скачать книгу бесплатно
“Don’t even think it,” Neely warned. “If I want you to go out the window, I’ll push you.”
Frank almost managed a grin at that—as if she were kidding. “Aw, come on, Neel’, you know I wouldn’t have done it if the loan hadn’t fallen through.”
Neely did know it, but it didn’t make her any happier. She gritted her teeth.
Frank shrugged helplessly. “I know you’re mad. I’m sorry. But I couldn’t help it. It just…happened.”
“You didn’t tell me! You could at least have told me!”
“About Savas?” He looked appalled, as if doing that was more than his life was worth.
Neely shook her head. “About my financing falling through! I shouldn’t have had to find it out from Sebastian Savas walking through my front door and telling me he’d bought my houseboat! Your dear friend Greg should have told me.”
Frank cursed under his breath. Then he raked his fingers through his hair. “He tried to. Honest to God,” he insisted. “He didn’t call me until late. Said he couldn’t get hold of you. He tried your cell phone. And he didn’t want to leave it as a message. So when he couldn’t get you, he called me. Thought you might be at the office. But—” Frank spread his hands “—you weren’t.”
No. She hadn’t been.
Because she’d gone sailing with Max.
He’d called her the night before and said he was thinking of buying a sailboat, that he wanted to take it out on Friday, would she come along.
She’d been stunned—and torn. “Friday? It’s a workday.”
“Take it off.”
“But—what would my boss say?” she’d asked him, only half-joking.
Max laughed. “Guess.” But then the laughter died, and he said gravely, “He’d say you were doing him a favor, getting him out. Making up for lost time.”
And there had been a ragged edge to his voice that spoke of a depth of feeling that she couldn’t ignore. And as it was exactly the sort of “carpe diem” philosophy she’d preached at him more than once, how could she argue?
Still she hadn’t given in at once. “You’re sure?” she’d pressed him.
“Well, I’m going,” he’d said firmly. “Whether you come or not—that’s up to you. I’d like you to,” he’d added. “The question is, can you spare the time?”
Which meant he was still Max. The leopard hadn’t changed his spots entirely. He might not be Max Grosvenor, the 100-proof workaholic that he’d been when she’d first walked into his office seven months ago, but there was still a lot of the old Max Grosvenor inside him. And that was good, not bad.
He just needed balance in his life. By asking her if she had time, at least it showed he was learning how to weigh choices instead of always opting for work.
“I can spare a part of the day,” Neely decided. “But I need to be back by three.”
“Deal,” Max had said.
So she’d met him at the boatyard at nine—and she had been sailing on the Sound with Max while her financing was falling through yesterday afternoon.
She swallowed and accepted it. “Right.” she said to Frank now, squaring her shoulders. “My fault.”
Frank patted her on the arm. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Really. And, um, I just…didn’t know how to tell you about Savas.”
This last he added quickly, stepping away from her as he did so, as if he were afraid she might do him bodily harm. “Sit down,” he said, pacing the floor of the apartment, but jerking his head at a chair where he expected her to sit. But Neely shook her head and remained standing.
Frank shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He took a breath, raked a hand through his hair, then turned to face her. “Savas was…a gift from the gods.”
“Sebastian Savas?” Neely gaped at him. Greek gods bearing gifts, perhaps? Horrible thought. “I don’t think so.”
“You know what I mean. I was tearing my hair out in my office, telling Danny what had happened, and Savas came by—working late as usual—and Danny, joking, said, hey you want to buy a houseboat. And—” Frank shrugged, still looking dazed “—he did.”
Neely felt just as dazed as Frank. She’d lain awake half the night denying it to herself, convincing herself it was a bad dream. But it was actually just very bad reality, because when she’d come downstairs she’d still found half a dozen boxes of gear and a computer in the living room this morning.
“So…what happened?” Frank ventured after Neely stood there in silence, remembering the sinking feeling she’d experienced.
“Before or after Harm knocked him over the railing into the lake?”
Frank’s eyes bugged. “You’re joking.”
“I wouldn’t be capable of making that up.” The memory of it still made her smile, though very little else did. “He handled it with great aplomb,” she added grimly. “Just as you would expect. Swam back to the boat, pulled himself on board, stood there dripping and acted like that sort of thing happened every day of the week.”
Frank was shaking his head. “And…?” he prompted.
“And then he went upstairs, took a shower, changed his clothes, ordered a pizza, set up his computer and got to work. He was still working when I went up to bed.”
“He actually…moved in?” Frank sounded as if he couldn’t quite fathom it. “Without any warning?”
“He moved in,” Neely said wearily. There were no other words for it.
“So…what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Well, you can’t…I mean surely you’re not…”
“I have a lease,” Neely reminded him.
“But you’ll be living with Sebastian Savas!” Frank sounded as if he doubted her sanity.
“Well, what did you think was going to happen?” she demanded, exasperated by his astonished look, by the sight of his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“I thought—” Frank shook his head “—I guess I don’t know what I thought. That maybe he wanted it as an investment?” It was more a hopeful question than a statement of fact.
“He’d have been far more careful if he were buying it for an investment. This was obviously a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
“I guess,” Frank scratched his head. “But why?”
“Maybe he wants to make Max jealous.” Neely grinned.
Frank gaped.
“I’m kidding,” Neely said quickly. “But he does think I’m sleeping with the boss. And he definitely doesn’t approve.”
“Oh, Lord.” Frank laughed at that. “You haven’t told him about Max.”
“Of course not. He can think what he likes,” Neely said righteously. “He hates me anyway. This is just one more reason.”
“Hates you?” That surprised Frank. “The Iceman?” As if he couldn’t be bothered to muster up enough emotion to hate anyone.
“He thinks I design fluff,” Neely qualified. Maybe that wasn’t hate. But it still rankled, his haughty dismissal of her work as “girly stuff.”
“He just has a different vision.”
Neely gave him a wry smile. “Oh, yes. A very pointed, vertical vison.”
“Be kind,” Frank grinned. “You’ll have to be, now that you are living with him.”
That wiped the smile off her face. “Thanks to you.”
“I said I was sorry. Besides, I thought he was going to find you another place.”
Neely’s gaze narrowed. “You discussed it with him? He knew I lived there?”
“I said I had a tenant.”
“But not who?”
“Your name wouldn’t sell property to Mr. Savas.”
“No joke.”
“So didn’t he find you a place? I thought he would before he moved in.”
“Oh yes, he offered me a studio.”
“Well—”
“Can you see me and Harm and the kittens and the rabbits and the guinea pig and the fish in a studio? Besides,” she said, “I don’t want anyplace else. I want the houseboat!”
And, of course, her vehemence made Frank wince. Too bad. It was true.
She had fallen in love with Frank’s houseboat the minute she’d come to see the room he had for rent. She’d been there six of the seven months she’d lived in Seattle.
When he’d said he needed to sell it, she’d instantly offered to buy it.
She loved it and, having moved so much during her youth, she’d never really felt “at home” anywhere. Not the way she had on the houseboat. To be able to buy it and put down “roots”—albeit hydroponic ones—had been a cherished dream.
“Well, maybe he’ll change his mind,” Frank said hopefully. “You don’t know—maybe he woke up this morning and regretted it. He might be ready to move out. Then he could sell to you,” he added brightly.
Neely sighed. “And maybe tonight for dinner a roast duck will fly over and fall in my lap.”
Frank blinked. “What?”
“It’s a metaphor for incurable optimism, Frank,” she said wearily. “Never mind. Unlike you, I’m not expecting miracles. But I’ll simply have to convince him to sell to me. He’s all about business. I’ll just have to find his price. But I am not leaving.”
She would leave.
Sebastian was sure of it.
He’d told her pointedly last night right before she went upstairs that she had to move.
“If you don’t want to go to the apartment, that’s fine. It wouldn’t be a good place for your animals. But you’ve got to go somewhere.”
She hadn’t answered. She’d just given him a stony stare, then scooped up all her kittens and carried them upstairs.
But she hadn’t been here this morning when he got up. Granted, it was after nine and she might be anywhere. But the fact that she wasn’t here boded well as far as Seb was concerned.
It was a good day. The sun was shining, and he’d had—once he fell asleep—the best night’s sleep he’d had in years. There was something about being close to the water that lulled his mind, soothed his brain and sent him out like a light.
He hadn’t expected that. Ordinarily he didn’t sleep well except in his own bed. But last night, even despite his uncharacteristic impulse purchase of the houseboat and discovery of its unexpected tenant, once he’d hit the bed it hadn’t taken long for the lap of the water against the hull, and the ever so slight movement to carry him back to his childhood, to the summers spent at his grandparents’ on Long Island.
Their house was by the shore, and his grandfather had a boat that he and Seb used to take out to sail. And every now and then he would cajole his grandfather into spending the night on the boat. It had been the treat of the summer.
Last night had reawakened that long-forgotten memory. And even this morning, that was what he was thinking of as he cradled a mug of coffee in his hands and stood in front of the wide glass window that looked out across Lake Union.
Just the sight, just the memory made him smile.
Neely Robson be damned, he’d done the right thing buying Frank’s houseboat. It already felt more like home than his penthouse ever had.
He went out onto the deck and had a look at Robson’s painting project. The ladder was still there. She’d cleaned up the paint and brushes and they sat in a neat row on one of the built-in benches around the edge of the deck.
He studied her choice of color in the light of the morning sun. She’d painted over a gunmetal grey with a softer more silvery shade of grey. It surprised him. He’d have expected her to go for pink. Or purple. Or some other gaudy touchy-feely color.
The grey wasn’t bad. It would weather well, soften in the sun and it fit in well with the surroundings. He hefted the paint can to see that there was plenty left and was pleased that there was. She’d taken down the gutters and painted them. He’d hang them back up, then take up where she left off. But first he had to go to the grocery store and buy some food.
He went back inside and plucked a piece of cold pizza out of the fridge—left over from the one he’d finally ordered last night—and ate it while he reconnoitered, getting a feel for the rest of the boat.
With Robson glaring at him—and clearly upset—he hadn’t spent a lot of time looking over his new purchase.
He’d gone upstairs, then stripped off his wet clothes, showered and changed—so he had a good idea what the bathroom was like, and was grimly pleased upon looking around to discover that she hadn’t overrun it the way his sisters were doing to his at that very moment.
But he hadn’t wasted time upstairs. Once he was cleaned up, he came back down, opened up his laptop and set up his printer on the desk in the living room and settled down to do some work.
Begin as you mean to go on, his grandfather had always advised.
It was cliché, of course, but it was true, as well. And Seb had long ago learned the wisdom of it. It had helped him cope with the bevy of new “mothers” his father brought home. It had stood him in good stead at work.
He never tried to please. He worked hard and he always kept his own counsel. It made life simpler that way.
If people didn’t like him, too bad.
Neely Robson didn’t like him.
