“University of Maryland,” he said. “I got a bachelor of science in landscape architecture. So how about it, lady? Want a date to the garden show?”
He was staring at her décolleté, and she hated being called “lady.”
“I don’t think we are a good match,” she said, heat flushing her face.
“Come on, Professor,” he urged. “You’re sexy, smart, and you know flowers. And I’ve always had a thing for ladylike Southern belles.”
Was he making fun of her? She wasnota sexy woman. Pretty, yes, but hyper-masculine jocks like Jack Latimer usually wanted only one thing at the end of a date. Besides, once she got him evicted from the Roost, he wouldn’t be so eager to escort her on a garden tour.
“I’m sorry, no,” she said, pulling up the edges of her shrug to cover more of her neckline. “We’re not a good match.”
“Not a good match?” he said in surprise. “I respect you, Alice. When we met at the clubhouse, you never yelled or swore to make your point, even though I could tell I was driving you up a wall. I like a woman who understands that gentleness isn’t a weakness, it’s a choice. You strike me as the sort who can host a tea party with perfect manners but still hold your own in a debate without breaking a sweat or losing your class. And I’ll tellyou something else. I may be shooting myself in the foot here, but I like the challenge of getting to know you. Therealyou. I like the lace and the pearls and the perfume … but underneath it all I think there’s a woman I’d like to know. And Professor . . . I’d like to take you on a tour of the best gardens in Williamsburg.”
His words were flattering, and the sheer masculine appreciation in his gaze was melting her resolve. If she wasn’t about to get him kicked out of the Roost, she might have taken the chance.
“I’m afraid my answer has to remain no,” she said with a gentle smile. “But for what it’s worth, you make saying no an awfully difficult task.”
She walked into the courthouse, wishing she could free herself from this strange, irrational flare of attraction.
Jack needed to buy a new sports jacket for the Kentucky Derby party out at Kyle Tucker’s estate. While most of his career was spent wearing a polo shirt out on development sites or playing a round of golf with business associates, sometimes more formal events required a suit, and this was one of them.
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to wear to a Derby party,” he confided in the menswear sales associate.
“You’ll need a lightweight silk jacket, or perhaps a seersucker blazer.”
“So a business suit won’t work?”
“Not unless you want to look overdressed,” the sales associate said.
It was important to look like he belonged because Jack was always on the hunt for the next job. In the twelve years Jack hadbeen designing golf courses, his contracts almost always began at social events.
The jacket the sales associate recommended was spot-on—lightweight, polished yet effortlessly relaxed. It exuded a timeless, gentleman-of-leisure vibe, perfect for the outdoor Derby party Kyle and Daisy Tucker were hosting. Showing up in his business suit would have been a disaster, so he felt a surge of gratitude for this find—until he caught sight of the price tag.
“Eight hundred bucks?”
The sales associate nodded. “The fabric was made in Italy,” he explained. “It has reinforced stitching and a tighter weave. It drapes perfectly and has clean lines with a natural fall.”
Great, but Jack still didn’t want to pay eight hundred dollars for a jacket he might only wear once, even though he wasn’t poor anymore. The Kentucky Derby bash at the Tucker estate was the most-sought-after invitation in the county. Jack would be rubbing shoulders with congressmen, celebrities, and all manner of rich people who spent too much time and money at country clubs. They were precisely the kind of people who thought nothing of splashing twenty grand a year on a golf membership, so it was a good opportunity to glad-hand his future customers.
Customers, not friends. Blurring the line between the two was a dangerous and expensive mistake.
He decided the overpriced jacket was a business investment, and he pulled out his credit card. He was still smarting over the cost as he drove home. It had been a long day and exhaustion tugged as he parked the truck and headed toward the Roost.
A note tacked to the front door fluttered in the weak breeze. He laid the garment bag with his pricy jacket over the porch railing to unpin the note and read:
We regret to inform you that this structure, commonly known as “the Roost,”has been deemed unsafe for habitationdue to significant structural deficiencies, as well as the lack of running water and electricity. Your continued occupancy poses serious safety risks and may hinder efforts toward potential historic preservation.
You are hereby notified that you must vacate the premises within 48 hours. Failure to comply with this eviction notice may result in legal action, financial penalties, and risks to your personal safety.
A haze of red clouded Jack’s vision. There was nothing unsafe about living at the Roost. It was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t unsafe.
This was Alice Chadwick’s doing, and she was about to learn that he wasn’t the sort of man to take something like this lying down . . . especially when it involved defending an investment that represented his entire life savings.
Chapter Six
Alice almost didn’t attend the annual Kentucky Derby party at Cherrywood, the name of Daisy and Kyle’s grand old plantation. It would be her first major outing since returning from England, and she wasn’t quite ready for a high-society bash. She would have skipped the party if she hadn’t promised to arrive a few hours early to help Daisy put the finishing touches on the canapés and decorations.
Thank heavens she didn’t cancel, because Daisy was frantic when Alice arrived. Cherrywood’s oversized gourmet kitchen was large enough to fit a small skating rink. High ceilings lined with exposed beams, a massive center island, and a vintage chandelier had the grandeur of old Virginia, while state-of-the-art appliances ensured effortless hospitality. Caterers in crisp uniforms bustled about, preparing most of the food. Yet Daisy insisted on contributing a few of her signature dishes, including her legendary corn fritters.
