Seb chuckled. “Is it possible to keep this off the record?”
“Definitely.” She didn’t have the heart to remind him they were on a public street where anyone could spot them. She’d manage the fallout if necessary. “And easier if Vince takes lead on the interview again.”
“Fine by me,” Seb murmured, pulling her flush against him once more. “Because I’m not done with this specific research topic yet.”
CHAPTER 8
The morning light in the Lowcountry was too bright, too cheerful, and entirely too loud. Seb stood in his kitchen, the busy sounds of the espresso machine mocking his lack of sleep. Beside him, Digby was doing celebratory laps around the kitchen island, his paws clicking away in a frantic, happy rhythm.
“What is with you?” he asked without any heat. “Aren’t you supposed to support me in my misery?” Seb muttered. He sounded as bad as he felt, as if he’d been dragged up and down a gravel road. Nothing like a legal conundrum to take him from elated to frustration-induced insomnia.
He’d been riding that first kiss high, planning his next move and what to do for a real first date when he’d made the mistake of checking his email before bed. His lawyers had heartily disagreed with his decision to be transparent about the lighthouse parcel ownership. He had no idea why they were making it such an issue. It wasn’t as if he was actively looking for a developer to take it off his hands.
“I’m the client,” he said to Digby. “It’s supposed to be my decision.”
No matter how they handled it, the tax burden wouldn’t be a big deal. The merger could fall apart and he would still be set for life. Had his lawyers forgotten his net worth? Or did they believe they’d drained him dry?
That thought put just enough doubt in his sleep-deprived head that he grabbed the espresso and went straight to the office to confirm his accounts were in order.
Of course they were.
He downed the espresso faster than usual, the strong hit of caffeine a welcome contrast to the lingering, sweet memory of Holly’s lips. The kiss had been a tactical error—a beautiful, life-altering, catastrophic error. Wonderful, but it definitely shifted the variables and did nothing for his focus.
He marveled that he didn’t feel like an outsider anymore. He felt as if he was blending in, becoming part of the local scene. Where would a local take a first date? Opening a search window, he reviewed the options on Brookwell.
But first-date vibes when she was the editor of theBuglecould pose a problem for her later, even if Vince took over. He expanded his search to Charleston, looking for some place where he could guarantee more privacy and discretion.
The chime of an incoming email jolted him out of his happier endeavor. Changing to his inbox, he sighed over the video call request pulsing on the center screen. Marvin Drayton, his lead attorney, wouldn’t be calling at this hour unless something was burning down.
Seb hit the connect button. Marv appeared, looking crisp and caffeinated in a high-rise office in Palo Alto. It was more than a little intimidating when Seb realized it was only five in the morning out west.
“Seb. Thanks for picking up.” His dark forehead wrinkled with concern. “Were you working late or up early? I can never tell since you moved to the swamp.”
“It’s a marsh, Marv.” A marsh on one side, and a river along the other, but he kept that to himself. “What’s on fire?”
“There’s my favorite grumpy tech mogul,” Marv joked.
Seb wasn’t amused. He eyed his empty espresso cup long enough to get Marv on topic.
“This merger,” Marv began, leaning into the camera. “The Vanguard board is getting twitchy and your board of directors has concerns as well.”
Seb suspected someone had gotten chatty over a round of golf recently. “They don’t get to dictate where I live.” Or how. “My address has no bearing on business.”
“Well.” Marv cleared his throat. “Of course not. But there was some sort of post in an online blog or paper.” His gaze shifted as he checked his monitor. “TheBrookwell Buglereferenced an upcoming profile on the mysterious mogul.”
Seb snapped a leash on his temper as he pulled up theBuglewebsite. There was no way Holly would double-cross him. He saw the Vince Goodridge byline and skimmed the article in record time.
It was little more than a teaser about the upcoming story on who he was and what moved him to purchase the Marion estate.
“What’s so problematic? Seb asked. “It’s a small-town thing. Apparently, my new home,” he used the word deliberately, “belonged to a beloved senator’s family for generations. The estate is basically a celebrity on its own. The article is a human-interest angle at best, nothing that would affect my work or the valuation on the merger.”
“And when that feel-good small town human interest turns into torches and pitchforks?”
“Careful, Marv. That sounds as if you’re calling me Dr. Frankenstein.”
Marv scowled and leaned close to the camera again. “Quit deflecting,” he barked. “I want your name as far from the lighthouse property as I can get it.”
“It’s part of the estate.”
