Slightly Irregular (6 page)

Leaping back, I snagged my heel in my dress and nearly tumbled to the ground. Liam steadied me, and his gaze lingered on my nearly naked breasts before glancing over my shoulder.

“There’s someone out there,” I said as I grabbed the fabric from around my ankles and did my best to cover myself. Panic quickly drained the passion from my system.

Liam moved over to the glass door and slid it open. I could hear teenage voices and lots of hoots and laughter. Oh God! It had to be the kid from two doors down. He was sixteen or seventeen, with a trust fund and apparently a thing for peeping in my window.

Liam yelled at him and his friends, and as I tried to rezip my dress, the beam of the flashlight moved off.

By the time he turned back to me, I was pseudo-dressed and, judging from the heat I felt on my face, blushing like a schoolgirl.

Our eyes met briefly. Liam said, “Guess the moment passed, huh?”

I cleared my throat. “Divine intervention,” I mumbled. I raked my hair back. “It’s really late.”

He came a few steps closer. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Of course I wasn’t sure. “I’m …”

“Forget it,” he said, with an even tone that gave me no clue what he was actually thinking.

He took a long drink of beer and walked toward the Mustang; unlike me, he didn’t look back.

Some mothers serve as a wonderful example; my mother serves as a terrible warning.

“How humiliating was that?”
Becky asked over the rim of the flute filled to the brim with mimosa.

Liv and Jane offered their condolences as well. Though all three had a sparkle of amusement in their respective eyes.

So much for sisterhood.

It was our welcome-summer splurge, brunch at the Breakers for a mere ninety dollars a head. Only thanks to Liv, we didn’t have to pay full price.

Sunday brunch at the Breakers was a Palm Beach institution. There were a dozen serving stations offering everything from omelets to bazillion-calorie desserts. Waiters and waitresses wore crisp, white coats as they attentively topped off drinks and cleared plates when guests went in search of their next course.

“Was the kid tolerable?” Liv asked.

I nodded. “Actually, she’s really smart and reminds me of … well … me.”

“Finley Junior,” Jane joked. “That I’d love to see.”

I offered her a snarky smile. “Well, the next time Tony needs a babysitter, I’ll give him your number.”

“Pass, thanks. After the debacle with Paolo, I’m going slowly when it comes to men, marriage, and children.”

“I’m starting to think that’s the way to go,” I said as I clinked glasses with Jane.

“What about Liam?” Liv asked as a waiter rushed over to refill her glass.

“He’s too complicated.”

Jane’s brows arched. “You’re writing him off?”

“He set me up to babysit, then came to my house to gloat,” I continued, explaining how he’d manipulated my night of board games and teenage bonding. I left out the we-almost-had-sex part.

“When he came to your place, did you invite him in?”

“For a few minutes. Then I sent him on his way.”

Jane ran one finger around the rim of her flute. “So he’s back in the dating pool?”

I had to put up a decent front. I didn’t want them to know how close I’d come to being a friend with benefits. Only Liam and I weren’t actually friends. We were … Hell, I didn’t know what we were. Safer just to pretend it never happened. “Yep. I hope he drowns in it.”

“Seriously?” Becky asked, her eyes narrowed.

I raised one hand. “Swear to God. He can be someone else’s problem.”

“You two have chemistry,” Liv injected.

“No, we have lust and …
whatever
. And a dose of manipulation
on his part. Besides, I’m tired of his mixed signals. One minute he’s screwing with my mind, and the next minute he wants into my panties. I don’t want to have to work that hard.”

“Your loss,” Jane said.

“My sanity,” I corrected. “Liam is too complicated. There’s the
things
. Ashley, the not-so-ex-wife. The fact that he seems to know what’s about to happen to me but never bothers to warn me. And let’s not forget that he knew about Patrick before I did and kept his gorgeous mouth closed.”

“Gorgeous mouth?” Becky repeated.

“Don’t read anything into that. I can be frustrated with him and still admire his physical attributes at the same time. Can we change the subject now?”

My three friends let it drop. Becky was chasing a bite of prime rib around her plate. “Your mom comes back today, right?”

I nodded. “I’m picking up three orchids on my way home.”

Liv laughed. “I swear, you’re like a botanical Lizzy Borden.”

Didn’t I know it. As did my mother. She insisted on leaving me in charge of her plants even though I have the blackest thumb in the world. So I’d developed a routine—I took photos on day one, then after the plants committed flora-cide, I took the pictures to Ricardo at the local nursery and he’d give me exact replicas. I’m pretty sure my mother knew exactly what was going on, yet she still insisted I play plant-sitter, even though the concierge at her building would have gladly taken care of the penthouse vegetation. And he probably wouldn’t get freaked out by the headless statues my mother collected.

“Why was she gone so long?” Becky asked.

“My guess is she had a little paint and bodywork done. Atlanta has some world-renowned plastic surgeons, and she was all freaked out over looking her best at Lisa’s wedding.”

“Geez,” Becky groaned. “If your mother has any more face-lifts, her ass will be a hat.”

That lightened the mood, and we spent the rest of our brunch overindulging ourselves on gourmet food and drink.

I was reluctant to end my time with my friends, but it was time to get back to the real world. For me that meant replacing plants, then settling in and studying for the Criminal Procedure final I had to pass on Tuesday night. It was the last class required for me to meet the strict conditions Tony had dictated when he’d yanked me from the relative comfort of trusts and estates.

Well, that was almost true. I’d still be doing trusts and estates, only now I got to add criminal work to my list of responsibilities. And there is nothing I loathe more than responsibility.

It took me a while to do the plant switch, then I drove back to my place on Chilian Drive. I recognized Harold the convict’s beat-up pickup truck and Sam’s shiny black BMW convertible parked in the horseshoe-shaped driveway. Something told me I should have answered one of the fifteen text messages Sam had been sending since this morning. Sam plus Harold meant only one thing—more construction. Which meant only another thing—more debt.

Shit.

I’d definitely shot my discretionary income on my babysitting outfit.

As soon as I stepped from my car, I heard the telltale sound
of an electric drill. I walked through my house—actually, my shrine. Thanks to Sam’s professional decorating skills, the cottage was a haven.

Every time I opened the door, I swear I heard the sound of a choir singing the Hallelujah chorus. My breath stilled as I marveled at the wide entry hall with its pale, coral-colored tiled floor and walls. A narrow, whitewashed table against the right-hand wall held a spray of sea grasses in a clear glass vase, reflected in an enormous mirror. Beyond the hallway was a great room with a wall of windows overlooking the ocean. I could stand at the front door and see the beach. Sam had given me pale teal walls to complement the floors in the same peachy-coral tile as the entry hall. The big, squishy, invite-all-my-friends-over furniture was covered in casual white slipcovers and a teal-and-deep-coral area rug felt soft under bare feet. Bless his heart, Sam had even tossed deep teal throw pillows covered with branch coral designs all over the sofas. Sam was all in the details. So frigging cool.

Only now my view was partially obstructed by some PVC project off to the left of the lap pool. Screw with my view? I didn’t think so. I pulled off my shoes as I passed the kitchen. The white cabinets housed my entire Calphalon collection. In the stainless-steel appliances—unlike Tony’s, mine had a few fingerprints and smudges. In the black granite of the center island, you could see light reflected everywhere. Sleek and warm. Perfect for sipping a glass of wine with the girls while sitting on the teal-and-white–patterned fabric bar stools.

“You’re nuts!” I yelled as I yanked open the sliding glass
door, my voice raised half from irritation and half just to be heard over the drill or whatever power tool Harold had buzzing. “What are you doing?”

Sam came toward me. He looked kinda like a young, thin Nathan Lane. Maybe it was the blatant way he wore his sexuality, or maybe it was his dark hair—now rumpled by the sea breeze—and the excitement evident in his eyes. At that moment I didn’t really care. My attention was fixed on the neat line of my cement patio that had been chiseled open like some surgical scar. “What are you doing?”

Sam Carter placed one hand on a hip and offered me an annoyed glance. “You’d know if you’d have answered at least one of my texts. I had a vision.”

Harold’s drill went silent, and he looked in my direction, nodding a brief hello. “Miss Finley.”

“You envisioned tearing up my patio and playing Erector set in my backyard?”

Sam shook his head. “It isn’t an Erector set, it’s a cabana. Or at least it will be when we finish.”

“It blocks the view.”

“One foot of the view,” he corrected. “Trust me. By this evening you’ll be lounging out here like a princess.”

“A princess eaten alive by insects.”

“I thought of that. Naturally.”

“Naturally,” I muttered.

Sam picked up the smallest of the eight boxes piled off to one side of the patio. “This little gizmo will keep the bugs away.”

It looked like a watering can.

“I’m supposed to drown them?”

“No,” he replied impatiently. “You light this and smoke the area around the cabana. It’ll keep the bugs at bay for hours.”

Okay, that was cool, but it still didn’t appease my irritation at having him build the rectangular thing. “Why did you dig up the cement?”

“We’re going to add electricity to the cabana. That way you’ll have a fan and lights in case you want to sit out here and study or whatever.”

I walked over and looked at the skeletal structure. I’m not the kind of person who can envision a finished project, so I said, “Tell me about this thing.”

Sam instantly became animated. “Once Harold has all the braces cemented into place,” he continued as he took my hand and led me over to the boxes, “then we drape this ecru sailcloth around the poles. And once that’s done, we hang the fan and the lights, and add the furniture.”

Sam pointed to the pictures on the sides of three cartons. “There’ll be a chaise, two accent chairs, and molded tables.”

“Plastic tables?”

He rolled his eyes. “Anything else would mildew and/or stain the cement in a matter of a month. Knowing you, I went with practical.”

“All done!” Harold called as he placed his cordless drill in his toolbox.

Even from a distance I could make out the prison tattoos on his left hand. Just below the knuckle on his left hand each finger had a crude letter and with his fingers together, they spelled out
FUCK
. Not his classiest moment.

I needed a few minutes to myself to take in this latest project,
so I excused myself and walked inside to my bedroom, the pièce de résistance of my home. The only color in the room was the teal on the walls. Everything else was white, giving it the posh look of the finest hotel rooms in the world.

I stepped into my spacious walk-in closet—a complete renovation and replacement, given the mummified remains I had discovered in the original closet during my first walk-through—and considered my next ensemble. After looking at the offerings, I grabbed a bathing suit and sarong, then changed and leisurely removed my makeup. On my way back outside, I picked up my Criminal Procedure study guide. I loathed the idea of wasting the rest of my Sunday studying for my test, but I was starting to warm up to the idea of a cabana. Most of my neighbors had cabanas. Well, that wasn’t
exactly
true. What they had was pool houses, but hey, a cabana worked.

As I stepped back out onto the lanai, most of my reservations were behind me. I’d tossed my study guide on the counter, and with my sunglasses dangling from my mouth, I was twisting my hair up. Harold started pouring concrete into the holes while Sam steadied the framing. Wires snaked out of the ground near the edge of the concrete. Sam paid me no attention as I went past him on my way to one of two teak lounge chairs at the water’s edge. The creepy sensation of Harold’s eyes on me quickened my step. Nothing like having an ex-con staring at your butt.

The June sun was bright and beat down on me relentlessly, forcing me to take frequent dips in the warm ocean to escape the heat. While I didn’t relish the idea of walking past Harold on my way back up to the house, it wasn’t long before I was
desperate for a bottle of water. Luckily for me, when I stood, I realized he was no longer pouring concrete.