Lying in the Sand

Lying In The Sand

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

Copyright © 2014 by E. L. Todd

All Rights Reserved

ISBN-13: 978-1494480585

ISBN-10: 1494480581

Lying In The Sand

Book Seven of the Hawaiian Crush Series

E. L. Todd

Chapter One

When Nancy woke up, Thatcher wasn’t there. He always surfed in the early hours of the morning, the time when she preferred to sleep. Waking up without him was always painful, but she would never make him feel guilty for doing what he loved.

She sighed then got out of bed, making the sheets and grabbing the laundry basket full of dirty clothes. She got a load started before she showered and got ready for her day. Since Thatcher was the cook of the house, she usually stayed away from the kitchen. Whenever she tried to make coffee, it came out bitter and strong. When it came to that area of expertise, she failed miserably.

She sat at the kitchen table and sipped her morning brew. It didn’t taste nearly as good as the kind Thatcher made, but it was better than no coffee at all. She checked the inventory and did bookkeeping before Thatcher returned. He didn’t have an assistant so she was trying to help out as much as possible.

The door opened and closed downstairs, and she knew the apple of her eye was home.

He came up the stairs wearing swim trunks and a t-shirt. “Morning, beautiful.”

“Morning.”

His hair was damp and slightly messy, but he looked sexy that way. He hardly ever smiled when he looked at her. Instead, he gave her a dark intensity, something only she could interpret.

He poured himself a cup of coffee. “How did you sleep?”

“Well. Waking up is always the hard part.”

He sipped the coffee then cringed slightly. Trying not to be rude, he tried to play it off. “Why?”

“Because you aren’t there.”

He sat across from her at the table. “I’m always with you. Sometimes you can’t see me.” He didn’t touch his coffee again.

“Thatcher, I know I suck at brewing coffee. I’m not offended.”

He didn’t acknowledge it.

“It won’t hurt my feelings if you make your own batch.”

He stood up. “How about I show you?”

“When it comes to the kitchen, I’m just not very talented.”

“We’re all born with the same abilities. Some outshine others, but that’s due to practice. By choosing to give up, you’re choosing to accept defeat. But as long as you keep trying, you will make progress. Sometimes more than others.” He pulled the coffee machine out. “Come on.”

She sighed then stood up, coming to his side.

He suddenly cupped her face and gave her a long kiss. “First thing first.”

She melted like she always did.

Thatcher turned back to the machine. “Grind the beans right before you brew. That gives it better taste. And don’t use tap water. Only purified.”

“I know. It’s the measurement of the coffee I can never do right.”

He grinded the beans then got the water ready. “For every cup of water you should have a cup of coffee. I poured six cups of water and I need six cups of coffee.” He put everything in then turned it on.

“But I do all of those things.” She didn’t understand why Thatcher was so much better at everything.

“If you did the coffee wouldn’t taste bitter.”

She sighed. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“You’ll get it.”

“My kids are going to hate my cooking.” Just thinking about it made her nervous.

“
Our
kids,” Thatcher corrected.

That made Nancy feel warm inside.

“I’m going to get in the shower. Interviews start soon.”

“Interviews?” she asked.

“For the new assistant.”

It slipped her mind. “Can I watch you shower?”

“It would definitely slow things down.” He grinned at her, the affection in his eyes.

“I’m not pressed for time.”

“Well, I am. But I’ll make it up to you once the last interview is over.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

He gave her a dark look before he walked into the bathroom and turned on the water.

Thatcher wore slacks with a white button up. A dark vest was over it, and his tie was tucked underneath. He didn’t do much work to look attractive. All he did was run his fingers through his hair and he was good to go. Nancy wished she looked that attractive without any work.

She wore a pencil skirt and a pink blouse, something she wore when visitors came to the art gallery. But most of the time, she wore his old sweats while she painted in his office.

Thatcher eyed her before they went downstairs. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks blushed slightly. “So do you.”

His eyes lingered on her legs longer than they should. “Are you trying to entice me?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

His eyes darkened slightly. “It’s always working.” He put his hands in his pockets then descended the staircase. She followed behind him, eyeing his ass in his slacks. It was muscled and toned.

They went into the office and Thatcher pulled out the chair for her, getting her settled. Then he sat beside her and browsed through the resumes.

“Any winners?” Nancy asked.

“They are all qualified.” He flipped through the pages. “But resumes mean nothing to me. The chemistry has to be right.”

She crossed her legs and rested her hands in her lap. “I know what you mean.”

He glanced at her than gave her a quick grin. Then he turned back to the stack of papers.

The door opened and a man in a suit walked in. He was older, at least middle age. Nancy was surprised someone like him would want the job.

“Carl, what a nice surprise.” Thatcher stood up and shook his hand.

“It’s always nice to see you, Thatcher. How’s business?”

“Good. How are your kids?”

“Great. Thank you for asking.”

Thatcher put his hands back in his pockets. “I hate to be rude but now isn’t the best time. I’m actually having interviews for my new assistant.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here. My niece is looking for a job and I know this would be a positive environment for her. I was hoping you would give her an opportunity.”

Thatcher didn’t seem flustered or caught off guard by the request. “I’m more than happy to interview her.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate that.” Carl shook his hand again.

Thatcher nodded. “Of course.”

“She’s in the car. Should she come in an hour?”

“No. Send her in now.”

“I’ll be right back.” Carl left.

Nancy turned to Thatcher. “Do people always ask you for favors like that?”

He didn’t seem annoyed. “It’s common knowledge that most job offers are given to people employers know personally, not through a stack of resumes. The only time employers resort to that is when no one wants the job. And you know first hand that knowing the right person can really change your career.” He rested his chin on his knuckles and leaned back in his chair, looking at her.

She smirked. “I guess I do.”

A young blonde stepped through the door. She was wearing a black dress with a gold necklace. Her hair was in a high ponytail and not a single fly away was evident. Black shiny pumps were on her feet. Her age was hard to distinguish but she looked like she might be Nancy’s age. “Thank you for seeing me.” She had a nice smile and a dreamy voice.

“Of course.” Thatcher stood up and shook her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“You too.” She looked at Nancy, waiting for an introduction.

“This is my fellow artist, Nancy Erikson,” Thatcher explained.

Nancy tried not to be annoyed that she wasn’t distinguished as his girlfriend. But now wasn’t the time. “It’s nice to meet you. And your name?”

“Lily.”

“And your last name?” Thatcher asked.

“Anderson.”

“Please sit down, Ms. Anderson.” Thatcher took a seat and sat perfectly straight. He crossed his leg at his knee. “I don’t have a resume so I’m relying on you to tell me about yourself.”

She sat down then crossed her legs. “I just graduated with a fine art degree and a concentration in art history. I love to pain and sculpt. While I’m interested in working in an office, I’m also looking to expand my own knowledge under a talented artist such as yourself. You probably have a stack of resumes from hundreds of other people just as qualified as I am, but I have skills that you want.”

Thatcher seemed intrigued. “Such as?”

“I’m easy to work with. I always have a good attitude. If you ask me to do something, I won’t question the decision. And I’m proactive, not reactive. I’ll understand your needs better than you will. And I respect you and your work, so you’ll have a fan to praise you all day long.” She smiled at her own joke.

Thatcher smirked. “Well, that is tempting. And your degree is impressive.”

She squeezed her hands together. “I really want this job. It’s like, my dream job. I won’t let you down.”

Nancy wasn’t so sure if she liked the idea of this woman working with Thatcher every day. She was very attractive and outgoing. Her personality reminded her of Thatcher.

“It’s hard to say no to such enthusiasm.”

She gave him an eager smile.

“I owe your uncle a favor anyway. So welcome to the gallery.”

“Yes!” She clapped her hands then stood to her feet. “Thank you so much, Mr. Adams.”

“Please call me Thatcher.” He extended his hand to shake hers.

She shook it vigorously. ‘Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

“I’m sure you won’t.”

“I’ll be here on Monday.” She grabbed her purse and walked out, a skip in her step.

Thatcher sat back down when she was gone.

“Maybe you should have interviewed everyone else before you hired her…” Nancy wasn’t pleased by how quickly Lily convinced him.

“I can read people pretty well. I think she’ll be a good match.”

“As good as you read Grace?” Nancy snapped.

He turned in his seat and looked at her. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” She looked away then rose to her feet. “You don’t need me anymore so I’m going to work on my piece.”

Thatcher stood up. “Nancy—”

The door opened and the next candidate walked in.

Knowing Thatcher was distracted, she kept walking.

She turned on the classical music through the sound system and pressed her brush to the canvas. The idea of Thatcher working closely with a perky young blonde didn’t settle right with her. Trust wasn’t an issue, but dealing with Grace wasn’t exactly easy. She didn’t want to go through something like that again. Having a dreamy and artistic boyfriend wasn’t exactly easy. Everyone wanted him.

Two hours later, Thatcher walked inside and hovered behind her.

She’d grown accustomed to his presence over the past year. Now she knew when he was in a room even if she couldn’t see him. She was in tune to his soul. Hers seemed to resonate when his was near. She continued painting like she didn’t notice him.

Thatcher came closer, his hands in his pockets. He stared at her piece for a moment, his shoulder in line with hers. “I like it.”

She said nothing, mixing the paint together.

Thatcher turned and stared at her face. The guarded look was in his eyes, and his shoulders were slightly tense.

Nancy continued to paint, ignoring him.

“You can pretend I’m not here but that doesn’t mean I’ll go away.”

She sighed then put the brush down. “I’m trying to work.”

“And I’m trying to talk.”

“What’s so important that it can’t wait?”

Thatcher moved in front of her, blocking the painting from her sight. “You.”

She stayed on the stool, forced to look at him.

“Is there a reason why you aren’t fond of Lily?”

“Is there a reason why you’re
so
fond of her?”

His eyes darkened. “If you’re suggesting that I’m more interested in her personally than her work ethic, then I’m extremely offended.”

“Well, you hired her pretty quickly.”

“I’ve done interviews for years. I can tell when someone is a match almost immediately. I know she is.”

“Why?”

“Passion—she has a lot of it. And humility. She has a degree but she doesn’t mind doing bookkeeping and paperwork. She doesn’t have an ego. Those are two things that are hard to find. Plus, she wants to be an artist herself. I’d rather hire someone that can advance than someone who is going to stay here forever.”

“But your last assistant was nothing like her. She didn’t care about art in the same way.”

His eyes flashed with irritation. “Her husband lost his job and she came to me and begged me to give her something. She even offered to scrub toilets for cash. She had two little ones at the time. Of course, I couldn’t say no. But I shouldn’t have to explain myself at all. Where’s that trust you claim to have?”

“I do trust you. I just don’t trust your judgment.”

He moved back slightly, like he’d been slapped.