The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(114)
Mrs. Brewster’s late husband had left her comfortably well-off, but you’d never know it. She clipped every single coupon available to mankind—Claire had been behind her at the grocery store more than once. She put only two dollars in the collection basket at church each week, despite having enough money to leave more. And she gave out bite-size candy at Halloween. Bite-size!
“We can’t rely on Ryan’s mom as our major source of leads, and Mrs. Brewster spending big bucks on a remodel sounds improbable. She probably only used that line to try to get Molly to give her some kind of scoop about our business.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Don’t make me beg. If you have a solution, I won’t dismiss it out of hand, I promise. I’m not an idiot. We need an injection of income. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the doors open.”
Steffi went still, her chin just above the mug held midair. “Whatever it takes?”
Claire’s spine prickled in warning, but she motioned “Let’s have it” with both hands.
Steffi set down her mug and flattened both hands on the table. She sucked in her lips like she was thinking of a clever way to share what she knew. “How would you like to redecorate a high-end condo in Chelsea?”
“In the city?” Claire’s whole body prickled painfully at the thought of putting herself in the midst of that type of chaos and danger. She’d already been a random victim of one madman. Manhattan teemed with crazies, not the least of which were the people who drove their cars like missiles. “Who in the heck would hire us instead of any of the premier designers there?”
Steffi met Claire’s gaze. “Logan.”
Claire’s breath hitched. Her blood thickened as it pulsed through her veins and overheated her body. Tingles and terror all at once—a sensation she both loved and loathed. Yeah, she had her own mental problems. Maybe she belonged in New York, too. “No.”
“You just said you’d do whatever it takes.”
“Not that. Never that.” Claire didn’t need to look into a mirror to know that her fair, lightly freckled cheeks now looked like someone had smeared them with ripe strawberries.
“Just as I suspected.” Steffi shrugged nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just pulled the pin from a grenade and dropped it on the table. “So that leaves us a little tight until the spring. We can work on updating our website and amp up a social media presence. I just read an article . . .”
Claire heard Steffi talking, but her words ran together like white noise. Her brain was stuck back on the idea of working with—no—for Logan Prescott. His ploy was so obvious she could laugh. Did he really think he could buy her forgiveness for his sister? Well, Claire would never, ever forgive Peyton. Not even if the woman’s gorgeous brother paid her a million dollars to renovate his condo.
The very condo Peyton had moved into while undergoing chemo because Todd had dumped her when she got sick. Sure, Todd was a real shit, but Claire had learned that a year earlier. His leaving served Peyton right for breaking a cardinal rule of friendship. Eyes closed, Claire pressed her palm to her hot cheek, silently asking for forgiveness for yet another ugly thought.
“Claire? Did you hear anything I said?” Steffi turned her hands out in question.
“Sorry.” She rubbed the scowl from her forehead. “I’ll find another way to make us money and turn up new leads. Working with Logan is a hard no.”
“Too bad. You’d have so much fun decorating his place. I’m sure he’d let you do whatever you wanted. He doesn’t care all that much because he’s not there often.”
Of course he wasn’t. Only a Prescott would own a multimillion-dollar property that sat vacant as often as it was occupied.
Their family’s legacy stemmed from their great-grandfather’s famed body of literature. The Prescott mystique—and coastal home here in town—was like something out of The Great Gatsby. Logan, like his sister, had chosen a career that let him jet-set around the world. Documentary photographer sounded cool. Suited him. He’d always been an interesting mix of adventurer, sensitivity, and artist. Not that she paid too much attention to his comings and goings.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Did I call you one?” Steffi had the gall to look stunned.
“This has Peyton’s paw prints all over it. I’d bet my last penny that she planted this seed. I don’t know what I hate more, that she did it, that you took the bait, or that she knows how desperate for money we are.”
“This isn’t a conspiracy. I happened to lament to them that I felt bad about putting you in this situation because of this home. Logan tossed out the idea on the spot.”
“I can’t deal with the strings that would come with his offer.” Except now Claire couldn’t focus on anything else because thinking about Logan took up all the space in her head and chest. If Peyton hadn’t stolen Todd, she would’ve been thrilled to work closely with Logan. Not that she would’ve been free to act on the kind of desire he inspired. Of course, she never had acted on it, even when she’d been free. Any attempt would be in vain, anyway. The hawkish way he stared at her turned her into a ninny around him and—oh, just no. “I thought you finally understood that.”
“I do. That’s why I wasn’t going to say anything.” Steffi crossed her arms. “You forced me to tell you.”