator and told me to peel off the remaining skin.
"Want some sun tea?" She leaned into the refrigerator.
I eyed the silver fish scales. "I think I might need something a little stronger."
She handed me another beer and rummaged through the ingredients I’d bought. "Oh, good, I like a little garlic and lemon with my salmon," she said.
I clattered the lid down on the pot of water. "I didn't buy any garlic."
Riley raised an eyebrow and looked at me. Her steady, amused gaze, and the way her chin tipped up, made me glance behind me. "I grow my own garlic," she explained. "I hang the bulbs there to dry out. Go ahead and grab one."
I didn't even know how to take the garlic off the stem. "You can grow your own garlic?"
Riley reached over my shoulder, her hair brushing my chin. "I didn't even buy seeds. You can just plant left over garlic cloves."
"You might be able to, but I can't." The words dried up in my mouth.
"What, are you afraid of getting your hands dirty?" she asked.
I couldn't answer because all I could think about was getting my hands on her. Riley's hair was soft with just a hint of some flowery scent. Her head came to just below my chin, and I had the overwhelming urge to pull her close against my chest. The tight quarters of the kitchen accentuated where our bodies fit together.
"Not afraid. I love getting my hands dirty, but I don't want to miss my chance to do this." I wrapped my hands around her slight waist and flexed my fingers.
Her eyes widened, but she melted into me. I slipped my hands behind her back and pulled her closer until our lips brushed lightly. I caressed her back in light strokes to match the feathery kisses until I reached her hair. I wound the wavy silk around my hands until I reached her neck. One tug and her lips fell open against mine.
The sound of my phone was a cruel joke.
"Do you have to answer it?" Riley murmured with her sweet lips.
"It's nothing that can't wait." I dragged my mouth slowly along hers, the friction making my phone, the whole kitchen disappear.
Then my phone buzzed again.
"Must be important," Riley said.
I shook my head and pulled her closer for a deeper taste. Her quiet moan of delight was drowned out by my ring tone. She pushed back and broke the kiss.
"I'm sorry, really. Let me just take care of this quickly, and we'll fry that salmon." I squeezed through the tight door and onto the balcony.
I watched through the window as Riley sauntered out of the kitchen and shot me a magnetic glance before she disappeared into her bedroom. It would be so easy to chuck my phone over the railing. If I didn't hit the high tide, at least the sand would muffle the ring tone. I cocked my arm back, but the guilt got the better of me.
"This better be good, Lyla," I said.
"My thoughts exactly," Lyla's voice was frosty. "You better have a damn good reason for ignoring my phone calls and messages."
"Is this about an actual business topic or are you just wanting to vent by scolding me about everything again?" I asked. "None of your messages were about actual work things. Go ahead and tell me how disappointed you are so I can hang up and get on with my evening."
Lyla sucked in a breath. "This is most definitely about work. More specifically, it’s about the social engagements you blew off."
"I didn't burn any bridges, Lyla, for god's sake. I just told them something came up, and I needed to reschedule. Everyone was very understanding."
"But you did it for no good reason, and that is completely irresponsible. I thought you understood by now that the Michel name is also an image."
"It's my image, Lyla." I leaned against the balcony railing and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Look, I'm not doing anything wrong. Everything's going to be fine."
Lyla switched her phone to the other ear and I heard her earrings tap against it. "Is that what you were telling that girl at the restaurant?"
"What?"
"Don't play innocent with me, Landon. Your photograph is all over the tabloids and social media. What, or should I say who, are you doing in Santa Cruz?"
I scratched the stubble on my chin. "There's no girl, Lyla, so stop jumping to conclusions. So what if someone sat down at my table at dinner? It happens all the time. Christ, I even had a woman crawl into my bed uninvited. In the middle of the day!"
Lyla's voice froze my ear. "Poor Landon. Billionaire playboy with a girl at every mile marker."
"It's not like that," I said. "There was no girl, nothing serious."
It wasn't the blatant lie that dropped me into the chair, but the fact that it was so completely opposite of the truth. It made me dizzy. My mind flashed over the hot licks of desire that seared me when I kissed Riley. It was overwhelming, consuming, and definitely not “nothing.” I felt something for Riley, something more than I had in a long time. It wasn't just a bit of easy fun.
"Are you there? You better not hang up on me, Landon Michel," Lyla said. "I don't understand why you always insist on doing things like this. You're not a child anymore, and you can't run away."
I balled my free hand into a fist. "I'm not running away. I'm not acting like a child. All I did was decide to extend my stay in Santa Cruz."
"So I'm supposed to stay here and take care of everything while you relax on the beach?" Lyla asked.
"Am I not paying you enough? Is that the problem? I'm not even that far away."
She sniffed. "I've picked out a dozen eligible women in the last few months, and you haven't bothered to look at any of their dossiers."
"Dates shouldn't be picked from dossiers," I snapped.
"And I wouldn't think the dossiers were necessary if you could find an appropriate date within your own social circle."
"Do you even hear yourself, Lyla? Is that why you don't have a date? You can't find an appropriate mate within your social circle? That sounds rather cold and calculating." My only hope was to drive her into hanging up on me.
"No, cold and calculating are what those gold-diggers are," she said. "They just want to see how much they can squeeze from you."
"I promise I won't get suckered into buying any flashy jewelry, cars, or beachfront bungalows for any attractive women while I'm here." I peeked back through Riley's kitchen window and wondered what she was doing in her bedroom.
Lyla changed course. "I hope you know that things don't run themselves. You got lucky being able to push the social engagements. A round of golf and a few meals are one thing, but actual business matters are another."
I drew in a sharp breath of fake surprise. "So you actually did call about business?"
"There is a huge stack of documents here that you have to sign. I'm not about to forge your signature, so for once, you'll have to come and do something for yourself."
I caught a glimpse of Riley leaving her room. Her hair was swept back with a thin white bow that my fingers itched to untie. I looked past her into the bedroom to see that she'd done something with the bedspread and left a glowing lamp on.
I was desperate to get off the phone and get back inside with Riley. "You can't email them to me? There's an office in my hotel suite and I can print them out. Or better yet, why not scan them in and upload them to a digital signature app?"
Lyla made a sound of disgust. "These are highly sensitive documents, some of which include sums in the eight digits. I am not scanning them, putting them on an app, or emailing them to your hotel. I can't believe I have to explain what a terrible idea that is."
Riley gave me a shy smile through the kitchen window. "Fine, you win. I'll come back tomorrow and sign all the documents. Happy now? Can I go?"
"I know you're lying about the girl," she hissed.
"Oh, I almost forgot. Could you please notify Human Resources that a man named Owen Moore will be calling soon? He's going to start working in the housing project office."
The brittle tone of her voice could cut glass. "I am not getting involved in another one of your pet projects."
"I'll bring you salt water taffy from the boardwalk?"
"I'll tell HR, but I'm not doing anything until you come back and finish this paperwork."
“Fine.” I tapped the screen on the phone and hung up.
Riley had her back to me, busy at the kitchen counter, when I squeezed back through the narrow deck door and into the kitchen. The closer I moved to her, the more I wanted to skip untying the white ribbon in her hair and just press my lips to the bare expanse of her neck.
She turned around and caught my hungry look. "Here, I made us an appetizer. I hope you like melon."
I took the skewer from her hand and didn't understand her look of disappointment. "Wow, that's good. What's the salty taste? It goes perfectly."
She laughed. "You should know —it’s the prosciutto you brought over. Want another bite?"
This time she held firmly to the skewer and had me lean forward and take the taste from her with my mouth.
"I hope that phone call didn't ruin your appetite," she said.
"No, no, I could definitely eat."
"Good." Riley pulled me over to the stove. "The water's almost boiling for the orzo. Unless you want to turn it to low and give yourself more time for other things."
I was still fuming over Lyla scolding me like a child. "Sure, yeah, let's put it on low. I should try to figure out this recipe again."
Riley smiled up at me, close in the small kitchen. "Are you really so nervous about cooking? Is that why you're so distracted? I promise, it'll be easy. In fact, the whole dinner only takes about fifteen minutes, depending on how fast the orzo boils. So we can just finish our beers and relax."
I reached around her to retrieve my beer. "Good idea. I'm used to eating later anyway."
"Around here I usually take a quick nap or grab a little quiet time before dinner. Afterward is always homework assignments or study groups or—"
"Or going out and having fun?"
Riley laughed at my worry. "Yes, there's some of that too. All I'm saying is if you wanted to go lie down and rest a bit, we can make dinner a little later."
"It's early. I'm not that tired. Should I attempt to bread the salmon?" I asked.
"Sure. I'll finish the salad." Riley turned so abruptly that I automatically reached for her shoulder. When I saw her pick up the chef's knife, I let my hand drop.
I could have killed myself for missing her hints. She peppered the cutting board with hard, frustrated chops and I had no idea what to say. She had all but invited me into her bed and I’d completely missed it. It was definitely a mood killer.
"I shouldn't have answered my phone," I said. "Work always throws me off and my business manager is abrasive."
Riley glanced over her shoulder. "I'd put a little olive oil on the salmon before the breading —it might stick better."
The only thing I could do was dive into the recipe. Three steps in, I finally understood what I was doing and felt the knot of tension in my neck relax. I placed the salmon steaks in a hot pan and felt satisfied as they sizzled.
The enticing smell reached across the small kitchen and Riley finally turned around. "Why don't you decide to do something else?"
I didn't mean to laugh, but the suggestion reminded me of when I was ten and wanted to be a baseball player. I repeated my father's terse response word for word. "Without a Michel at the helm, our family legacy would be divided up. Do I really want to be the one to witness the scavengers picking at the dead body of my family accomplishments?"
Riley frowned. "Grotesque."
"No, just legal. As my father reminded me countless times, the Michel Fund disbands without a direct heir," I said.
Riley caught my eyes and nodded. "Like I said, grotesque. Who puts all of that on one person and makes it legally binding? I mean, if someone as rich as you can’t have the freedom to do what you want, then no one can."
"I know it seems crazy given all my privileges, but there is a lot of pressure that comes along with my wealth. I'm not even supposed to call it wealth —it's my ‘family legacy’."
I waited for her to laugh. Most people listened and then liked to make jokes about 'poor me.' Instead, Riley reached out and squeezed my arm.
"I understand," she said. "Even now I can't do anything that I think would disappoint my mother and my grandfather."
The mixture of her touch and her understanding was so potent that I couldn't move. There were flecks of copper around the edges of her brown eyes, and it gave them a mesmerizing shimmer.
"The salmon's burning," Riley said.
Then she laughed as I flapped around the kitchen, finally found the spatula, and managed to scrape the still edible salmon steaks onto our plates. She waved me away from the stove and quickly melted the butter and fried the sage to make the sauce Andrew had suggested. I spooned orzo onto our plates and she dribbled the heavenly smelling butter over the top.
"I can't wait." She lifted up her plate and cut a bite of salmon. Then she leaned back against the counter and savored it with a smile.
"Is it good or are you just being nice?" I asked.
She cut another bite and held out her fork to me. I slipped the morsel off with my mouth but my surprise ruined the erotic move. "Wow, this actually tastes really good."
"Now try the orzo," Riley said. She tasted a bite first.
I couldn't resist and dove in for a kiss with the butter sauce still warm on her lips. The delectable flavor almost dropped me to my knees.
"I don't think I can eat from my own plate," I sighed. "It just won't compare to how mouthwatering that was."
The front door popped open and Anna squeaked. "Sorry! I didn't know you actually were going to cook tonight. It smells delicious. Wow, whoops!" She shuffled through the living room toward her bedroom. "I just came back to gather some of my things. I'm going to be at work a lot this weekend, and I might just crash at a co-worker’s place."
"Riley did most of the actual cooking," I said, "but we made plenty. Stay and have some dinner."
"No, I don't want to get in your way," Anna backed away down the short hallway.
Riley caught my eye and smiled. She was enjoying the teasing anticipation just as much as me. "Pull out the table, I'm making you a plate."
I brought Anna a plate, and we all sat down at the small round table. It wobbled and Riley and I caught it in the same spot. Our fingers tangled and we laughed.
Anna cleared her throat. "So this is where I feel like I should tell embarrassing stories about Riley as a teenager."
"Don't you dare —"
"Did you two practice kissing on the backs of your hands?" I asked.
Riley smacked my shoulder. "Girls don't all act like that. We don't giggle all the time and have pillow fights."
"Though we did practice kissing oranges," Anna said.
Riley howled over my laughter, but then her eyes narrowed as she thought of a retort. "Anna didn't have to practice on an orange because she kissed the grocer's son in the dugout of the baseball field."
"Really? How old were you? Ten?" I asked.
Anna shook her head. "Riley didn't move to town until middle school."
"Oh," I turned to Riley who was suddenly busy stirring her orzo. "Where were you before that?"
"Living with my father. Not my best years —those were with Mom and Grandpa."
"This salmon is amazing, Landon, and whatever you did to the orzo is heavenly," Anna said in a bright voice.
"It's my friend Andrew's recipe, but I'll be happy to pass along your compliments."
We finished dinner with me answering the typical questions about my hometown.
"Yes, my great-great-grandfather named the town."
"I like it," Anna laughed. "He probably just pointed to the coastline and said 'that's my beach.'"
Riley laughed and the tight crease of worry in my throat loosened. "Dinner was delicious,” she said. “You just relax, I'll do the dishes."
"No way, I'm doing the dishes," I stood up.
"It'll only take a few minutes for me to wash them." Riley stacked up our dinner plates and turned to the kitchen.
"Then I'm drying."
"And I'll get out of your way," Anna said with a smile. "Thanks for dinner."
She left and Riley worked methodically for a moment. "Did your relatives build your mansion right away?"
"No," I said. "My great-great-grandfather first built a cabin. Made it out of redwood. Actually, it's still there if you'd like to see it."
Riley's smile gave me a great idea. I thought out how to say it while I finished wiping the dinner plates dry. When we both had our hands free, I took hers.
"Why not come with me to Michel's Beach this weekend? I promise you'll like it a lot better without all the gala insanity. Just you, me, and the morning fog?"
"And your army-sized staff?"
I shook my head. "Skeleton crew on the weekends. I'll let you poke around in all the gardens."
Riley tipped her head and considered me. "Could I take plant cuttings?"
I laughed. "As many as you want."