Chapter Two

“Devon, the Fur Gala is cancelled.”

She blinked at Jordan’s shriek blasting into her ear and quickly switched to speaker mode since the shop was empty. “Wait, what do you mean? You said it was moving forward with Mac’s cousin.”

“That’s what I thought, but I got a call from the shelter—Judith is frantic because she was told the dates wouldn’t work any longer and Jameson suggested the event be moved to the fire hall.”

“Wait—what? In two weeks? Invites have already gone out! Does Mac know about this?”

A hard breath huffed over the line. “No. Judith called him but the man was stressed because his sister ended up at the hospital and is now on bedrest. Judith can’t bother him now when he put his cousin in charge. Oh, it gets worse.”

Devon stared at the phone wide-eyed. “What else?”

“Judith has Covid. So basically, she’s quarantined for the week and her staff has to deal with the fallout, and they have no time. It all blew up and I feel terrible. I want to help but I have a bunch of holiday weddings and fittings. Ugh, what is wrong with this guy? Doesn’t he understand how important this gala is to the shelter?”

Devon couldn’t help the amusement leaking through her voice. “You said he was hot and wanted to set me up.”

“Not anymore! He’s a grinch and shouldn’t be here. What are we going to do?”

Devon clicked through the possible scenarios with the ease of an expert. As a florist who’d dealt with endless weddings, she’d seen hundreds of emergencies and learned to keep cool in hot-spot situations. Working with demanding brides and grooms trained her for excellent customer service and dealing with various challenging scenarios. “I’ll talk to him. I meant to stop by but things got busy. Maybe if I explain the situation, he’ll be reasonable. After all, he doesn’t know the community here. I’m sure I can straighten it out.”

“You are the best! Thanks, Devon, let me know what happens.”

Devon smiled. Her friend had rescued three cats from the shelter and was passionate about the organization. Beach towns were notoriously hard to place pets and too many horror stories had occurred with tourists dumping their animals and fleeing. “You got it. I’ll head over there now and take a lunch break.”

Kissing noises came back at her. Devon laughed and hung up. It took her a few minutes to close up and put a sign on the door, then she headed out. The wind whipped at her long hair, the salty scent filling her nostrils. She hurried to her car even as she admired the roar of the ocean’s fury crashing over the sand. Foamy tips of the waves hurled high and choppy under a gray cloudless sky. Even though she’d lived here for years, Devon always appreciated the thrill of living by the beach in a close community who cared about one another. She loved the hustle and bustle of the crowds during summer season for the raw energy and newness they brought in, but her favorite month was always December. Bed and breakfasts glowed with holiday lights, cafes created unique menus and drinks with cinnamon and pumpkin to warm the belly, and a low hum of excitement seemed to fill the air. Once January came, the place shut down, like flowering plants closed their blooms tight and slept. It was a time Devon loved to reflect on the past year, go inward, and enjoy that final blast of holiday gathering before hibernation.

Pumping up the heat, she drove to the Physick Estate, the famous Victorian house museum. The historical mansion was set near the tennis courts, courting a steady crowd throughout the year. Vintage was tucked behind the mansion, a quirky restaurant with flair and charm both tourists and locals loved. The long outdoor patio held large heaters to take advantage of milder evenings. Devon parked near the tennis courts and walked in, noting the patio was empty for the lunch crowd, but the main room was bustling.

She poked her head in and caught Trisha’s eye, who immediately came over. “Hi, Dev.” The young brunette was a college student known for her positive energy and sweet manner. Mac was flexible with her shifts due to her changing schedule, and Trish had been working at Vintage for the past two years. Today, Dev noticed there was a definite lack of bounce in her step and her gaze. “Can I get you a table? Take-out?”

Dev shook her head. “I want to see Mac’s cousin. Jameson, right? Is he here?”

Trisha’s lips pulled down. Devon didn’t remember her ever making that dour expression. “Yeah, he’s here. In the office.”

“You okay, sweets? You look stressed.”

Trisha sighed. “I just want Mac to come back. It’s only been a short time and I’m miserable.”

Concern flared. Trisha was beautiful and warm, which made her easy prey. “Wait—what’s going on? Is he doing something I should know about?”

“Oh, God, no, nothing like that! He’s just so different from Mac. He said no more changing my schedule, even though I have some family stuff coming up. Said the restaurant needed to be more efficient so no more flexible shifts.”

“Did you explain Mac was okay with it?”

Trish nodded. “Yeah, but it didn’t matter. Jameson said he was making major changes to Vintage. He called a big meeting with the staff. Marcus told me he wanted to quit because of the menu tweaks but he’s sticking it out for Mac. I’m not sure what’s going on, Dev.”

A frown creased her brow. This seemed to be getting worse. “Can I go see him?”

Trisha jerked her head. “Go ahead, just make sure you knock first. I got yelled at for that. I better get back to my tables.”

Her ponytail bobbed as she walked off. What kind of man did Mac sic on them all? Maybe it was a big misunderstanding and no one had let Jameson know how things worked around here? Either way, Dev had heard enough. She wasn’t about to let him pick apart Mac’s restaurant while he was dealing with a family crisis.

Squaring her shoulders, she headed to the back room and sharply knocked.

“Come in.”

The voice should have warned her. It had that deep smoothness with a touch of arrogance, but she opened the door with a warm smile, figuring she’d kill him with charm. “Jameson?” she asked, cocking her head in inquiry. “Hi, I’m Devon Pratt. I run the local floral shop. Welcome to Cape May.”

She waited for his response, keeping her smile at megawatt level.

The man peered over thick black framed glasses and pinned her with a cool, direct gaze. Her belly gave an odd little dip as she met those gray eyes that looked exactly like the day’s sky. Cloudless, a bit stormy, and completely commanding.

Jordan was right. He was definitely good looking in a very hot-nerd way. He wore a dark, form-fitting suit that was way too formal, yet made him look perfectly at ease. A narrow red tie and shiny Italian loafers hinted he knew and enjoyed the power of a good accessory. Average height and weight, but broad shoulders filled out his jacket. His hair was slicked back from his face and the color of burnt caramel. Highly cut cheekbones set off his features with a touch of elegance, but his lips were lush and full, giving him an edge of sensuality that kept him from being too prudish looking. All of this was catalogued within seconds while she held her position.

“Ms. Pratt, it’s nice to meet you, but I’m rather busy. Can I help you with something?”

She refused to stop smiling. “Please call me Devon. I’m here to help. I’m sure it’s been quite overwhelming for you to step into such chaos, and with Mac being out of touch, I wanted to offer my assistance. I hope his sister is safely out of the hospital?”

A tiny crease furrowed his brow. “How did you know about Mac’s sister?”

“Oh, everyone knows. News travels fast in this town.”

He didn’t look thrilled. In fact, he was studying her like she was a bug he was trying to analyze to see if it was worth keeping alive. “How archaic. Yes, she’s safely at home resting.”

“Good. I’m sure taking over the restaurant during the holidays has been a challenge. We all appreciate and support what you’re doing for Mac.”

He slowly blinked. “That’s nice. But I’ve been fine. Everything is under control.”

Devon shifted her feet. Her smile began to slip. “Well, I wanted to talk about the Fur Gala. My friend Jordan—she works at Vera’s Bridal—said you were trying to get it moved to the firehouse.”

“That’s correct.”

“I’m sure it seemed like a solid option but, unfortunately, it can’t really be moved at this late date. Invites have been sent, and the firehouse is too small. That place is used more for birthday parties and anniversary celebrations.”

“I’m sorry it won’t work out. Let me know if you decide to hold it somewhere else. I informed Judith I’m happy to offer a smaller, set menu for the inconvenience. Nice to meet you.”

He inclined his head as if to dismiss her.

Then turned back to his computer.

WTF?

She stared at him like a guppy, her smile long gone. Oh, this man was horrible. She’d hoped it was a misunderstanding, but now she was slowly realizing she was just dealing with an asshole.

Fine, then. She’d switch up her approach to something he’d better understand.

“Excuse me?”

He turned back at her sharp tone. “Yes?”

“I think we’ve had a tiny mishap of communication.” This time, her smile was sharp and sharklike. She raised her chin a few notches to emit a strong energy to match his. “We’ll need to hold the Fur Gala here at Vintage.”

“That’s impossible. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I can’t give up a Saturday of reservations at this point in the holiday season. It would financially harm Mac, and I’m sure that doesn’t bother you or anyone else, but he’s family and I’m looking out for his interest.”

A hot wave of anger rushed through her. She shook her head hard to clear it. “I’m sure you don’t realize as a newcomer, but Mac is both cared about and respected in this town. No one would ever take advantage of him. He’s always sponsored the gala and I’m sure he would be devastated to learn his family deliberately ruined a beloved charity event he believes in.”

Silence fell. Slowly, he refastened his gaze on her, but this time it held a flash of emotion that turned his eyes to a moody pale blue. Those full lips pursed as if he’d tasted something bad. “Are you a tattletale Ms. Pratt?”

Her jaw unhinged. Her voice grew a tiny bit shrill. “Excuse me?”

He waved his hand gracefully in the air. “Are you threatening to call Mac while he’s focusing on helping his sister so you can spin a story that makes me look like the bad guy?”

A growl rose low in her throat. “I met you only five minutes ago. You are the bad guy.”

A humorless smile touched his lips. “I intend to make some hard changes to help my cousin.”

“I see. Do you have any experience in owning a restaurant or is this your opportunity to learn from a quick internship at all of our expense?”

He jerked back. Satisfaction flowed in her veins. Oh, she did not like him. There was nothing worse in her estimation than a yummily attractive man with a crappy personality. “I’ve run the Bordeaux Café in Manhattan for the past five years. I know how to create a profitable menu, establish an atmosphere that draws customers, and manage a large staff that offers competitive wages. I think I’m quite capable of knowing what Vintage needs even if it’s about making difficult choices. Unfortunately, Mac leads with his heart.”

“You can run a successful business with both. I’m sure you wouldn’t understand that.”

One brow lifted. “Perhaps the floral business allows for such indulgence. I can assure you the restaurant business does not.”

And just like that, Devon lost her temper.

She took a few steps in and jabbed her finger in the air. “You wouldn’t know how to handle a day at my shop, restaurant boy. And cancelling on a charity two weeks before the event is bad business in whatever way you want to look at it. I refuse to let you ruin this town’s tradition because you want to line your pocket with a few extra bucks. I don’t care what I have to do. You will honor the agreement and hold the gala here or I will make you sorely regret it.”

The words shot and floated through the room like post-gunfire. A slight trembling shook her body from the depth of her emotions, and she dully noted it had been a long time since any individual—male or female—brought out her full ire. Devon braced herself for the fight of the century.

“Restaurant boy?”

The droll amusement only notched her temper higher. “I mean it. I will help you do this but you have a responsibility to keep your damn word.”

The man had the audacity to lean back in his chair with ease and regard her under lashes that were too thick for a male. “And if I don’t?”

Devon realized she’d make a bigger impression if she was like him.

Cold-hearted, methodical, and ruthless.

“I know people.”

Interest piqued in those storm cloud eyes. “Mob?”

“No. Legal people. Wouldn’t it be a shame to try and make productive changes and have to deal with customer complaints regarding the food? Or sanitary conditions?” She clucked her tongue. “Mac just got his liquor license. I bet you’d make a pretty penny selling your fancy Manhattan cocktails here. Wouldn’t it be a shame if something happened to that liquor license?”

“You really like dogs, don’t you?”

She narrowed her gaze and tried to figure him out. He was so damn…perplexing. Devon expected anger, or some other type of boorish behavior. Instead, he acted like he was royalty who refused to show weakness or emotion. Unfortunately, it only made her want to stir him up a bit to see where his limits were.

“Dogs are the bomb. They deserve a little happiness before being returned to their cages without a family for Christmas.”

And then something amazing happened.

He laughed.

Sure, it was a chuckle, and not a full-blown chest laugh, but the sound ruffled her nerve endings and made her want to remember it so she could replay the scene later in her head. “Okay, flower girl. I’ll give you what you want because I have limited time to deal with your threats but I have no time to structure this event. I’ll serve local beer and wine. I’ll offer up a limited menu based on my choices. That’s it. You do everything else and there will be no interference with the lunch crowd. The event begins at six pm, and I serve till 4pm. That means, no early drop-offs or distractions for my staff.”

She opened her mouth to say something but he kept going.

“And if I need anything, I plan to call you and only you. The moment you don’t respond, I’m calling the whole thing off, and you can blame the dogs’ broken hearts on your inability to follow through. Understood?”

“Flower girl?”

He grinned and her stomach did another weird flip. Something about those lips distracted her. “Tit for tat. Now, I need to get back to work.”

This time, he turned around and began tapping at his keyboard.

She’d already been dismissed.

Head spinning, unable to come up with a proper retaliation, Devon left, wondering if she’d won the battle only to have lost the war.

Because dealing with that man for the next two weeks was going to be hell on Earth.