One Bossy Offer (37)

My face scrunches up.

TMI, and yeah, I’m a little jealous of her sex life with a man who could be an affluent underwear model.

“You’re living the dream and I’m legit happy for you, lady. But I’m not you.”

Her eyes shine sadly as she asks, “What does that mean?”

“It’s not something Miles Cromwell would be caught dead doing. And if he does, it won’t be for me. I’m not you, and I’m okay with that. The idiot even told me once he prefers blondes. It’s a billionaire thing, right?”

“No way!” she hisses. “I’m not standing here while you sell yourself short. You’re beautiful, and I don’t care if this wins me some crap, but that dude was into you.”

“He wants my land, not me,” I fire back.

If she only knew the way he spun me around the dance floor in hopes of buying a bed and breakfast.

“He was staring, Jenn. Big desperate wolfy eyes screaming 'notice me.'”

“He’s pissed I’m not working on the weekend, probably. For the rate he’s paying, I might expect ninety days straight of constant work too.”

“Live and learn.” Piper shakes her head violently. “That wasn’t an ‘I have work for you’ look.”

“What was it then?”

“An ‘I want to work you over’ look. Huge difference.”

Oh, boy.

There we go.

What’s left of my face goes up in flames.

“Shut up.” I slap Piper’s arm with my free hand. Cream stops and groans, while Coffee lets out a whining yawn. Even the dogs are tired of this back and forth.

But my traitor friend just smiles ever so sweetly.

“Easy. I just pointed out the obvious. You’re the one who’s redder than a fire hydrant.”





By the time we get back to Bee Harbor, we’re both hot, sweaty, and our hands are covered in dog licks.

“Use the guest bathroom I showed you earlier. It’s safe from the horror movie water now,” I tell her after the dogs are down for their nap.

“Do I want to know?”

“Just take my word for it. Ace did a nice fix so it doesn’t come out looking like a nightmare.”

Later, we sit on the couch with our wine and a huge margherita pizza from the tavern in town.

“You have to admit he’s hot. So you weren’t out of line when you were texting,” Piper says without looking up from her phone.

“Who?” But I grit my teeth because I already know.

“Your grumpy client man.”

“Say it again and I’m telling Brock.” I wag a finger in warning.

“Oh, don’t get him started. He knows he has nothing to worry about but he’s a caveman anyway. Also, your boy’s a paid artist.”

“I don’t have a boy—and I’m not sure how you know that.”

“Mr. Google told me.”

I reach for her phone. “You’re Google stalking him, now?”

Mostly, I’m annoyed she’s stumbled on something I didn’t. I never found out anything about Cromwell and his paintings.

She snatches her phone away. “Everyone Googles everyone else these days. Relax. I’m checking up on Mr. Handyman too. If these are the only two men you know in town—alone—a little background check can’t hurt.”

“You’re so overprotective! Pippa, I can manage. You’re not my big sis.”

“You’re basically my twin.”

“And I don’t know how you’re going to Google Ace anyhow. I don’t even know his last name, but he did work for Gram. All legitimate stuff. I checked the records in her office.”

“What? You tried to convince me you were so smitten you couldn’t possibly have a crush on your boss, and you don’t even know his last name? Come on! The next time you want to lie, back it up. We’ll give Ace a few points for your grandma hiring him, though. That woman didn’t tolerate any BS.”

She did not.

I sip my third glass of wine too quickly.

Then Pippa holds up her phone. “Look at this!”

The screen shows a painting. Fabulously bright wildflowers rioting over the side of an ancient stone wall, like something out of a Medieval fantasy scene or— Hold up.

My eyes flick over, stopping just above the fireplace.

My breath catches.

Right there.

That very painting hangs over my mantle, and if it isn’t the one, then it’s an exact replica.

Holy Toledo.

...did Miles paint custom stuff for Gram? Did she buy it from him?

But it’s hard to imagine.

Gram supported every cause ever in Pinnacle Pointe, but she wouldn’t have ponied up the thousands I’m sure Mr. Billionaire would charge for his precious work. And why would he sell them off anyway?

I’m so lost.

“Piper?”

“What? Pretty cool, right?”

I raise my eyebrows, veering my head toward the painting until her gaze follows.

She sits up and looks in the direction I’m staring.

“Holyyy. Wow. O-kay then. So, bossypants knew your grandmother pretty well.”

“You think so? Maybe she just bought it at some charity thing...” It’s the only theory I can come up with.