I drive into Ashleigh Lake and find parking off the main street. When I researched Ashleigh Lake, I thought it would be a quiet town, but it’s tourist season and I’m surprised how busy the place is for a Tuesday afternoon. A lot of the folks are doing what I want to do—browse, idle away time, eat a hearty lunch with the hope that a solution to all my problems will fall from the sky straight into my lap like a dollop of ketchup.
I’m famished, so I find a small table at a restaurant that overlooks the lake. Once I’ve ordered, I sit back and try to get my head around what’s happened today.
“George?”
I look up at Hunter Logan as he stands closer. “Hunter.”
“No sign of Raiden?” He glances around for a moment and sighs. “It’s going that well?”
“Ah!” My laugh is mirthless, and I wish I could boot both Logan brothers into the lake, but my irritation isn’t with Hunter Logan. “Can you believe there was a TV crew this morning, and he was late! And hung over and reeking of beer.”
At this, Hunter’s eyebrows hitch. “That doesn’t sound like Raiden.” He checks his phone and waves at someone not far off. “I only have a minute. Mind if I sit down?”
“Please.” If anyone can give me insight into this situation, it’s Raiden’s brother. That is, if I still want the insight. “What does Raiden sound like then?”
“Doesn’t talk much, does he? He’s pretty serious about this tiny house competition and has a lot riding on it.”
“He’s been trying to get rid of me since I arrived.”
“Hmm.”
“He hasn’t told me a thing. This morning’s TV crew was totally unexpected. I don’t know why I’m here, and he’s just being a pain in the ass.”
“Now that sounds more like Raiden.” Hunter chuckles, but it dries up quickly. “Raiden is…Raiden. He’ll open up and show you his true colors soon enough. All I ask is that you stay, please. Whatever reason he gave you yesterday for this not working out, I bet you he already regrets it and has changed his mind. Probably wanted to apologize to you within ten minutes but couldn’t say it straight. Give him a week. Stretch it to two if you can, and then see how you feel about him and the project. If you’re concerned about the pay or anything like that, I’ve got you covered, although Raiden would never pull a stunt like that. He’s one of the most honest guys I know.”
As sweet as it is for his brother to stand up for him in such a supportive way, this is my opportunity too and I hadn’t planned on fighting with a Vermont grump for six weeks. “I haven’t been briefed properly. Why should I stay?”
“Because he needs someone to draw up his plans to meet the competition rules and not like they are in his head or whatever scraps of paper he’s shown you, if he’s shown you anything.” Hunter pauses a minute, seeming to want to say something and then changing his mind. “He needs someone to be the smooth talker during the film shoots. As for the rest, make him toe the line when it comes to the competition rules. He’s too creative and sometimes forgets the details in the bigger picture. Or vice versa. There’s no predicting, really.”
Inwardly I groan and shake my head. I didn’t come all the way from Miami to babysit some big boy creative who needs to be reined in twenty-four hours a day. “I’m leaving. I’ve packed my things, they’re in the car. After lunch I’m picking up my laptop that I left at the barn in a moment of blind stupidity, and then I’m off to Burlington for the first flight back to Miami.”
“And playing right into Raiden’s hand. When I read your résumé, I thought you had more grit than that.”
What? More grit? That’s an insult for sure, but—
His phone vibrates where he placed it on the table, and he holds out his hand as he stands. “Nice seeing you again. My lunch meeting is waiting, so I’ve got to run.”
I stand to shake his hand. “I’m not sure how—”
“If he plays you, play back harder.”
With those last words hanging, Hunter walks off to the opposite side of the patio where he meets up with a pretty brunette in a corporate suit and heels.
I sink back into my chair as his words hit home. I’m playing into Raiden’s hands and not showing an inch of grit, and that’s not Georgiana Wess. Certainly not the Georgiana who stood up to Veronique Wess a few days ago, and that was one hell of a gritty move with consequences yet to be determined.
This is a different situation, and yet exactly the same. I can’t allow Raiden to override me. The least I can do is demand two weeks’ probation—for him, mind you—to allow tensions at home to cool off and keep my head busy with something else.
Probation. A most excellent notion. If Raiden passes the two weeks, I might stay on.
My club sandwich arrives, and I dig in with fervor. A woman can’t be full of grit on an empty stomach.
When I get into my car twenty minutes later, I’m ready to be an even bigger pain in the ass than Raiden could ever dream of being. We’re about to butt heads hard.
As I pull up at the barn, I eye Raiden’s truck with some satisfaction. He’s here, and he’s about to get an earful.
I pause on the barn’s threshold and peer inside. Raiden is hauling a pile of studs closer to the trailer and is still as shirtless as when I left him earlier at the boathouse. A sheen of sweat shines on his skin, and his muscles ripple with the movement of carrying multiple pieces of wood. He’s wearing gloves and becomes aware of me when he seems to notice my shadow.
I bite my lip as I step closer, and he lowers the wood to the floor and straightens. He peels off his gloves and plucks two wireless earbuds from his ears, takes his phone out of his ass pocket and pauses whatever he’s listening to.