Page 5 of Colton's Secret Weapon
Seriously. The man was filling her aura with his negative energy. She could only imagine what it was doing to his. She should offer him a session.
Imagining the tight layers they’d have to get through to even find his spirit, she figured the long process would be a fair trade for his help at St. James Boats.
Deep breath. Eyes closed. You don’t need to look at him. He’s there. His tension is suffocating you. No reason to open your eyes. Even if you saw what drawer he was reaching into, you wouldn’t know the significance. Breathe. Do. Not. Open. Your. Eyes.
When Dove realized that she was expending far too much precious energy on keeping her eyes closed, she opened them.
Energy was the one thing she absolutely did not have to waste. Without it, she had nothing to offer her clients. And without them, she couldn’t afford to live.
Negativity! Negativity! Negativity!
Deep breaths!
Slower ones.
You hyperventilate and he’s really going to think you’re a flake. Not worth his time.
Stop.
Blinking, Dove put an end to the destructive self-talk. Reaching into the big pocket on the right leg of her pants, she pulled out her cell phone and the vial of lavender oil she’d also stashed in there with it that morning.
Uncapping the bottle like she’d seen her father do to a bottle of whiskey—with shaky hands and obvious urgency—she didn’t even try to hide the small glass bottle held up to her nostril as she inhaled. All the way to her core. And then again.
Recognizing the familiar scent, her body instantly settled. Started to relax. Delivering a shot of zen. Her stomach relaxed.
And her gaze wandered over to Mitchell Colton. A wave of euphoria hit then. A sense that all would be well.
The man really was too gorgeous for the small town of Shelby to handle. At least, unattached as he was. His physical form, features that depicted ruggedness and a sense of dependable astuteness at the same time, was overpowering.
Add to it the deep timbre of a voice that seemed to assure you that it spoke the truth and eyes that held a surprising depth, and a woman could hardly be blamed for having a swoon or two.
He gathered a slew of papers together. Straightened them into one pile.
Was he done?
She didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to interrupt.
And desperately needed to know their plan before her father returned. She might only get the one shot to convince Whaler that engaging Mitchell Colton’s services was not only a good idea but paramount if his business was to survive.
Someone was bound to tell Bob St. James that the town’s only corporate attorney had been taking a tour of his docks. Maybe even ask him if he was thinking about selling the place.
Which meant Dove had to get to him first.
With a positive plan.
It only worked with that plan pre-established and first steps ready to implement…
“I’m missing a couple of boat invoices.” The deep timbre broke into her thoughts.
Panic hit her. She knew nothing about her father’s bookkeeping other than the drastically bad state she’d found it in.
“LadybirdandWicked Winnings. You have any idea where they might be?”
Euphoria hit again. Just a small wave. Reminded her that it was there. That she just had to access it. Trust. Refuse to let fear have any portion of her brain. “Wicked Winningswas actually a win,” she said, half smiling at the memory. “Dad bought a couple hundred raffle tickets because proceeds went to support the leukemia foundation.” Leukemia. The earthborn darkness that had taken her mother back home far too soon for Dove’s liking. “A boat maker in Anchorage had put the small trawler up as a prize. A buck for a chance to win a boat? It seemed like everyone in the state bought into that one. The guy ended up buying enough tickets himself to pay for twice what the boat had cost to begin with. He got the write-off for his business. And he gave my dad the boat. He knew about my mom.”
She was surprised Mitchell didn’t know the story.
He’d turned to face her, his gaze alight with what felt like real interest. “When was this?”
