Barefoot Bay: The Billionaire's Convenient Secret (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

  Heat warmed her cheeks as she realized she’d been staring. She shot furtive glances to either side, relieved when no one appeared to have noticed her interest. Get a grip, Oak, she told herself as the hunk in question ducked back into the store. She was here to make a deal, not ogle the hired help. Besides, she’d sworn off getting involved with co-workers, a ban that certainly extended to employees of the Super Mini Mart Convenience Store. No matter how long it had been since a casual glance sent her heart rate into overdrive.

  * * *

  “That’ll be seven eighty-six.”

  The taller of the two preteens tossed a crumpled five-dollar bill on the counter. Change dribbled out of the boy’s closed fist. A penny landed on its edge and rolled across the scarred Formica, headed for parts unknown. Joshua McLean slapped his hand over the wandering coin. With a speed that came from a dozen summers spent behind the counter at the Super Min selling sodas and beer, he added up the scattered pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters.

  Six thirty-six.

  “You’re short.” He eyed the pair, automatically sizing up two heads of sweat-slicked hair in need of a good trim, discount tees and hand-me-down shorts. Locals. He didn’t recognize either of the kids, but then why should he? Seven years had passed since his last visit to Mimosa Key. The older boy wouldn’t have visited the Super Min without his mama back then while his little brother would’ve been nothing more than a lusty gleam in his daddy’s eyes. “You need another one-fifty. You got it?”

  “No, sir,” the younger one said solemnly.

  Josh gave the kid points for good manners. “You sure? Check your pockets.”

  Smirking, the older of the two patted himself down. “Charity always gives us one on the house.” A grubby hand snaked out to grasp his iced drink.

  Now that is a lie if I’ve ever heard one. Her name to the contrary, hell had been a cool place to visit the last time his aunt Charity had given away anything for free.

  Lest the boys decide to make off with their purchases without paying and force him to call the cops, Josh corralled their chips and the two super-sized frozen drinks. “Look, guys, I’ll make you a deal. The sidewalk out front needs sweeping.” He’d spotted a few magnolia leaves in the corners when he helped Mr. Jenkins with his propane tank. “You do that, and I’ll forget the rest of what you owe. Otherwise—” Calculating, he paused for a second. “Otherwise, one of the drinks goes back.”

  He swallowed a grin as two blond heads leaned close. The frozen drink was worth far more than the chore that probably wouldn’t take this pair five minutes, but he’d make up the difference out of his own pocket. There’d been a time when he’d stood in their ratty old shoes. As the son of a single mom who lived paycheck to paycheck, he’d learned early not to hold out his hand, expecting someone to fill it with expensive treats. Not even when he visited his aunt Charity’s convenience store. Especially when he visited the Super Min, he corrected. Back then, his aunt had drilled it into him that if he wanted something bad enough, he had to work for it.

  And so he had. While the other kids his age were goofing off at the beach or spending long lazy summers by the pool, he and his cousin Glo had swept and dusted and stocked shelves. After he reached middle school, Aunt Charity had promoted him to the cash register. By the time he graduated high school, he could order stock and balance the accounts as well as she could. The experience had served him well when he opened his first wine store, shortly after good grades and more hard work had paid for his degree at Purdue.

  The older of the two kids looked up. “It’s hot out. Ain’t you got something to do inside?”

  So the kid wanted to bargain, did he? He’d probably make a good lawyer someday…if he curbed that lying tongue of his.

  Belay that, Josh corrected. He’d worked with more than a few lawyers. Most of them considered the ability to tell a straight-faced lie an asset. He propped his hands on the counter and leaned forward. “That’s the only deal on the table, my friend.”

  “I ain’t your friend.” The older kid’s smirk deepened. “And we ain’t working here.”

  “Suit yourself,” Josh said, not trying to hide his disappointment. Reluctantly, he counted out the boys’ change. It didn’t hurt youngsters to be self-sufficient. It had certainly worked for him, hadn’t it? Within six years of opening his first store, he’d branched out, started his own franchise, which had rapidly spread from coast to coast, making The Grape one of the largest purveyors of fine wines in the United States.

  Sliding a lone drink and their chips across to them, Josh tossed out a firm, “Have a good day.”

  “Seriously, dude?” The older boy lost his swagger as the truth dawned in his widening eyes. “You can’t do nothing with that slushie ’cept throw it away. Might as well give it to my brother here.” He slapped a hand on the quieter boy’s shoulder.

  “You want it, you have to work for it.”

  Scowling, the taller of the pair swept the chips and the remaining drink into his hands. Leading the way, he stalked toward the exit just as the bell over the door tinkled.

  “Watch out for him. He don’t cut nobody a break,” the older kid warned the newcomer.

  Josh lifted his hands in a sign of surrender. “Kids.” He grinned, shrugging. He’d raise his own children, when and if he had them, to understand the value of working for what they wanted. Of course, having a family meant finding the right woman, emphasis on right, as in not a money-grubbing social climber. A task that had proven far more difficult than any reasonably attractive, financially secure man would ever think possible. He shook his head. He probably never should have agreed to that article in Forbes. As soon as the image of him giving a cocky, two-fingered salute hit the stands, the sharks had started circling.

  Wondering if his newest customer was one of them, he suppressed a low whistle while he gave the leggy blonde a once-over. She certainly had nailed it in the looks department, what with curves in all the right places and thick hair the color of corn silk surrounding a heart-shaped face. If he were home in Atlanta, he’d be tempted to ask her to a show at the Alliance, or arrange for a private tour of the aquarium. He’d order a town car to chauffer them around in style and, when they got hungry, one call from him would leapfrog them over the month-long wait for a table at Bacchanalia or Eugene’s.

  But, he wasn’t home. He was in Mimosa Key, twelve miles of paradise off the Gulf Coast of Florida. A place where a man’s willingness to lend his aunt a hand earned him the kind of respect no well-padded bank account could buy. Where his status as Charity’s nephew opened more doors than making the Forbes’ Top 400 list. Where sunshine and temps that rarely dipped below the eighties practically mandated shorts and casual wear instead of his usual designer suit or tux.

  A memo that, apparently, his newest customer hadn’t received, though he certainly approved of her outfit. The figure-hugging black business suit and four-inch heels were practically guaranteed to get any red-blooded man hot and bothered. Reluctantly wresting his focus upward, he gazed into a pair of eyes the color of grape leaves.

  “Welcome to the Super Min. How can I help you?” The standard greeting rolled off his tongue even as he throttled a desire to howl at the moon.

  “The Super Min, huh? That’s sweet.” A touch of Southern charm graced the blonde’s well-modulated voice as her glance traveled over clean tile and down clutter-free aisles. “Nice little store you have here. It’s quieter than I expected.”

  “You’ve caught me in a lull between storms. Give it ten minutes, and we’ll be swamped again.” An urge to pull the pins from her hair and see the long, thick locks curl around her shoulders shivered through him. To keep his hands occupied, he erased the wet rings on the counter with a paper towel.

  “Business is good, then?”

  Tossing the towel into the can beneath the counter, he straightened. Talking about business at the Super Min seemed like a colossal waste of the opportunity to get to know each other better, but, hey, he’d go with i
t. “It’s steady. The owner grew up on the island, knows practically everyone, keeps her finger on the community’s pulse.”

  Mimosa Key had grown from the sleepy little backwater he knew as a child to a thriving community of ten thousand, all the while maintaining the charm and closeness of a small town. His aunt Charity and the Super Min were part of the reason. Sooner or later, everyone in Mimosa stopped by to pick up a quart of milk or a loaf of bread. Rarely did anyone escape his aunt’s clutches without sharing or hearing the latest gossip. All of which was delivered with a healthy dose of his aunt’s opinion. No doubt about it, the Super Min was the conscience of Mimosa Key. It always had been. If his aunt had anything to say about it, it always would be.

  He spared a quick look through the plate glass window overlooking the lanes where the owners of three cars pumped gas. Assured that everything was under control, he tilted his head toward the beverage station. “The coffee’s good, if you’re interested.”

  “Thanks. I’ll pass. So, how long have you been working here, um…” Lips curving at the corners, the woman flicked her gaze over his chest.

  “Josh,” he answered, deliberately omitting the last name that caused people in certain circles to quake in their Guccis. Convinced she hadn’t recognized him, he relaxed, enjoying a rare moment of anonymity. “I’ve worked here off and on since I was in grade school.”

  “You like your job, Josh?”

  “It’s all right,” he answered, though he liked the way his name rolled off her tongue even more. To be honest, working at the Super Min didn’t compare to running a Fortune 500 company, but he’d been raised well enough to know that when family needed help, you gave it. Plus, covering for his aunt Charity allowed him, in some small way, to repay her for the start she’d given him when he was young and wet behind the ears. “Can’t beat the benefits—all the sodas and hot dogs I want.”

  “So you’d say the owner is a good boss, huh?”

  He had to stop and think about that one. Charity was a piece of work. Sharp-tongued and nosy, she never hesitated to tell one and all how to live their lives. Or their love lives, for that matter. It had taken his aunt all of five minutes with his latest candidate for Mrs. Right to peg Bessy Longworth as all surface and no meat. An evaluation Charity hadn’t minded sharing with him and anyone else who cared to listen. She’d been right—as usual—though he’d wasted another three months on the relationship before he reached the same conclusion. About Bessy and pretty much every other woman in his social circle. Stung by the revelation, he’d hit a slump.

  As soon as she heard he’d taken some time away from the dating scene to lick his wounds, Charity had insisted he come to Mimosa Key. A short stay on the island would put him in touch with his roots, she’d said. It’d help him see there were women in the world—real women—who’d love him more for who he was than the size of his bank account. Besides, she’d added, it was about time he came back for a visit, wasn’t it?

  It wasn’t till he’d caved in and packed his bags that she’d spilled the beans about her true motivation for inviting him to Mimosa Key. The minute she’d known she’d be able to leave the Super Min in good hands, his aunt had booked a week-long cruise to the Caribbean.

  She’d set him up, of course, but that was Charity.

  “I guess you’d say Ms. Grambling’s a force to be reckoned with.” His aunt was the only person in the world who could manipulate him into trading a week at the helm of his own company for a stint behind the counter of a convenience store. “She has a good heart, though. The people here love her.” Realizing his customer’s questions were beginning to sound an awful lot like a fishing expedition, he let his eyes narrow. “What brings you to the Super Min this fine Thursday afternoon? Business or pleasure?”

  One well-shaped eyebrow arched ever so slightly. “Do I look like I’m on vacation, Josh?” she asked as she tucked a loose tendril behind one ear.

  “Not exactly.” Making the most of her thinly veiled invitation, he followed a neckline that took a tantalizing dip below prominent collarbones. Much as he wanted to linger on the tops of firm mounds, he only grazed them before lowering his focus to a trim waist and slim hips. From there, he followed the knife-like crease in a pair of snug-fitting slacks to shoes designed with one purpose in mind. He hooked his thumb on the pocket of his shorts. “You aren’t dressed for the beach. It’s too early in the season for baseball and, besides, the Bucs don’t play till next year. So I’m guessing you’re in sales of some kind. What can I do for you, Miss…?” He paused, as if he weren’t angling for information himself. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  “Oops, sorry.” A pair of rosebud lips widened into a warm smile. “I’m Charlie.”

  She extended a flawlessly manicured hand that he enveloped in his own. Her palm warmed his, and he held her a second longer than absolutely necessary. When no lightning bolts shot up his arm, when he felt nothing more, in fact, than a familiar stirring below his belt, he let her go. Theirs was not a case of love at first sight, but he could still make a move.

  “Unusual name for a woman. Charlie,” he said, liking the sound.

  “It’s short for Charlotte.” The tiniest of creases crossed her forehead.

  “Also a nice name.” He nodded.

  “What can I say.” She shrugged. “My folks called me Charlie. It stuck.”

  The crease deepened slightly while the shadow of a frown flickered across her lips. There was a story there, and one day, after they got to know each other better—if they got to know each other better—he’d ask her about it. For now, though, they’d continue the introductory dance. “Are you going to be around for a while, Charlotte Oak?” he asked. “’Cause I was thinkin’ maybe we could meet for a drink later.”

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second before her green eyes sparkled. “I’m only in town for the night, but why not? Where’d you have in mind?”

  He ran through a somewhat limited list. South of the Border had the best margaritas in the state, but it wasn’t a first-date kind of place. That left either the Toasted Pelican or the restaurant at the Casa Blanca Resort & Spa that had opened since his last visit to the island. He shrugged. He’d been meaning to check out the wine list at the new place anyway. “How ’bout Junonia at, say, eight?”

  “Eight it is,” Charlie said, her smile widening.

  He eyed the parking lot. The three cars at the pumps had left. New arrivals had taken their places. A mom and two kids emerged from a van and headed across the parking lot. He and Charlie were about to get interrupted. “Now that we’ve got that settled, is there something I can help you with?”

  “Sure.” Charlie hefted her briefcase. “I have a three o’clock appointment with Charity Grambling. Could you tell her I’m here?”

  He let his gaze drop to the satchel that dangled from Charlie’s fingertips. Quickly, he flipped through a couple of options before pegging the woman as a real estate agent. If so, she was working the wrong area. She’d do better to concentrate on the north end of the island, where his aunt planned to open the Super Min Two later this year. He’d heard there were still a few parcels available out that way. He glanced down to give Charlie’s kick-ass heels another look. No way was she showing property in those shoes. Not that it mattered. Whatever her business with Aunt Charity, Charlotte Oak was about to be disappointed.

  “I’m sorry. My—Ms. Grambling isn’t in at the moment. Can I help you?”

  * * *

  “I have no doubt you could.” Charlie added a saucy smile while she let the comment hang as the bell over the door tinkled, admitting a harried mother and two toddlers. The trio made a mad dash for the restrooms at the back of the store. “But she’s expecting me. Do you think she’ll be long?”

  She supposed she should take it as a compliment that disappointment flickered in Josh’s dark eyes when she asked to see his boss. With his looks, he probably had his pick among the women on Mimosa Key. From shoulders wide enough for a girl to lean
on to the sculpted legs of a long-distance runner, it had taken precisely one glance at his body to make her mouth go dry. It’d be easy, she decided, to trail her fingers along the scruff of a beard that hugged his chiseled jaw and find out if those lips were as kissable as they looked.

  But drinks with a thirtysomething hottie who had no ambition beyond ringing up the price of sodas and a loaf of bread was definitely as far as she’d take it. Not that a guy had to be loaded to make a blip on her radar. No. She didn’t care about money so much as she wanted someone who refused to settle. Someone who’d never accept that scraping for a living was all there was until the effort wore you down to a mere nub, susceptible to the next big wind that came along. She gave herself a tiny shake.

  What am I doing?

  One of the best-looking guys she’d seen in ages was shooting calf eyes at her, and here she was dredging up the past. Not that it should come as any surprise. Her mama had always said she was far too serious for her own good. For once, Charlie had to agree.

  Why not have a drink with a smokin’ specimen of a man and see where it led? She could use a few laughs. A little flirtation. Maybe a kiss or two. Nothing more. Going out with someone who’d settled for life behind a cash register would never lead to a lifetime commitment or anything even remotely close.

  Her gaze bounced upward. Below his forehead’s smooth plane, a pair of intelligent-looking eyes stared out at her from beneath dark, questioning brows. Business before pleasure, she reminded herself. “When do you expect Ms. Grambling to return?”

  “She didn’t say, exactly.” Josh’s expressive eyebrows knit. “You’re sure she was supposed to meet with you today?”

  Taking charge of the situation, she held up one finger. “Give me a sec,” she said, setting her briefcase on the floor. A touch to her phone brought up her calendar and confirmed what she already knew. She was exactly where she was supposed to be, precisely when she was supposed to be there. She flashed Josh a practiced smile that radiated confidence. “Ms. Grambling and I set up this appointment several weeks ago. I hope it didn’t slip her mind. Do you expect her back soon?”