“Why did you get out?” Her back snapped straight, and she whipped around to face them. A blush stained her cheeks. “I’mso sorry. That was really rude of me to ask. It’s absolutely none of my business.”
“Nah, it’s cool.” Anders chuckled. “I was medically separated due to an injury. It wasn’t really my choice.”
Brock lifted one shoulder, his reasons his own. “I just got tired of the bullshit.”
And damn, there was so much of it. So much hurry up and wait. So many tedious rules. Getting something routed up the chain of command could take weeks, sometimes longer if it was just sitting on someone’s desk. So many people had different answers for the same questions. So many leaders decided which orders they wanted to enforce and which ones they’d let slide. It was a total crapshoot half the time.
“Fair enough.” Juliette turned to Anders. “And you decided to come to Mystic Cove and work with Brock?”
“Yeah.” Anders shifted, adjusting the sleeves of his gray Henley. He held her gaze, but his expression was stony. “Home wasn’t really an option.”
Juliette nodded, unbuttoning her gray coat. “I can relate.”
“Here, let me get that for you.” Brock took her coat. “I’ll go hang it in the hall closet.”
He tossed it over his arm right as the doorbell to the main house chimed.
“I’ll get it.” Brock nodded to Anders. “See if Juliette wants a?—”
Anders gave a mock salute, his blue eyes glinting. “So, Jules, can I get you a coffee or sweet tea?”
Again, Juliette smiled so it illuminated the whole of her face. “Sure.”
Brock headed to the front door, pausing to hang her coat in the closet, determined to brush off the fact that she let Anders call her Jules. He rubbed his fist against his chest, like he could somehow ease the sting of envy, but it was useless. She didn’twant to be his friend, she’d made that perfectly clear, and he had to respect her decision. Now they were coworkers. Associates. And he’d been the one to draw that line.
It would be impossible to cross.
A coldness, like a chill of some sort, seeped into Brock’s heart. He ignored the spread of its icy grip and pulled open the door. Only to find his father standing before him.
“Brockton.” Aidan Gallagher smoothed the front of his crisp black suit. A bright yellow and purple tie was knotted at his neck, and his shoes were smartly polished. He flicked his wrist, and the massive face of his glittering Rolex blinked brilliantly in the winter sunlight. He’d left the engine running on his Mercedes.
Smart man. This wouldn’t take long.
Brock crossed his arms and ignored the bite of wind creeping through his sweater and into his skin. “What do you want?”
Aidan wasted no time. “I came to talk to you about a proposal, to help you convince Yaya to sell.”
Of course his father wouldn’t take no for an answer. Brock inhaled sharply, leveling him with a hard stare. “I already told you, I’m not interested in any of your offers.”
His father held out a glossy black leather binder. He tapped it once. “This one might change your mind.”
“I doubt it.”
“Look, Brockton, if Ma agrees to sell in a timely manner, I can make some allowances.”
“Is that so?” Allowances were more like fake promises, and promises were something his father was notorious for breaking. “Like what?”
Aidan looked around as though he were simply pulling ideas out of the air. “We can follow Hilton Head’s lead. No flashy signs. No buildings above a certain height. Maybe a specific color scheme, something neutral. Beach-like.” He ran his thumb alonghis freshly shaven jawline. “We might even be able to find a way to restrict the number of tourists.”
Brock barked out a rough laugh. “It’s not going to work.”
He sensed Juliette and Anders coming up behind him. But by the time he registered them, Juliette was already pushing past him and standing on the front porch.
She folded her arms over her chest, eyed Aidan coolly, and cocked one hip to the side. “You’re Aidan Gallagher.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I am.” He smiled broadly. It was silky. Charming. Like that of a man who got his way no matter who he crushed or destroyed. Then he inclined his head, dipping it in greeting. His eyes took on a knowing gleam. “And you’re Juliette Laurent.”
