Once and Again (12 page)

“Like John Audubon?” Carolyn asked.

“Yes, exactly,” said Grace, nodding. “I do conservation work, and I’ve published a few books detailing the local flora and fauna. I do some exhibitions, but it’s mostly in conjunction with my preservation efforts.”

“Wow,” Carolyn said. “That’s great. Your family must be really proud of you.”

Grace’s gaze wavered. “Unfortunately, my family and I share very different values, something I’m sure I’ll have a chance to explore in detail tonight.”

“You’re creating something for the benefit of society,” Carolyn reasoned.

“I could argue my family does the same thing, except in a very different way from me. They don’t appreciate my efforts. And to be honest, I’m not truly sure I appreciate theirs.”

“What does your family do?” Jane asked.

For the first time, Carolyn sensed Grace hesitating. She looked back and forth between Jane and Carolyn, as if weighing their worth. After a long moment, she spoke. “You’ve heard of Evergood?”

“The rock band with the reality show?” Jane said. “Sure.”

There was a pregnant pause. And then Carolyn saw it in Grace’s face—her British rock-star father Jer’s pillowy lips, her American model mother Sophia’s cheekbones.

“You’re Grace
Davingham
?” Carolyn said.

Grace nodded. She didn’t look uncomfortable, just resigned. “Yes. And unfortunately, I promised I’d attend my dad’s sixtieth birthday party tonight.
Really
not looking forward to it. It’s supposed to be all homey and quaint—a family thing—but I can guarantee you that by the time the evening’s out, there’ll be a lot more than just family at my parents’ place. Just them and a hundred of their closest friends.”

Jane let out a low whistle. “Eastbridge has some reclusive famous residents, but does anyone even know you live in town?”

“I try to keep a low profile. I’m not really into the whole camera-in-my-face thing.”

“The camera does seem to be in your face a lot,” Carolyn noted. “At least it did.” When she paid attention to the Page 6 kind of gossip, she noted the Davinghams—Grace and her mother especially—were frequently called out.

“When I’m in Manhattan it’s game over, which is why I try not to go into the city much. And I don’t court the paps. I’m elusive. Like wild game. It’s why I moved here.”

“You don’t like fame?” Jane suggested.

“I haven’t earned it. My two brothers are content to bask in the limelight without doing anything except being related to Jer and Sophs. They do all sorts of stupid things to keep themselves relevant,” Grace said. “I do what I want.”

“You’re in the woods,” Jane said. “Painting.”

Grace laughed. “Yes, painting. ‘Bird art’ is what my mum calls it. As in ‘Oh, Grace, when are you going to stop doing your
bird art
and start doing some
real art
I can sell in my gallery? Your work just isn’t commercial, darling.’ ” Grace snorted. “Like I care what’s commercial.”

“You might not care what’s commercial, but you care about your mom, right?” Jane said.

Grace’s features softened. “Of course. I love her. I just don’t agree with her most of the time.”

“Welcome to the club, honey,” Jane said. “My mom’s only been visiting for a week, yet she’s already driving me crazy. The one positive thing about her visit is that she’s really good with my son.”

“How old is he?” Carolyn asked.

“Andy? Six. In first grade. His birthday’s next week. That’s why she’s here, actually.” Jane sighed. “Thankfully, when it comes to him, she’s taken the high road.” She took a sip from her mug. “I shouldn’t complain too much. She really is great with him.”

“I’m sorry to press, and feel free not to answer, but how is she driving you crazy?” Carolyn asked, genuinely curious. Her own mother was one for silent disapproval instead of outright criticism. She had never said a word to Carolyn about the mess she was making of her life, though now Carolyn wished she had. Her dad was the one to lay on the guilt—but only when it seemed to be too late.

“Oh, things like I shouldn’t have left my ex, I’m not making enough to properly support Andy, my apartment sucks…that kind of stuff.” Jane shrugged. “It shouldn’t come as a surprise that a bakery, even a high-end cake business like this one, isn’t the strongest in this economy, but I love what I’m doing, and I’m good at it.”

“That’s what I told my mum!” Grace said. “But all she keeps talking about is reality TV and corporate sponsorships. Ugh,” she said, with a mock shudder. “I’d rather do things my way. I’d been growing some pretty impressive floral specimens in my greenhouse—for purposes of study—but it turns out I have a green thumb. A couple of months ago, I decided to open up my own wholesale flower business to make some extra money while I work on illustrations for my next book. I do arranging, too, but only if clients specifically request it.”

“You’re kidding—you do flowers?” Jane said. “My current florist stinks, and I have a custom cake with fresh flowers for next weekend. Want the job?”

“What do you need?”

“Roses, of course,” Jane said with a laugh. “That’s what everyone wants on cake.”

“I don’t know cake, but I do know roses. I have some reds called ‘Samantha’ that might fit the bill. They’re a really deep red with a great shelf life. And I have a couple of flashier, cabbage roses—‘Tamora’ comes to mind. But they’re hard to describe if you don’t know flowers that well. Want to stop by and see my greenhouse?”

“Sure,” Jane said. “I can stop by this weekend.”

Carolyn looked back and forth at the two women—Jane, tidy, small, and utterly competent; Grace, gorgeous and larger-than-life. If she hadn’t believed in fate before tonight, she sure would now.

“As long as we’re talking business,” Carolyn said carefully, “I may have a job for you, too. I’m in charge of events at Briarwood, and I have a big event next month.”

“You want flower arrangements? Sure. I can do them,” Grace agreed.

“Great!” She turned to Jane. “Oh, I forgot to ask if you were able to confirm your schedule.”

“I’m in,” Jane said. “Evelyn gave me the okay without even blinking. Lord knows we need the money.”

Carolyn smiled—a real smile. “Excellent,” she breathed. And she told them all about the party she was planning for Jake Gaffney. When she’d finished, and the three women had formed a solid plan, Carolyn leaned back in her chair and sighed with relief. This was really going to happen—and
beautifully.

Jane gave her a smile. “You’ve helped us,” the small woman said. “So how can we help you?”

For the first time in over a year, Carolyn felt something shift inside herself. She’d accepted her fate, but somehow she’d ended up shouldering the burden, not just for herself, but for her entire family. She was stuck, trapped, trying desperately to move forward without having the insight into exactly how to do so. But meeting these women had triggered something. Jane and Grace had struggles just like she did—money, family, relationships—but they seemed to be able to compartmentalize and simply
act
instead of dwelling on what they couldn’t change.

Carolyn instinctively knew that despite the fact that they’d just met, these two women wouldn’t judge her. Like Jake said, you could only move forward, not back.

So she took a deep breath and spoke four words that would change her life. “I need a lawyer.”

“Colby,” Jake said, shaking Marcus’s hand as he stepped over the threshold into the Briarwood clubhouse. “It’s been awhile.”

“Too long,” the well-built man agreed, his gray eyes never leaving Jake’s face. Press walked in behind him, but for the moment, both Marc and Jake ignored him. As Jake sized him up, Marc returned the favor. The man looked good—tanned, healthy, and fit. He was wearing a slim-cut suit and behind his glasses, his eyes were filled with a quiet intelligence. Marc had been born serious, so Jake wasn’t surprised that no smile was forthcoming.

“You’ve been traveling?” Jake said.

“Yes. To India to oversee some construction at one of our properties.”

“And you’re back—”

“For the indefinite future. I recently hired a few new analysts.”

“You’re expanding Colby Holdings?”

“Business is good,” Marc said simply.

Jake nodded. Marcus was thirty-eight—a couple of years older than he was—and he’d been gunning to make his mark ever since they’d gotten out of b-school. It looked like he’d really done it. Jake turned to Press. “Good to see you again.”

“You, too. Thanks for calling this meeting, by the way.”

Jake shook his head. “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s go to a conference room where we can talk privately.”

“Lead the way,” Marcus said.

Jake walked down the long corridor that led to the conference room, Press and Marcus on his heels. One of the staff members—he had no idea of the woman’s name—saw them coming and stepped to the side, pressing herself against a wall and looking petrified. Jake sighed. He guessed covering up his tattoos wasn’t making as big a difference as he’d hoped. The staff still freaked out whenever they saw him, and the members simply continued to give him the cold shoulder.

“Have a seat,” he said, when they were inside.

Press and Marcus chose seats across from him and sat down, Press leaning back and Marcus leaning forward.
Typical.
They were quite a group, the three of them. Marcus’s drive was palpable from the energy he gave off. No surprise, given the man never took
no
for an answer. Press just looked expensive with his crisp, striped collared shirt, artfully open at the neck and rolled up at the sleeves, khaki pants, and brown loafers—no socks, of course—but Jake knew that great strength lay underneath that cultivated façade. And then there was him—jeans, work boots, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a chip on his shoulder as big as a two-by-four.

“Well?” Jake asked, his voice all business. He’d let them make their pitch the way they would to any other prospective partner. Right now, as far as he was concerned, they weren’t friends. He wanted to hear it from them straight without letting emotion get in the way.

Unlike things with Carolyn.

He thought he could be dispassionate about her, but
that
clearly wasn’t happening. Visions of Carolyn—mostly X-rated—clouded his vision. And likely his judgment. Portofino and Briarwood needed all of his attention, but now that he’d slept with her, she’d turned into a distraction he just didn’t need. She invaded his thoughts during the day, and at night? Well, let’s just say he was barely getting any sleep due to an ache that wouldn’t quit.

Preston cleared his throat. “We’re here today to make a proposal.” Quickly, Jake pushed the thought of Carolyn and her violet eyes away. For the present, he needed to be focused. “As we’ve been discussing over the last couple of weeks,” Press continued, “Marcus and I are interested in buying into Briarwood.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Obviously, because I fronted the anonymous bid for you, I’m well aware of the terms of the sale. I also know the uphill battle you face, both in terms of capital and what clearly looks to be an upcoming showdown with the Board of Trustees. I passed that information on to Marcus, as you suggested.” Preston cleared his throat. “We’ve worked together as a team in the past. That’s not to say that our previous collaborations should figure into this one, since they were much earlier in our careers. Still, our working styles haven’t changed drastically since then, and we all know one another’s quirks and foibles.”

Marcus nodded, but stayed silent, his gaze trained on Jake.

“So,” Preston continued, “our proposal is as follows. Marcus and I were thinking of a forty-five, fifty-five split, with the two of us carving up the minority stake in a way that makes sense. I took the liberty of having my attorney draw up the proposal.” He pulled out a manila folder and handed it to Jake. “If you agree, this can be finalized quickly.”

Generous.
In other deals, potential partners had demanded majority ownership. Jake pushed the folder aside. “Tell me what, precisely, you’re bringing to the table.” The question was posed to both of the men, but he looked directly at Marcus.

“Our expertise,” Marcus said. “And an infusion of cash which you likely realize you need.” The dark-haired man flipped open his own folder, adjusted his glasses, and quickly scanned a few papers inside. “I built off the information that Press provided, and did some additional calculations. If you’re going to revamp the golf course and build a world-class pavilion to house a major tournament, you’re going to need a lot more money than you have on hand. Preston also informed me you’re going to refurbish the clubhouse and do an overhaul of the boathouse.”

“That’s true.”

“My suggestion would be to raze both existing buildings and rebuild from scratch. It’s going to be less expensive and likely less time-consuming than doing a renovation.”

Jake shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“The Board convinced Eastbridge town officials to designate the Briarwood clubhouse as a historical building.”

“And the boathouse?”

“It’s not original.”

“Well, there’s that, at least. Will you be able to get the necessary permits to add onto the clubhouse?”

“Before it was designated a historical building, it would have been a piece of cake. Now, I’m not sure. This was sprung on me after the deal closed.”

“How difficult is the Board making things?”

Jake pressed his lips together. “Very.”

“Are you even close to a meeting of the minds?”

His lips got tighter. “No,” he admitted. He could steamroll through if he had to, but it would get ugly, something he really wanted to avoid.

“I don’t doubt that you have things under control, despite all of this shit,” Marcus said. “You’re good. Really good. But it sounds like you could use some help. With the three of us working together instead of you working alone, things might be smoother.”

Ever since Press had come to him, he’d been thinking. The economics of bringing in Press and Marcus made sense, but there was more to it than that. He’d been working solo for so long, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to have partners to talk to, to run things by, to lean on.

“I have one question for you,” Jake said to Marcus.

“Ask it.”

“Why’d you screw me out of the Lodge deal?”

Marcus’s brows came together. “I wasn’t trying to screw you. I just wanted to do it alone.”

Truth.
And Jake got it—the independence, the wanting to succeed on his own terms. Maybe he and Marc were more alike than he’d thought.

“I’ll have to look at this proposal, you know,” Jake said, although his mind had been made up even before they arrived. “Have my lawyer look it over, too.”

“Of course,” Marcus said smoothly.

“Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” Preston piped in.

“I will.”

Marcus glanced down at his watch. “I know we have more to talk about here, but I have to be back in the city at three, and I’d really like to see the property before I go.”

“All right,” Jake said, rising from his seat, “let me show you Briarwood.”

“Excellent,” said Preston, standing.

They walked out into the hallway. “Ignore the carpet,” Jake said. “I’m ripping it out. Ditto the drapes.”

“Don’t lose the photographs, though,” Press said. The photos lining the walls told Briarwood’s history—notable events, past presidents, and of course, the obligatory snapshots of each year’s Board of Trustees.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Jake said. His vision, though strong, would benefit from additional input. Preston had a flair for the look and feel of a place and liked to work closely with the architects to pursue his vision. He was also extremely persuasive. And Marcus was the master of logistics, instinctively understanding what was needed to complete a project and how long it would take to get there. And Jake? He knew how to get construction done like no one else. They would work well together.

“What’s our first stop?” Press asked.

“The course. I want to introduce you to Link. Maybe even Walt if he’s around.”

They walked down the main driveway and cut over to the greens. At the putting green, a couple of octogenarians were practicing their putting, while a short distance away at the driving range, a few other men and a lone woman were thwacking away.

Inside the golf shop, it was musty and cool. Link was examining one of the newest drivers, while two caddies and the salesclerk looked on in awe.

“Thought I’d find you in here,” Jake said.

Link gave him a smile. “Had some downtime between clients and thought I’d try out the latest Callaway iron.”

“A beauty,” Jake said. “I’d like you to meet some friends of mine. Link, this is Preston North and Marcus Colby.”

Everybody shook hands.

“I saw you play in the Masters two years ago. Your birdie on that fourteenth hole was epic,” Marcus said.

“Thanks,” Link said, raising his eyebrow. “But as you may recall, I didn’t win.”

Marc shrugged. “That shot is what everyone remembers, anyway.”

“Is Walt still around?” Jake said. “I want to take these two on a tour of the back nine and I thought we could make it a guided one.”

Link shook his head. “Sorry, but I don’t know. I just got back here.”

Jake nodded. “All right, then. I’ll leave you all to it. Catch you later, Link.”

They’d just left the golf shop when up walked Vernon Chelmsford and Kurt Fredericks. Kurt, a round-faced man, said something to Vern that Jake couldn’t hear, and then both of them laughed. A slow burn started in his stomach and radiated outward.
Christ,
were they still in high school? All they needed now was Ruddy Reynolds and Chip Littlefield, and the foursome would be complete.

Jake should have anticipated something like this happening. He wanted to fully brief Press and Marc before they had any interaction with Board members, but here they were, faced with a showdown he hadn’t planned, especially because both Vern and Kurt knew Press from the bidding.

The two men were seconds away. He needed to say something to get them to back off. But before he even opened his mouth, Preston stepped forward.

“Gentlemen, hello. It’s good to see you again.” Press held out his hand to Kurt for a shake. Kurt looked down, and to Jake’s surprise, he actually took it.

“Mr. North,” Vernon said, shaking hands next.

“You broke our hearts, Mr. North,” Kurt said, looking pointedly at Jake.

Before Jake could scowl at him, Press distracted him with a rueful look. “I’m sorry to hear that. Deception was never our intent.”

Yeah, it was.
But somehow, the words coming out of Press’s mouth seemed to soften the blow. He wished he had that gift.

“Gentlemen, please allow me to introduce my friend Marcus Colby. You may have heard of his father, Norton Colby, the prominent neurosurgeon out of Yale?”

“Ah yes,” Vern said, eyeing Marcus. “And are you also a physician?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Marc.

“Too tough to follow in your father’s footsteps, eh?” Kurt joked.

Marcus’s jaw tightened, but Press jumped in once again before he could speak. “Actually, it’s because he can’t stand the sight of blood.”

Everyone except Marcus and Jake laughed.

Press chatted up the men for another few minutes, then glanced down at his watch. “Well, it’s been an absolute pleasure speaking with you,” Press said. “But we have a meeting scheduled.” Press shook both men’s hands again, and then Jake and Marcus did the same.

It wasn’t until they were walking to the back nine and were fully out of earshot that Jake said anything.

“I should just hire you to be my mouthpiece,” Jake told Press. “That’s the first time I’ve ever been around Vern without getting into a fight.”

Press laughed. “You’ll be getting all that, and more, if you accept our proposal. What say you, Marc?”

“I’m fine with the proposal, but speak for yourself next time,” Marcus growled.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to step on your toes,” Press said.

Marcus grunted his acknowledgment.

The moment was gone, but it hadn’t escaped Jake that Marcus had lost his composure, just for a second.
Surprising.

“I’m pushing it, time-wise,” Marcus said, back to his usual, cool self. “When can we get together again?”

“My schedule’s wide open,” Press said with a sad kind of smile.

Jake shook his head. “But mine isn’t. I’m flying to Miami tonight and I’ll be there for the next week.”

Marcus frowned. “I’m anxious to get going on this project. I’ve allocated the capital and I want to use it. The last thing I want is for us to get tied up for months trying to coordinate meetings.”

“So come down to Miami,” Jake suggested. “My business will take awhile, but my time’s flexible. We can talk more, get the lawyers shipped in for negotiations…and I could show you what I’ve been up to for the past decade.”

“I could do that,” Marcus said slowly. “But I’ll need to wrap up a few things in New York first. It’ll be a couple of days.”

Jake shrugged. “Like I said, I’m flexible. Press, you in?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. You’ll stay with me at The Atelier.”

“Fine,” Marc said. “Looking forward to it.”

Jake walked Marc and Press to the parking lot, they all shook hands, and then they were off. As he watched them drive away, a deep sense of satisfaction ran through him. After his lawyer checked over the contract to make sure he could live with its terms, he was going to have two new partners to get this club back into fighting shape. Then, maybe he could move on.