C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel (28 page)

A fresh pot of coffee was completing its brew cycle, since they’d managed to take care of the first batch in record time. Carolyn had rearranged the sweets into what looked like a semblance of generosity, although only half of them. A cell phone sounded from the restroom and Jemma shook her head. This would never work.

Jemma ducked back into her office as the front door opened.

“Good morning!” Carolyn chirped and Jemma heard the chair roll back as she stood. “Mr. Fletcher?”

“Just Fletch.”

His voice was smooth, well modulated, capable. A banker’s voice or a lawyer’s, which he was. Or a band manager’s, whatever that should sound like. Jemma took a deep breath and went out to meet her newest client.

Levi Fletcher was a man in his early fifties, a man used to having his own way. She could tell that immediately, that he thought himself a mover-and-shaker. She knew from his stance, his bearing, from the way the fabric hung in his expensive slacks and the way the sought-after monogram on the knit golf shirt dared anyone to think he hadn’t bought it in the pro shop on premises. His glasses were wire-rimmed, and he carried a briefcase that he now set on the floor beside highly polished loafers. Perhaps she should have confided in Lyla, gone behind Sam and Charles’ backs, told the secret they were so eager to keep. She might have been better prepared to have dealt with Levi Fletcher if she’d first talked to the woman who had already bested him.

“Fletch.” Jemma extended her hand to him. His grip was no-nonsense. Firm. Like it could have been any other way. “I’m Jemma Lovelace. I spoke with you yesterday.”

“Jemma. Good to meet you.”

“If you’d like coffee or a sweet roll, please help yourself.” She indicated the table beside Carolyn’s desk.

“I just finished breakfast, but thank you, Jemma.”

“Well then, why don’t you come on in and we’ll get started.”

***

C perched on the short side of Carolyn’s desk, T leaned on the long. They both folded their arms across broad chests and sighed. Carolyn shook her head and reached for a sweet roll.

“Waste not, want not?” C chided her in a harsh whisper.

She rolled her eyes. “You have no idea the stress of this job.” She leaned toward him as if to tell a secret. “I have a closing at ten this morning and if this charade isn’t over by then, I’ll not be able to stand it!”

“Did you drive in from Dallas this morning? Have a pleasant trip up?” Jemma’s voice echoed through the intercom and her audience heard the chairs being pulled out, the soft sound of Fletch’s briefcase once again contacting the floor.

“Since when does he carry one of those like it was handcuffed to his wrist?” T whispered.

C shrugged. “Maybe he’s taken up a sideline business.” They kept their voices low. He leaned closer to his brother. “Since last I heard he thought ours was gone the way of the eight-track.”

“I flew in from Europe yesterday. I’m on my way to LA, and yes, I did drive up this morning.” Fletch was all-business.

“So what are you in the market for? Most people like land as close to the lake as possible. Big place? Acreage?”

C could see her sitting there, being personable while her insides were bound to be roiling. It would take considerable effort for her to not be wringing her hands in her lap or clutching the chair arms. He wanted to be standing behind her, massaging her shoulders, leaning down to whisper that Fletch didn’t bite—he just wanted you to think he did.

“Small place. Vacation home. I will have occasional business in the area and rather than stay at a hotel or inconvenience my business partners, I need a little place of my own.” There was a pause. “A small piece of the lake might be nice.”

T rolled his eyes. “So
now
we’re business partners. Funny, last time I had any real conversation with him, I was only a little higher than a snake’s belly because I refused to move back to the Coast!”

“Well,” Jemma continued, “I had had larger properties in mind, but I think there’s one about to come on the market that would just meet that description.” The sound of keyboarding was magnified by its nearness to the intercom. “Let me run you a copy of this.” The printer started scrolling.

“You know what she has in mind?” T reached for another donut.

Carolyn took a deep breath and knitted her brows. “Probably the old Newton place. The kids were in here last week. Third generation. Now they’re fighting over who’s going to keep it up although everyone wants to use it. Guess they’ll just sell and end the argument that way.”
“Where is it?”
“Second cut-off past the Brady place. Near Wood Creek Marina. On a circle at the end of the road.” She reached inside her desk for a laser pointer and shone it on the wall map. “You’re here,” she traced down two country roads, “and they would be there. About a twenty minute drive from here.”

“How’s Fletch going to like it?”

“Quite primitive. Fletch will hate it,” Carolyn reassured them as she put the pointer away. “Plus it comes with one accessory that’s sure to confound him.”

“Go on,” C encouraged.

“Mary Nell Lucas. Frequent widow. Moving back home which happens to be the old cabin just west of the Newtons’. My mother assures me that grass never did grow under Mary Nell’s feet. She’ll vex him no end.”

C smirked. “I love it already.”

They heard Fletch clear his throat. “Three bedrooms…
one
bath?”

“It’s a classic case of a one-room cabin growing not only with the family but with the means to provide for it.” Jemma sighed. “It’s a fixer-upper better appreciated in person. Great view, terrific deck, fair kitchen.”

They heard pages being shuffled. Fletch cleared his throat, shuffled some more.

T leaned over to Carolyn. “Buzz in. Find out what the hold up is.”

Carolyn narrowed her gaze at him, picked up the receiver and punched the line number. They heard the signal through the intercom and Jemma’s muttered, “Excuse me.” She picked up. “Yes?” There was an undercurrent of disgust.

C took over the call. “So what’s he doing? Reading the fine print?”

“Mother, I’m with a client right now, may I call you back?”

“Please, Jemma, finish your phone call. Especially if it’s your mother.” Fletch was in pleaser-mode as more pages turned.

“Thank you, Fletch.” She sighed, exasperation evident. “Mother, need me to pick anything up before I come home today?”

“Why don’t you bring that devilishly handsome Edward Charles home with you? Tell him he can spend the night. I’ll feed him dinner, you can feed him…”

“’Bye now.” Click.

C turned to raise eyebrows at Carolyn, who rolled her eyes at him. “You are so bad.”

“I know,” he smiled and chuckled lowly. “Carolyn, you ever need another job, we’ll find a place for you in the organization. I like the way you think.”

“Oh, I couldn’t leave Jemma.” She took a sip of coffee. “She needs me. And I do right well here.”

Fletch cleared his throat. “So you think this might actually be to my liking?” Pages clicked against the desktop.

“In the big picture, it has more pluses than minuses.”

“Would you live here?”

She paused and C closed his eyes to better concentrate on her answer, to pick up any nuances from her tone. “If I had the money to do right by it. You’re buying a prime slice—and I do mean slice—of land more than anything else.”

Was this the piece of property she had in mind to move to when she left her mother’s? C struggled to remember the conversation from the evening before. It was hard to do so; all he readily remembered was the roller coaster ride of emotions and the feel of her body on the verge of giving in to his. He stretched his legs, then drew his mind back to the subject at hand. They’d decided that a definite perk of the realty trade was advance notice, and this Newton place wasn’t actually on the market. Still, it just didn’t sound like it would be meant for her. And the Brady place, a place he’d never be able to think of without seeing her looking down on him, climbing into his arms…No, that wasn’t it either. Norm’s was more her style, but he’d taken that off the market, hadn’t he?

“I’ll be glad to drive you out there. I think you’ll find the asking price a reasonable place to start negotiations.”

“And are you a negotiator, Jemma?”

T and C straightened their spines and went on point at the change of tone in Fletch’s voice. They’d heard it many times and it always boded ill for someone, and that someone was never Fletch or any of his interests. C pressed his lips together into a grim line. The muscles in T’s forearms flexed under his weight as he leaned on the desk.

“I make a steady living, Fletch.” Her voice was calm. “I learned from a master.”

“Well, I
am
a negotiator.” They heard him pick up the briefcase, fiddle with the latches.

“Then if you’re interested in the property, you should enjoy dealing with the Newton kith and kin. Three lawyers in the bunch. Perhaps I’ll learn something by watching.”

C let out his breath but didn’t relax his guard.

“I’d think you’d be better served by watching the company you keep.”

“Oh, damn!” C hissed.

“Like it hasn’t been all over the papers!” T answered back. “You expected to keep her a secret from Fletch?”

“I expected a frontal assault, not a sneak attack!”

“He’s been in Israel! Not a monastery!”

The briefcase was unlatched. “My laptop or yours?”

Jemma cleared her throat. “Just give me the site address.”

“And, Jemma,” Fletch’s voice was honey, “why don’t you invite C in from the outer office? I think he might like to see just exactly how photogenic he is on screen.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“A
two for one sale! How lucky can I be?” Fletch leaned farther back in his chair and beamed broadly as C whipped the door open and the brothers strode into the office. Jemma sat behind her desk, her attention divided between the men and the computer. “Where’s our little bonus, T? Lyla in the outer office listening, too?”

“You know, when you said you were going to find yourself in the Holy Land, I thought you might have an epiphany and emerge a changed man.” T settled balled hands on his hips and glared at Fletch. “What
was
I thinking?”

“Well, if that isn’t a question you’re familiar with, I don’t know what is,” the manager shot back. “And you, C, you want to get a shot in at me, too?”

“It’s not a matter of wanting to, Fletch, it’s just a matter of when.” C circled behind Jemma and balanced himself with an arm on her chair back and one on the desk. “Well, isn’t that special?” he asked as the website Fletch had requested came into full view.

“I’d say you were in rare form.” Fletcher steepled his fingertips and studied his audience over the rims of his glasses. “Rare because I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you so restrained.”

C wanted to touch Jemma but didn’t dare. He saw her back straighten, felt the heat on her cheeks as if it was his own. Well, bless her, she’d have to get used to this if she was going to be as serious about him as he was about her.

He drew his attention away from her to the photo on the screen. There, in all the glorious colors of modern technology, was a profile likeness of the two of them as they kissed at the Lily Pond last night. Actually, it was rather restrained, just as Fletch had said. No tongues, no vulgar touches. Jemma’s eyes were closed, her lashes sweeping across her cheeks, a strand of hair straying to swing over C’s hand as he cupped her jaw.
Damn!
he could get hot thinking of that.

He blew out his breath and straightened as T came to stand beside him. He rested a hand a C’s shoulder and leaned over to better see the image. “Now I can see why this kiss was the talk of the donut shop this morning.” T moved his hands to Jemma’s shoulders and squared them for her. “Hate to say this, but with C, it could always be worse. You two really are getting off light.”

“It would seem so.” Jemma finally spoke and her voice was soft. A smile broke through as Carolyn squealed from the other room. She reached over to the intercom button. “Have URL, will follow, Carolyn?”
“Jemma, honey, keep scrolling.” Her voice broke shrilly between laughter and surprise.

T, C, and Jemma looked as one at Fletch who shrugged as if to prove his innocence. Slowly, they returned their eyes to the screen as Jemma scrolled.

T cleared his throat. “So much for friendly brotherly directives.”

“Charles.” Jemma’s voice was flat and she swallowed before looking up at him. “You said—”

“I know, I know.” He knelt by her side and contemplated the next image that was as surely the work of freelancers Marty and Jake as the first one had been.

They had caught the moonlight just right. Nothing else—except their obvious stealth in sneaking up on the two of them—could account for the clarity of the image. They were unmistakably in the glider on the dock. So much for Lyla and Sam not finding out they’d been there. Jemma sat cuddled almost in his lap. Although the angle was from above and somewhat to the side, there was no doubt his hand was searching under her sweater and the intensity of their gazes belonged on the big screen. So much for “making nice” with Marty and Jake. They would rue this little adventure. Unfortunately, the set of Jemma’s jaw and the pout of her mouth said he’d be ruing it first.

“Let’s just put all our cards on the table, huh, Fletch?” C rose slowly and glared at the man. “You have any other little surprises for us this morning?”

“Don’t go blaming that one on me! I didn’t hire Marty and Jake. That’s not our website that’s posted to! It’s your libido’s on the line. Again.” He didn’t try to hide the smile. “Talk about someone needing to have an epiphany and emerge a changed man!”

“Well, if you weren’t so busy scheming to hustle everyone for any piece of—” C’s voice rose and then was cut off as T put his arm across his brother’s chest and jerked at him.

“C’mon, C. Enough of this! You’re just doing what he wants you to!”

“It’s about time someone settled your hash, Fletch, and I’m the one to do it. Now!” C struggled against his brother’s hold.