Stirring Up Trouble (4 page)

“If you need more money, I’ll pay you double,” he said, taking a step toward her.

Her mouth popped open, silent for only a second before she protested. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m not trying to bargain with you.”

“But I’m trying to bargain with you.” Gavin moved forward, taking steps until he was close enough to smell the spicy cinnamon notes of Sloane’s skin. “Look, my sister might not be the easiest kid to deal with, but she took our mother’s death hard. I just want someone to keep an eye on her so she doesn’t have to be alone all weekend, and I don’t want her to fail English. I’m worried about her.”

It was more than he’d said about taking care of Bree since their mother had died, and as soon as he heard the words, he wished them back.

“Your mother passed away recently?” Sloane’s long fingers migrated up her breast bone, splaying in a gentle arc as she pressed them over her chest, and the gesture caught Gavin’s attention enough to fumble through an answer.

He nodded. “Ten months ago. She had cancer. But I’d appreciate it if—”

“I’ll do it.”

“You’ll . . . what?”

Sloane’s hand lowered in an abrupt drop, her hair framing her face in a shadowy fringe that rendered her eyes unreadable. “What can I say? You wore me down, and I really could use the cash.”

A strange sensation Gavin couldn’t quite pin with a name flooded his chest. “Thank you.”

She laughed, tossing her bangs from her face to reveal an expression that was all business. “Don’t thank me yet. I’ll make sure she catches up with her schoolwork, but I’m holding you to that offer of paying double. And just so we’re on the same page, despite the company I keep, I don’t cook. Unless Bree has an unnatural fondness for PB and J, we’ll be doing the takeout thing.”

Gavin exhaled in relief. Finally, an easy fix. “Double the pay is fine; it’s what I offered. And you don’t have to worry about meals. We’ve got plenty at our place, and Bree is an excellent cook.”

“You make your thirteen-year-old sister cook for you?” Sloane’s eyes widened, the color of lush, ripe blueberries on a warm summer morning.

The corners of his own mouth twitched in response, surprising him with the repeat performance of a long-forgotten sensation. “Bree cooks with me, not for me.” Well, she had before their mother died, anyway, but Gavin wasn’t in the mood to split hairs. “I learned restaurant management in culinary school.”

Okay, so the zinger felt better than it should. The look of pure shock on her face was priceless. “
You
went to culinary school?”

He nodded. “Three years. But I didn’t graduate summa cum laude.”

“Oh.” She scuffed the carpet with the toe of one purple suede boot. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

“I accept your apology.” A quick glance at his watch reminded him that the newly delivered bar inventory wasn’t going to tally itself, and he was behind as it was. “I’ll be on shift tonight until about midnight, then back on tomorrow at nine. We have a guest bedroom, so you’re welcome to stay if that’s easier.”

“No thanks, boss. I’m kind of particular about my space. Coming and going works just fine, but I can’t make any promises about my mood in the mornings.”

Great. Two moody females in the same house. What had he done? “Speaking of which, I should probably warn you. Bree’s a little bit—”

Gavin’s words were summarily cut off by a rush of winter wind, and the shrill voice that accompanied it from the heavy mahogany doorframe was no less bitter.

“Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is for the whole school to see you get a ride from the vice principal?
Do you?
”

He turned just in time to catch the flash of liquid hatred in his sister’s eyes, and his gut churned like a stand mixer gone terribly wrong. “I was in a jam, Bree. I can’t be in two places at once, and she offered to drop you off,” he started, but her interruption was swift and merciless.

“How come you couldn’t just send me home on the bus like normal? Anything would’ve been better than this!”

“I thought you hated the bus.” He was dangerously close to losing his cool, so he scrambled to defuse the situation. Taking a breath, he calmed his voice, hoping she’d take the cue and at least listen to reason. “Mrs. Teasdale had an emergency, and I had to make other arrangements. If I’d sent you home on the bus, you’d have been alone.”

“Like
that’s
such a crime. Everybody thinks I’m a huge brown-noser now, thanks to you!” Bree jammed her hands over her hips, refusing to back down, but Gavin wasn’t about to give in and make a scene, especially in front of someone he barely knew. He inhaled as deeply as possible and reached for his poise. Clearly, he needed enough for both of them.

“Don’t be melodramatic, Bree. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

But the voice that piped up didn’t belong to his sister. “You sent her here with the vice principal?” Sloane cocked her shadowy head at him, her disbelief as plain as the afternoon sunlight pouring in through the windows.

“Yes. I didn’t have a choice.” Gavin crossed his arms in an unforgiving loop over the front of his dress shirt and stood firm. He didn’t care how much he needed the temporary help. No way was he apologizing for the way he took care of Bree, not to Sloane or anyone else.

“Who are
you?
” The challenge in Bree’s voice was punctuated by an obvious hint of curiosity, but she quickly canceled it out with a disdainful glance at Sloane’s trendy clothes, right down to those crazy high-heeled boots.

“Bree, this is Sloane. She’s going to look after you and help you catch up in English.”

Bree’s eyes glittered with anger. “Are you kidding me? You’re making me work with a
tutor?
On the weekend? This is so unfair!”

Gavin winced. Okay, maybe he should’ve saved that part until she wasn’t quite so worked up. “Not all weekend. Look, let’s be reasonable about this. It’s a great chance for you to improve your grade.” Why did she have to be so difficult? He’d practically gift-wrapped a way for her
not
to fail English, only she was too damned stubborn to take it.

“Didn’t you learn the last time that I don’t need any help from your girlfriends? They don’t stick around, anyway.”

For just a breath, he was utterly paralyzed. The words were a dare, he knew, to admit things he’d tried to forget. But giving those things airtime now was pointless, and so was arguing with Bree.

As much as she hated it, he was all she had.

“That’s enough,” he said, putting enough frost on the words to catch her attention. “You can wait until tomorrow to start your classwork if you want, but Sloane’s in charge while I’m here at work. Are we clear?”

Bree shrugged and mumbled a
whatever
under her breath, turning toward the front entrance. Gavin clenched his jaw hard enough that his muscles ticked, and he forced himself to meet Sloane’s eyes.

“Sorry about that. Like I said, things have been rough.” The last thing he wanted was to go into this now, with his nerves frayed and a late night ahead of him. He braced for a barrage of questions, but to his shock, only one came.

“You weren’t kidding about that warning, were you?” Sloane pulled her bright red coat over her shoulders, flipping her keys into her palm with a jingle.

“No.” This had disaster written all over it. She didn’t have any experience with kids, and here he was, throwing her to a walking, talking pile of angry-girl hormones. He’d be shocked if Sloane didn’t end their deal right on the spot.

But to his relief, she just smiled. “It’s a good thing you hired me, boss. I love a challenge, and you need all the help you can get.”

Chapter Four

It took less than five minutes of one-on-one for Sloane to realize she’d kicked a hornet’s nest of epic proportions when she impulsively signed on for this job.

“Just so you know, I don’t need a tutor in English, and I definitely don’t need a babysitter.” Bree slumped in the passenger seat of Sloane’s Fiat, fiddling with the iPod in her lap.

“Good. That makes two of us.” She eased the car onto the main road outside the grounds of the Pine Mountain Resort and tapped out an imaginary beat over the steering wheel with both index fingers. Maybe if she just played it cool, they’d get somewhere. After all, how hard could it be to have a casual conversation with this kid?

“Soooo, what’ve you got on there?” Sloane popped her chin toward the iPod, and Bree promptly lowered another three inches in her seat.

“Music.”

“Anything I might like?”

“Probably not.” Bree plugged her earbuds into place and looked out the window, flicking the round dial on the iPod to life with the pad of her thumb.

Right. So much for casual conversation. With the exception of the GPS chirping out directions to the address Gavin had offered up just before they’d left, the rest of the ride passed in silence. Good thing Sloane didn’t have to rely on her sulky passenger to get them there. Not that she could blame the kid for being a little bit hacked off about her day. Having to hitch a ride with a school official might’ve been the only way for Gavin to get her to the restaurant safely, but that didn’t make it any less mortifying for Bree. Even Sloane, who didn’t know squat about kids, could figure that one out.

On the flip side, Bree
had
lit into him pretty hard over it. Not that it had put a dent in his cool demeanor, but still. Sloane knew fighting words when she heard them. Her curiosity sparked to life as she tried to picture the ex-girlfriend-in-question. Pretty, no doubt. After all, what pretty girl wouldn’t be a sucker for those melty brown eyes and classically handsome face?

Well, besides her, of course. Chiseled jaw line or not, the Ice King was so not her type.

“Anyway,” she breathed, her cheeks flushing with too much warmth at the blast of heat cranking from the vent. She flipped it toward Bree in case she was cold, then pulled off of Rural Route Four to a winding residential road dotted with lakeside cottages, thinking all the way.

Although Sloane still wasn’t quite sure what had possessed her to agree to it, she was about to spend the better part of two weeks with this kid. She needed a plan of attack, especially for the tutoring. She’d never worked with a preteen before, but she hadn’t been bullshitting Gavin about those online creative writing classes she’d taught. In the grander scheme of things, this job couldn’t be
that
different than teaching adults. If anything, the challenge might kick-start her creative juices. At the very least, this gig would pad her anemic bank account, which put her that much closer to packing her bags and saving her career.

If
the kid would give her something more than the cold shoulder and a mountain of attitude.

“Well, here we are. Home sweet home.” By the time Sloane had the Fiat in Park, both of Bree’s black Converse All-Stars had hit the gravel drive in a blur of motion. She crunched her way to the single-story clapboard cottage, withdrawing a set of keys from the side pocket of her backpack without breaking stride. Only when she’d bumped the thick wooden door from its resting place in the frame did she turn back to look at Sloane.

“My home is in Philadelphia. This is just where I’m staying for now, because I don’t have any choice. But I’m never going to call this place home.” Her voice caught over the last word, making it softer than all the others.

Sloane’s exhale puffed around her in a visible cloud, scattered by a sudden gust of wind. “Okay.” She followed Bree’s footsteps up the porch, stopping short of where the girl still stood in the doorframe. “You going in? It’s pretty cold out here.”

Bree eyed Sloane with obvious distrust. “That’s it? You’re not going to give me some line about how things will get better eventually? Before I know it, I’ll love it here, and all that crap?” Bree’s knuckles blanched over the matte brass doorknob, which she still grasped even though the door was already wide open.

“Nope.”

Bree let go of the knob, but didn’t commit to going all the way inside. She traced the outer edge of the lock with one short, electric blue fingernail. “How come? Everybody else does.”

Sloane laughed, long and loud, making Bree jump. “Honey, we’re about to spend the next couple of weeks together, so let’s get something straight right now. If you’re expecting me to be like everybody else, then you’re gonna be sorely disappointed. And believe me when I tell you, you won’t be the first.”

For a fraction of a second, Bree’s hot-cocoa eyes lit with the barest hint of a spark, but then she shrugged. Her enormous backpack listed awkwardly off one shoulder, and although it took effort, she hitched it back into place over her slight frame and walked inside the cottage. “Whatever. I’m going to my room.”

“Okeydoke. Let me know if you need anything, I guess.”

Sloane watched the girl retreat down the hall with a shrug. While it would be easier if they were civil to each other, especially for the tutoring part of things, she wasn’t going to bend over backward to get the kid to open up if she didn’t want to do it. All Sloane needed in order to get paid was to keep her out of trouble and get her up to speed in English. Being friends was optional.

Although how many friends could Bree have if she was hitching rides with the vice principal?

Sloane shook the chill from her favorite bright red pea coat and wandered into the cottage, pushing the front door snugly back into the frame behind her. The tastefully understated entryway split in two directions, the one in which Bree had fled and the other that led into a living room as understated as the entryway.

The only thing not painted stark white or lined in modern chrome were the hardwood planks beneath her feet, and although their black cherry color went beautifully with the décor, their warmth seemed at odds with the crisp, serious lines of everything above them. A series of black and white prints graced the walls, imposing oversized mats edged in elegant, glossy frames. They were all landscapes, and upon closer inspection, Sloane noted the curling, woody vines of different vineyards, some with rolling fields in the distance, others surrounded by groves of thin-leaved olive trees. A strange sensation worked its way up from the depths of her chest, unfurling like a favorite blanket on the first night of winter.

“Tuscany,” she whispered, an involuntary smile forming on her lips as she examined each photograph in turn. Given his occupation, it made sense that Gavin had likely traveled to Europe, although she had to fess up to the fact that the culinary school thing had thrown her for a loop. Food was so evocative—hell, Sloane had seen Carly get so torqued up over plain old mushrooms that she’d cried in the middle of a farmer’s market once. Gavin didn’t really seem the type.

The adjacent kitchen showcased black granite countertops flowing seamlessly into stainless steel appliances, and Sloane meandered in with the rhythmic clack of boots on tile. Not a single dirty dish in the sink, no signs of a hastily eaten breakfast scattered across the table in the side nook. Even the matte silver trash can was devoid of fingerprints.

Okay, really? Did humans live here?

A quick inventory of the contents of the fridge told her Gavin hadn’t been kidding when he’d said they were stocked, and she liberated a couple of grapes from a bowl on the top shelf. They burst on her tongue, their thin skin so taut, it crunched as she chewed. Three different kinds of mustard, assorted fruit, a half-wheel of Brie . . . okay, maybe culinary school wasn’t that much of a stretch. She gave the pantry door a quick pull and promptly stopped short, blinking a few times to make sure her vision was working properly.

“Whoa.” Sloane felt her eyes go wide, and she stepped back to take in the baffling visual inventory. The shelves had been removed from the bottom third of the widened pantry, replaced by a stainless steel and smoked glass refrigerator that came up to her thigh. She folded her legs beneath her in a quick kneel to get a better look, chewing her lip as she thought.

“But why would you have two refrigerators?” Her murmur caught on a surprised breath as she registered the digital temperature readouts in the corner by the handle, and she tugged the door open. The unit hummed its approval in a steady sigh, but it didn’t take a genius to see that this was far from an ordinary spare fridge.

Sturdy black shelves, set on tiny casters that allowed them to roll out on a whisper, sat stacked one on top of the other in neat rows. Rounded grooves marked the spaces in every row like perfectly symmetrical waves, and Sloane slid each shelf out for quick yet reverent appraisal. The muted light from behind her spilled in to illuminate the carefully reclined bottles, and she ran her fingers over their slender necks gently, as if afraid to wake them. Chardonnay, Riesling, Pinot Grigio . . . there had to be nearly a hundred labels, all meticulously separated by type and vintage.

Looked like the Ice King was passionate about something after all.

“I’m pretty sure he counts those, just in case you’re getting any ideas.”

Sloane jumped up so fast she nearly gave herself a head rush, clapping a hand over her sternum as she released the wine cellar door to whirl around. “Jesus, kid! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Undaunted, Bree glared at her from the doorway. “You shouldn’t snoop. It’s rude.”

“What are you, the pantry police?” Sloane volleyed, dishing up a pinched face of her own. “And for the record, sneaking up on people doesn’t rank too high in the proper etiquette department either.”

“I came to get something to eat.” Bree crossed the kitchen, yanking the real refrigerator open with a huff. “I can’t help it if I caught you poking around in my brother’s stuff.”

“Looking in the pantry isn’t poking around. Riffling through someone’s underwear drawer, now that’s snooping.” Maybe a little humor would loosen this kid up.

But Bree just rolled her eyes and reached into the deli drawer for a package of string cheese. “Save your energy. The only thing in there besides boxer shorts is a bunch of stupid pictures.”

Sloane clamped down on her surprise, but only by a thread. “Like the ones on the walls out there?” She gestured to the living room. The vineyard shots seemed a lot more personal now that she’d gotten a glimpse of Gavin’s extensive wine collection.

“Hardly.” Bree buried her scoff in a bite of mozzarella, following up with a silence that gave Sloane no choice but to push or change the subject.

Oh, screw it. She was tired of beating around the bush with this kid. “Listen, it would probably make things easier on both of us if you dialed back on your attitude while you’re stuck with me. Your brother is pretty adamant about you catching up in English class, and the faster we get you there, the faster I’ll leave you alone.”

“Right. Like you’d leave me alone.”

“You’re making it awfully tempting.” The quip was out before Sloane could bite down on it.

Bree’s eyes flashed. “If I let you tutor me and we get caught up with all my classwork tonight, would you really leave me alone after that?” Her disbelieving glance refused to waver.

Sloane hesitated. “You do know how much classwork we’re talking about, right?”

Before they’d left La Dolce Vita, Gavin had mentioned at least four outstanding writing assignments, along with the required reading Bree needed to do in order to complete them. That alone would take hours, and Sloane suspected those four papers weren’t everything on the to-do list of missed assignments.

Bree didn’t flinch. “Yeah. Would you?”

She should’ve figured it would come down to bribery. “Well, your brother is paying me to keep an eye on you, so leaving you
alone
-alone is out of the question. However”—Sloane enunciated each syllable as if it were its own word, cutting Bree’s pouty moue of protest off at the knees—“if you’re willing to drop the ’tude and bust your buns to get that stack of work done satisfactorily, then sure thing, kid.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked Bree right in the eye. “Once we’re square, you can stay in your room ’til school starts on Monday, and I won’t knock unless the house is on fire. Fair?”

Without a word, Bree turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen.

“Great.” Sloane winced. If humor and bribery were out, she was going to have to resort to some pretty ugly tactics to get this job completed. Damn it, she should’ve known better than to think she could actually pull this off. But no, her stupid heart had to go and lurch like it had been cattle-prodded as soon as Gavin said their mom had died of cancer, just like her father. The next thing she knew, she’d impulsively agreed to do a job she knew nothing about.

Between her bank account and her heartstrings, Sloane had gone temporarily insane. Maybe she could call the babysitting service and explain things, see if they couldn’t find someone,
anyone,
to come and relieve her. This had obviously been a mistake. Clearly, she wasn’t—

“So can we get this over with?” Bree’s voice startled Sloane as much as the request. She tried not to let it show as Bree swung her humongous backpack from her shoulder with a
whump
. Not wanting to waste the opportunity on a little thing like being shocked down to her toes, Sloane scrambled to answer in spite of her surprise.

“Um, sure. Will the breakfast bar work for you?”

“Whatever.” Bree hefted the bag back up and headed to the nook, but Sloane stopped her cold, stepping in to place a hand on the girl’s forearm.

“Uh-uh. Our terms were that you lose the attitude while we get the work done, kid. You don’t have to shower me with platitudes, but that word’s gotta go.” She dropped her hand, but didn’t step backward to let Bree pass.