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She took another sip of her pop. “Regardless of the visual, the sheet needs a starting bid, so say three-fifty or around ten percent of its value, with fifty-cent or one-dollar increases. Now, if your brother were to donate one of his photographs, on the other hand, you’d have a much higher value amount because he’s well known in his field. That would make both the starting bid and the increments higher. See?”
“Yeah, I do.” And he liked the idea. No one else in town was doing anything like it. “So you just flop the stuff down on a table and you’re good to go?”
“God.” Her mouth quirked up. “You’re such a guy. The idea is to try to make the presentations as striking as possible to capture as much bidder interest as you can. You also need to give people enough time to both look at what’s offered and to bid again if someone trumps them. And have a clear end time. Then you’d need someone responsible to collect the money, but that’s pretty straightforward. The winner simply brings the sheet to the cashier and pays the final bid amount on it. And since it’s for a charity, you don’t have to deal with collecting sales tax—although I’d double-check that one in case Washington state differs in that respect.”
“That’s so cool. What else you got?”
She blinked those olive-green eyes at him. “’Scuse me?”
“You said ‘for starters.’ Does that mean you have even more ideas?”
“Oh, honey.” Stretching her arms out along the tub’s rim, she tipped her head back and let her torso float up to the surface again. Smooth skin stretched over toned thigh muscles and all that beautiful cleavage as her various curved parts cleared the roiling water. Raising her head again, she caught him dead to rights checking out the entire kick-ass package and sank back beneath the water. “I’ve got a million of ’em.”
“Excellent.” He grinned and settled in, feeling truly comfortable with her for perhaps the first time since they’d met. Hell, she had pointed it out herself; he was a guy. When guys were presented with tits and gorgeous legs, they looked. They sure as hell didn’t apologize for it. “Let’s hear ’em.”
“Was the community center space donated?”
“Yeah. We had to put down a damage deposit, but we got it all back. Well, except for the cost of replacing some broken glasses.”
She grinned at him. “Yes, I was having my tray refilled when that happened. Did you solicit the food and the paper goods?”
“Huh?” That straightened him up. “No. We got a rebate from the pancake manufacturer for fund-raising, but it never occurred to us to ask The General Store to donate it.”
“Next year make a list of everything it takes to put on the fund-raiser, then try to get as much of it donated as possible. I’m guessing your boys are from places other than just here, right?”
He nodded. “We don’t actually have any kids from Razor Bay—they’re mostly from the Silverdale or Bremerton areas. But some come from as far away as Seattle or Olympia.”
“From what you’ve said about some of the boys’ home lives, parental involvement might be far different from the families I’ve worked with. But if any of the parents do actively engage in their kid’s recovery—especially if they live in the nearby areas since the regional aspect works best—get them to hit up their local grocers, printers, party stores—anyplace that might contribute something you’d otherwise have to buy. The idea is to funnel as much profit back into the program as possible, right?”
“Absolutely.” The timer for the jets clicked off, but for once his attention didn’t go to her suddenly much more visible body. He gave her a puzzled look. “How do you know so much about this?”
“I’ve had a bazillion temporary jobs, and one of them was taking over an auction coordinator position for a private school when the one they had was put on bed rest during the final trimester of her pregnancy.”
“And you just—what?—knew what to do?”
“No.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Far from it. I didn’t have the first notion how an auction was run. Luckily for me, several of the parents who’d spent their PIP hours working on the auction did, and they taught me.”
“What the hell are PIP hours?”
“Oh, sorry. It stands for Parent Involvement Program. Most private schools designate a given number of hours parents are expected to volunteer at their kids’ school.” She stood up and water cascaded down her. “Hand me that towel, will you?”
Sweet Mother Mary. His good intentions went up in smoke, but screw it—he claimed the guy defense again. Fumbling for the towel folded near his feet, he handed it over, then simply stared as she patted herself dry. He’d assumed she had on a bikini, which until tonight he’d pretty much considered the gold standard of sexy beachwear.
The one-piece suit that molded faithfully in all the right places was hands-down sexier. The band beneath the black-and-white bra part tied around her neck and behind her back like a bikini top, but was attached to a solid black body that was cut in toward her waist, low on her back and high on her thighs. And its wet spandex clung to every luscious inch it covered.
“Hooyah,” he breathed when she turned three-quarters away from him, propped a foot on the edge of the tub and bent to dry her lower leg. He had to physically restrain himself from reaching out to stroke the sweet, firm curve of her ass. He cleared his throat and sternly recalled the topic they’d been discussing before her rise like Venus from a fucking shell had blown it from his mind. “Why didn’t one of those parents just take over?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You’re a logical thinker, aren’t you? And hiring someone familiar with the program would make sense...if even one of them had been in the market for a short-term job that was about to transition from part-time to ten-hour days.”
That got his mind back in the game. “I thought you said it wasn’t that difficult!”
“The scenario I propose for Cedar Village isn’t. But the kind of auction I did for the school was held in an Atlanta hotel, featured a sit-down meal and included enough items to fill a ballroom. It also employed an auctioneer at a live auction for the high ticket items. That’s a much more time-consuming endeavor.”
She climbed from the tub and balanced gracefully on one foot while raising the other to towel it dry. Upon finishing both feet, she turned, crossed her arms beneath her breasts and pinned him squarely in her sights. “So, have I demonstrated enough experience to volunteer at the Village?”
Luckily for him, it was dim out here, so the blood he felt surging up his throat and onto his face likely didn’t show. He’d inferred that she might have nothing the home could use yesterday—or that the boys would make mincemeat of her, because he’d been rattled by the microsecond spent all but wrapped around her when he’d stepped in to help with the leaning tower of glasses. Rattled—and wanting nothing more than to avoid running into her at the one place he felt most like himself.
But he’d known when she’d made Brandon squirm with nothing more than a look that she could hold her own with the Cedar Village boys. “Yes,” he said honestly. “And then some. Do you want a regular schedule—” which he’d prefer so he could arrange, for both their sakes, to be elsewhere “—or—”
“I’d rather come when I can, if that works for you. My hours at the inn change week to week and sometimes even day to day.”
“Sure.” He pulled out his wallet again and searched through it for a Village card. Locating the one he knew was in there somewhere, he pulled it out and extended it to Harper. “Sorry this’s so battered, but the director Mary-Margaret’s name and number are on it. She’s the one to talk to, but I’ll let her know about our conversation on Thursday, which will be the next time I’ll be there, so she’ll know who she’s talking to when she gets your call.”
“Thanks, Max.” She pulled a vivid red cover-up over her suit and slid the card in its pocket, then gathered her room card and the still half-full can of pop from the little shelf. “I’ll give her a call on Friday.”
“Are you headed back to your place?”
She nodded. “Yeah. It’s been a busy day—I’m going to call it a night.” She looked him over. “You have to be pretty whipped yourself. You slaved over a hot stove and rode herd over teenage boys for a good part of yesterday, and have obviously worked today.” She indicated his department uniform and holstered gun.
He shrugged. “What can I say—I’m tough.” One hand hovering just above the small of her back, he gave her an after you sweep of his free fingers. “Come on. I’ll see you to your place, then I’m gonna head home, myself. I’ve got a beer calling my name.”
“You don’t have to walk me home.” She grinned up at him. “But you’re going to anyway, aren’t you, ’cause you’re Mister Responsible.” She turned in the direction he indicated and headed down the path that intersected with another that led to her cottage, getting ahead of his hand, which he dropped to his side.
“That’s me,” he agreed. “And for a woman I’d lay odds on being pretty damn independent, you’re being suspiciously easy to steer.”
“Never get between a man and his beer, I always say.”
“No fooling?” Tucking his hands in his front pockets, he strolled a scant inch behind her. “I just might have to marry you.”
He thought he saw her step falter, but maybe not, because he blinked and she was walking with hip-swinging ease. Not to mention the wry smile she shot him.
“You don’t think you might have kind of low standards for a future wife?” she inquired.
“Hey, I’m pretty serious about my beer.” And damn amazed that for this moment, at least, he felt downright at ease with her.
“Ah, well, then.”
They arrived at her cottage, and she turned to face him. “Thanks, Max. You truly are a nice guy.”
“No, I’m not!”
Her dark brows furrowed. “That’s not an insult.”
Except for the part where being a “nice” guy was usually the kiss of death when it came to getting laid.
He straightened. What the hell difference did that make? It wasn’t as if a woman like Harper was going to sleep with a guy like him anyway.
“You’re right,” he said, giving her a stiff smile and falling back into the professionalism he’d used from day one as a shield against his attraction to her. “It was a very nice compliment—it’s just been a long day, like you said. But I’m always glad to be of assistance.” He tweaked the room card from her fingers and slid it into the slot, then turned away for her to punch in the code.
He twisted back when he heard the door open and gave her a crisp nod. “You enjoy the rest of your night, now.”
“O...kay,” she said faintly.
But he was already off her porch and halfway down the path.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I’M SO GLAD we finally managed to get together.” Harper said as she slid into a chair across a small wooden table from Tasha at The Anchor bar Friday afternoon.
“No fooling—I’m happy you could get away during the day.” The tall, attractive strawberry blonde gave her a rueful smile. “I’m afraid the downside to owning my own pizza joint is that my work is generally just kicking into high gear about the time everyone else’s is winding down and they’re getting ready to go home for the day.”
“And erratic hours are rather the upside of my job. I guided a kayak group along the shoreline to town this morning, but Fridays are a big transition day—checkouts in the morning and even more ins during the late afternoon, so I don’t have anything scheduled until my sunset yoga class this evening. So, good-oh for us, huh?”
“What’s good-oh for you two?” A purse landed on the table next to Harper, and she looked up to see Jenny pulling out the chair beside hers. “Tell me I didn’t miss anything good.”
“Nah.” Tasha shook her head at her friend. “We were just congratulating ourselves on finding some mutual time off.”
“Yeah, too bad about you peons.” Bouncing a fist off her chest, Jenny flashed them a big smile. “It’s good to be boss.”
“Hey, I’m a boss, too,” Tasha said. “I’m the boss of me.”
“And yet you’re always tied to Bella T’s from late afternoon on. Hell, from lunch on most of the summer.”
“Yeah, I should probably think about hiring more people to give me some flexibility.” She slid them a sly smile. “Still, it could be worse. I could be the peon like Harper.”
“Now, that’s just cold!” But Harper laughed, enjoying herself immensely. She’d been sitting with the two women for less than five minutes and already it had occurred to her that she’d done herself a huge disservice when she’d failed to pursue more female friendships over the years.
Tasha grinned at her, and Harper determined then and there that she would actively work at having a relationship with her and Jenny. For once in her life she wasn’t going to allow the length of time she spent in a given town to dictate the effort she put into getting to know people. This time she’d make friends on a deeper level than her usual enjoy-them-while-they-last-but-don’t-get-too-involved way.
“I’m surprised you managed to pull yourself away from Lover Boy,” Tasha said to Jenny as she raised a hand to catch a nearby waitress’s attention.
“It wasn’t easy,” the small brunette agreed. “But it’s been far too long since I’ve had any decent girl time. And much as I love Jake, the estrogen deprivation was starting to make me twitch.”
Tasha gave her a solemn nod. “I totally get that. Lovely as men can be, there’s such a thing as testosterone overload.”
“But, oh, what a way to go,” Jenny murmured with a small, private smile.
All three women laughed. “Oh, sure, rub it in for those of us who haven’t been as lucky lately,” Harper said. She raised her brows at Tasha. “Or maybe that’s just me.”
“Nope. Much as I’d love to say it is, I’m part of the ain’t-getting-any demographic myself.”
A college-aged blonde stopped by their table to drop three coasters in front of them. “You ladies ready?”
After they placed their orders, they watched the blonde stride off. Then Jenny turned to Harper. Planting an elbow on the table, she propped her chin in her palm to study her. “I never would have pegged you as a beer drinker.”
“What did you think I’d drink?”
“Martinis,” Tasha said unhesitatingly, and Jenny nodded her agreement.
“Really?” She shifted her gaze between the two women. “Why?”
“Probably because you’ve got that whole—” Jenny rotated a hand “—sophisticated thang going for you.”
This time Tasha nodded.
Then the petite brunette dismissively flapped the same hand. “That’s not important, though,” she said, focusing her attention on Harper. “I was wondering...how would you like to take on some added responsibility at the inn?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Harper was at once excited at the idea and uneasy. She always enjoyed the challenge of learning or conquering new skills. At the same time, the goal that had brought her here had nothing to do with her job at The Brothers. “You know I’m not looking for a full forty-hour week.”
“Right now you’re not even up to thirty hours.” Jenny sat straighter in her chair. “What I have in mind will add maybe an extra five hours a week. And I think it’s something you’d not merely enjoy but be really good at.”
“Okay, now you’ve got me all curious.”
“Me, too,” Tasha said.
“Every year, from the Thursday before Labor Day through the holiday, the town holds its annual Razor Bay Days. Max told Jake, who of course told me, about your ideas to bump the Village’s fund-raising efforts up a notch. That’s exactly the kind of thinking we need for handling the inn’s participation in the events.”
Jenny must have seen her instinctive shake of the head, for she hurried to say, “You don’t have to reinvent the wheel, sweetie. It’s mostly a matter of handling the things we already have in place. For instance, we always buy a block of preferential seating for the Saturday parade and Sunday night fireworks in town, and you’re in a perfect position to let people know they’re available. The actual sales will be handled at the front desk. You’d set up an Adult Night with an appropriate theme and activities, as well as a coordinating Game Night for the kids. You’re so damn inventive, this stuff oughtta be right up your alley.”
“I’m surprised you’re not doing it yourself,” Harper said slowly. “You must have it down pat by now.”
The cocktail waitress arrived then with their order, and the three women exchanged pleasantries with her as she placed their drinks on the table. When she walked away again, Jenny leaned forward.
“That’s actually part of the problem. Razor Bay Days is the inn’s single largest occupancy week, and it’s routinely sold out as much as a year in advance—in many cases to people who come year after year. I feel we need some fresh eyes on this, fresh ideas.”
A few ran through Harper’s mind, and she couldn’t help the excitement that coursed through her veins. She loved doing this sort of thing. “Okay, it sounds like fun. I’ll do it.”
“Excellent!” Jenny smiled hugely and leaned into her. “Let’s get together at my office tomorrow and—”
“Everything was fine until you came along,” a belligerent voice suddenly cut through their conversation, and Harper twisted in her seat in time to see a man take a swipe at the drink in front of another man sitting with a woman at the bar. The top-heavy glass tumbled over, and liquid spilled across the bar to waterfall over the side.
The woman leaped to her feet, brushing at her shorts and the waistband of her top, which were spotted with whatever had been in the glass.
“Crap. Wade’s at it again.” Jenny, who had turned toward the bar as well, swiveled back in unison with Harper to face center again.
“Who’s Wade, and why on earth did he do that?”
“Wade Nelson.” Tasha tipped her chin in the direction of the woman who’d jumped up. “He and Mindy were married once upon a time.”
“But Wade has issues, and one day she finally had her fill of them and kicked him out,” Jenny said, picking up the story. “Eventually she and Curt Neff started going out, and a year or so later they got married. Wade refuses to accept that it’s over between him and his ex-wife.”
The man was still loudly haranguing the ex-wife’s husband. “You’d think they’d be furious, but I don’t hear them saying anything to him in return.” She wanted to turn around to see, but her manners-count upbringing deemed it best not to gawk at them again.
“They learned through hard experience that ignoring him is best all around,” Jenny said. “I don’t know if I could keep my mouth shut as well as they have, though. That has to be hard.”
“Seriously hard. How long have they been doing it?”
“Seven years.”
