Page 2 of Beauty and the Beach

Love can wait.

Unfortunately, this tagline is not inspiring to the women in my life—what few of them there are. Fewer still are the ones I’m not related to, and I can’t imagine marrying any of them. I have a date lined up to go boating with a woman, but I think I’m going to cancel, because I don’t really have feelings for her; and if I can’t manage a date, how am I supposed to propose? I also refuse to get entangled with any of the women my mother tries to foist upon me, which leaves me with limited options.

I need someone I can be straight with, someone who will understand. Someone who will expect nothing from me andwho won’t think less of me for treating matrimony like a business transaction.

My assistant has ideas about this, and he keeps trying to bring them up.

He clears his throat, his glasses glinting as he looks at me in the rearview mirror. “If I may…you might consider Miss Blake?—”

“No,” I say, cutting him off before he can finish saying her name. Then I turn my head to stare pointedly out the window, watching the city zoom by as we head to the harbor where the ferry is docked. It’s always strange to ride in cars when I visit the mainland, now that I’ve moved to Sunset Harbor—a little island off the coast where no cars are permitted.

“I really think she?—”

“No.”

“Who do you suggest, then? Who else is there?” he says. I can hear the exasperation he’s trying to conceal.

Wyatt is in his fifties, and his hair is graying more slowly now that we’ve left the high-powered corporate environment and switched over to an office on the island. Sometimes, though, I get the distinct impression that he blames me for any obvious display of aging.

“I don’t know,” I say, squeezing my lids shut and trying to banishthat womanfrom my mind. “Just—not her.”

“She wouldn’t think less of you,” Wyatt says.

“Only because her opinion of me can sink no lower,” I retort, and he nods.

“Precisely.”

Speaking of which…

“I wonder if she’s gotten my gift yet,” I say, pulling out my phone to check for any missed calls or messages.

“Your gift?” Wyatt says. He sounds skeptical—very wise.

“Mmm.” I drop my phone on the leather seat next to me. I don’t have anything from her, which means she hasn’t found it yet. I’ll hear from her when she does—loudly, possibly violently. She’ll be furious.

A little smile twitches over my lips.

My smile grows when my phone begins buzzing. I look at the name on the screen, expecting it to be her, but it’s not; it’s my uncle Clarence. My expression vanishes abruptly, and I roll my eyes. Then I put the phone back down on the seat.

Thirty seconds later, it buzzes again.

I sigh and then answer the call. “It’s well past end of day, Clarence,” I say. “Any questions regarding the company will need to wait until morning.”

“You little?—”

I hold the phone away from my ear while Clarence curses; that prominent vein in his forehead is probably popping purple in his ruddy, pockmarked face.

I give him a few seconds, and then I return. “Are you done?” I say coldly.

“My sister spoils you,” he says, his bitterness and resentment seeping from every word. “Just because you’re the COO doesn’t mean you can treat me like garbage. I’m your uncle, no matter what position you hold.”

“My mother has never been present enough in my life to spoil me,” I say. “And you and I have never had a familial relationship. Don’t pretend otherwise. Why are you calling me outside of business hours?”

He’s silent for a second; I can feel his dilemma. He called me for a reason, but now that I’m demanding an answer, he’s feeling obstinate.

Finally he spits the words out. “To tell you to reconsider,” he says. “Whatever you’re scheming?—”

“I’m wounded,” I cut him off. “I would hardly call myself a schemer.”

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