Page 6 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

“Historical antiquities expert?”

She gave him an incredulous look, as in “Are you mocking me?”

“Computer mapping? Boating skills? A mechanic? Nursing? Accounting?”

With each of his questions, her shoulders slumped lower. In truth, he had all the crew he needed, and they were all experienced. “I thought you were working to restore the diner and motel.”

“I am, but that requires a shitload . . . well, more money than I have at the moment. It could be months before I open for business.”

He shrugged. “You could always get a waitress job or something in town, as a temporary solution. I hear the tips are generous here on the island.”

“I could also be a stripper . . .”

He blinked, unable to come up with an answer that wouldn’t put him in the Horndog Hall of Shame.

“. . . which isn’t going to happen since my tassels are all worn out.”

He blinked several more times.

“I’m just kidding. Jeesh!” She shook her head decisively. “I’m not that desperate, even though I do need a big chunk of money, up front.”

“You think I give advances on earnings? Sign-on bonuses? Hell, salvaging is a gamble at best. The pay is scarcely above minimum wage, the attraction being a piece of the pie for all the crew if we ever actually discover the pie.”

“I have basic carpentry and renovation skills, like painting. I can clean like nobody’s business. And I can cook. Really well. I know that’s not the kind of pie you mean, but don’t you need someone to provide meals when you’re out on the water? When I open that diner, it will be a huge success. I know it will. But I need a new commercial stove and a propane tank before I can think about lighting a fire.”

“Is that what you need the money for? Equipment?”

“No. It’s something else.”

The flash of fear in her blue eyes was a clear signal to Merrill. He’d been involved in undercover intelligence for too many years not to recognize trouble, and he didn’t mean an overdrawn bank account. “What?”

“None of your damn business,” she snapped. Then softened her tone when she realized her attitude wasn’t helping her prospects. “I’d rather not say.”

“I beg your pardon. You want a job, and an advance, with, let me guess, no references, but you won’t tell me why you’re so desperate.” He put up a halting hand and continued, “No, don’t try to tell me that you aren’t desperate. I might be three sheets to the wind, but I’m not brain-dead. You have to be aware that I have the hots . . . rather, an attraction for you, but you’ve made it more than clear on every occasion that we’ve met that I am repugnant to you. So, even though you’re not stripper-desperate, I figure you must be really desperate to come to me for help.” He arched his brows in question. “Right?”

“Repugnant? I wish!” She cast him a sideways survey. “You are so hot you make my toes curl.”

Whaaat? He thought about asking her to repeat that remark, but he’d heard her loud and clear. Besides, he didn’t want to chance her taking it back. “Then why the cold shoulder?”

“The last thing in the world I need right now is a relationship, for all the obvious reasons . . . a new town, a new business, no time, yada yada . . . but some other reasons, as well.”

“Same here,” he agreed. But that didn’t stop the sap from rising, as his Viking friends were wont to say, and other things from rising, as his SEAL pals were wont to say in a much more graphic fashion. “I thought it was because I offended you with my stupid comment about a porno princess name when we first met.”

“Everyone says that. No biggie!” She waved a hand dismissively. “If I’ve been rude, it’s nothing personal.”

“It feels fucking personal.”

This time she did stand and put her hands on her hips. With her chin raised sky-high, she declared, “Never mind. Forget I asked. It was a fu . . . freakin’ long shot, coming to you about a job. Sorry to have bothered you.”

There was still that nervousness about her fidgeting hands, and the fearful expression in her eyes. “Are you in trouble?” he asked bluntly.

She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them to look at him directly. Terror stared out at him from the caramel depths before she whispered, “Big-time,” but then she raised her chin even higher and asserted, “It’s not your problem. I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

And that cinched the deal! Before she could make a hasty exit, he blurted out, “Okay, you’re hired.”

Even as he said those words, he felt kind of like Marie Antoinette must have before she stepped up to the guillotine. Ironically, the band morphed into a new song, “Another One Bites the Dust.”

Chapter 2