Chapter 7
“WADE, I LOVE ALL THE flowers in this design.” Shelby pointed at the newest colored sketches he held for her to see. “We might want to consider some gardens with just that in mind.”
“Like this?” He whipped off the top sheet with the flourish of a magician and revealed a drawing of some formal gardens.
“Oh, I like these,” she said. “We need to show this to Alan when he gets here.”
“He’s coming?”
“Didn’t he email you?” Shelby asked.
“No.” Wade pulled out his phone and checked. “But the system’s been twitchy today. Probably that storm headed our way. Look, these are just prelims from our landscape architect. She’s doing some research right now for a list of plants native to that part of France that will work here. Our biggest challenge with the island could be the amount of wind.” He sat down. “We’d just like to know if Grantham can afford to add these features before we have her spend any more time on it.”
“I can imagine some great photo opportunities.” Shelby leaned forward in her chair and studied the bright combination of colorful flowers, some in planters and others climbing the stone walls. She looked up. “Why Rochefort-en-fleur? That name is a mouthful. I heard one of the construction workers call it Rockford.” When she’d heard that, she hadn’t been sure if she should laugh or be insulted.
“It’s a play on the name of a real French village.” Wade leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “You really like the additions?” He didn’t quite look at her.
She eyed him curiously, remembering how he used to do that when he felt insecure. The last ten days had been full of moments like this. Times when they acted like regular coworkers who didn’t have a history, followed by periods of awkwardness. Periods that gave her intense flashbacks. And there were those bursts of connection, the moments of sweet tenderness.
A part of her wanted to pursue those, find out if he’d changed his mind. And then she’d meet his gaze and all she saw was this new guy who just happened to live in Wade’s body.
The whole situation confused her, and she didn’t like being confused. Life should be straightforward and simple. Say what she thought and let the cards fall where they may. Then, just when she’d decided to do just that, there’d be thatsomethingin his expression. It’d disappear almost as fast as it came. It kept her from speaking up. She glanced at the drawing again; it niggled at her mind.
“It’s so beautiful,” Shelby said a little dreamily, allowing herself to be pulled into the memory. “It reminds me of when I was a little kid. I had a friend whose mom used to get free catalogs in the mail. They were nearly as poor as we were, except her mom took care of their things. I could tell her mom dreamed of a better life someday. She’d let us look at the catalogues filled with pictures of rooms with nice furniture and clever decorations. She’d even get gardening catalogs, even though we lived in the tenements. I used to dream of actually walking inside one of the rooms or gardens from those catalogs.”
“How could the daughter of Charles Grantham have been poor?” Wade asked, his voice soft.
“I told you about how poor I was growing up.” Shelby straightened, her face tightening. Had he forgotten all those times he’d comforted her over her pathetic excuse for a mother? He, who’d grown up in the stereotypical middle-class family.
“But, Shel, when you told me who your father was—” He looked down at his hands, as though gathering his thoughts.
“What?” All this time, she hadn’t been able to forget his expression. Plenty of people had hurt her, but nothing like that look had. Likeshehad somehow betrayedhim.
“Suddenly everything you’d told me didn’t fit anymore.” He met her gaze then. “The only thing that made sense was that you’d been lying to me for years.”
“Lying?” Face flaming, Shelby jumped to her feet, her chair rolling at an angle and banging into the wall.
Wade had risen to his feet when she did. He reached out to her.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she spat, taking a step back. Wade dropped his hand as she said, “Everything I told you was true. I didn’t even know Charles Grantham was my father until I was almost sixteen when Alan showed up at my mother’s funeral. It’s beentenyears, and I still haven’t met my father. He runs everything through Alan.”
“You—”
“Hello?” The Avalon Village foreman opened the screen door and peeked in, looking uncertain. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to Mr. Masters.”
“You’re fine. We’re finished here.” She handed Wade the garden plans. “If we keep it Disneyland-clean, it could be better than visiting the real France. I’ll talk with Alan after I work up some numbers. I think I can make the case that the ROI would be high enough.”
“I’m glad you liked my idea.” He tapped the plans against his thigh before pitching his voice low. “I’m sorry I thought you’d lied, Shel.” Wade turned to the foreman and indicated the door; the two men left together.
Shelby pulled a tissue from a box and blew her nose. Her stomach rumbled; she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.
After the initial anger, she felt oddly disconnected from herself, emotionally removed. Kind of like after she’d burned herself and she knew it was going to hurt like blazes. But it didn’t yet. She saw it coming, could almost analyze it as though she considered someone else’s pain. She recalled the expression on Wade’s face at graduation practice—because he believed her to be a liar.
She didn’t want to think about it.
Turning, she tossed the tissue in the trash. She had a job to do, and the sooner she finished it, the sooner she’d never have to see Wade Masters again. She moved her chair back to the desk and sat down to face the financials spread out for review. Yes, she had a job to do.
Shelby’s father had sent her to take care of bad project managers before, but Alan had always hinted at the problem before sending her. That first day here as she’d watched Conti load his hastily packed luggage onto the helicopter, she’d realized something. She’d “arrived.”
