Читать книгу An Island Affair - Monica Richardson - Страница 14

Chapter 5

Jackson

I could see the flames in the distance and hear the sirens blare. I felt helpless in the backseat of the taxi, so close to the Grove. Though I wanted the driver to speed up a bit, that would never happen. No one on this island hurried for anything. Relaxed and easygoing, the islanders fished, took long walks along the beach and lounged on hammocks all day. Hurry was not a part of the culture here. My heart pounded and my mind raced as I thought of the Grove. The electrician was scheduled to be at the properties this morning. Had there been a mishap? A short circuit? I prayed.

When I pulled up at the Clydesdale, my men were already on the scene and work had already begun. And I was relieved to know that the fire was about a mile farther down the road at one of the local vacation homes. I exhaled as I stepped out of the backseat of the cab and paid the driver. A quick glance and I spotted her, not that I was looking for her. Although she wore a pair of tight jeans and a faded T-shirt, she was still just as beautiful as the day before. My energy changed. She made me sweat and caused my heart to beat a little faster. I was nervous for no reason at all, and I didn’t like it. No man should feel that way around a woman, unless she’s Beyoncé or Halle Berry. Jasmine Talbot wasn’t a celebrity. She was a wannabe.

She stood in front of the house chatting with my construction manager, Lance. Pointing her finger up at one of the windows, it seemed she was giving him orders and that was completely out of the question. Whatever she wanted done, she needed to address it with me. And I would tell her so, just as soon as I was able to peel my eyes from her and gather my thoughts. I found myself wondering how old she was, as if it mattered. I knew she was Edward’s younger sister and he was my age. I’d recently celebrated my twenty-ninth birthday—two months before his. So she couldn’t have been much younger than that.

“Is there something I can assist you with, Miss Talbot?” I interrupted her little meeting.

“I was just explaining to Lance here that I’ll be working in that room up there—” she pointed upward again “—and he’s agreed that he’ll have someone bring the old desk out of the storage shed for me...and place it in my office.”

“Miss Talbot—”

“Jasmine,” she interrupted. “Call me Jasmine please.”

“Jasmine.” I faked a smile. Chose my words carefully. “You asked me about that desk yesterday...”

“Yes, and I didn’t like your response.”

“If you don’t mind, please do not address my men. If you have an issue or concern, I would appreciate if you would take it up with me.”

“I would’ve done that, Mr. Conner—”

“Jackson,” I corrected her.

“I would’ve done that, Jackson. But you weren’t here.”

“I’m sorry I was a bit late. I was detained. Stomachache. Had to settle my...” Why was I explaining this to her? “I’ll make sure the desk is carried upstairs for you.”

“Thank you, Jackson.” She walked away, headed inside and then turned back to me, catching me staring at her. “Lemon and warm water,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“Best thing for an upset stomach. My mother used to give it to us all the time. Settles it right away.”

“Thank you,” I said, but she was already gone. I glanced over at Lance, who was also staring at Jasmine. “Close your mouth.”

“I think she likes me.” Lance smiled.

I laughed and handed him a set of plans I’d revised. “Here. I’ve revised these. The wood paneling on the wall in the great room stays. And when you get a chance, have a couple of the guys bring that cruddy old desk out of the storage space and take it up to that room. Let’s get the room painted and the floors done right away. Maybe that’ll keep her out of our hair.”

“I don’t mind her being in my hair,” said Lance with a huge smile.

I gave him a sideways look and he wiped the grin from his face.

“I’m on it,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Oh, and Jax,” said Lance, “let’s not drink so much tonight.”

“I’m not drinking with you fools at all...ever again,” I said, “and contrary to popular belief, we’re not on this glorious, wonderful, magnificent island for a vacation. We’re here to work! That’s it.”

“What? All work and no play? That’s boring. No wonder you can’t find a woman. You’re a workaholic.”

“I’m not looking for a woman. I’m happy, see?” I faked a smile.

“Right.” He shook his head and walked away.

He was right. I was a workaholic—a lifestyle that I’d developed at a very young age. Ambition didn’t allow for much sleep or playtime. Even in my sleep I dreamed of success. And playtime consisted of an occasional eighteen holes on the golf course with a few of my college buddies. Being a workaholic had everything to do with why I didn’t have a woman in my life. Women required things that I wasn’t prepared or willing to give them—time. And I didn’t have much of it. When I was at home in Key West, after a hard day’s work, I usually settled into my renovated bungalow in Old Town. With a cold bottle of Heineken and takeout from a local eatery, I normally watched SportsCenter or caught a game on ESPN, with my laptop in front of me as I simultaneously reviewed plans and designs. I lounged in my leather easy chair in the corner of the room, where I almost always fell asleep before finally going to bed. It was my routine.

Since being on Eleuthera, I’d been having a hard time finding my rhythm. My vacation rental home was a far cry from my bungalow in the city. Although it was a gorgeous place, with its similar pastel-colored homes as the ones in Key West, Eleuthera was not my home.

Last night, I’d allowed my staff to twist my arm and I’d reluctantly stepped outside of my comfort zone. I ventured to a local bar on Harbour Island and found every one of my employees there. They were loud and boisterous and encouraged me to be the same. My good senses told me to rule against it, but I didn’t listen. I started the night with a cold beer at the opposite end of the bar as them, wanting to alienate myself from the rowdiness. I rarely drank more than a beer or two, but my first few days on the island had proved to be somewhat trying. I’d had to work out a few details with the town planning board and Ministry of Works, make sure the proper permits were in place, bring my new hires up to speed. And then there had been a small fire, caused by improper electrical wiring, and one of my best workers had injured his hand. A trying week at best, and bumping heads with Jasmine Talbot hadn’t helped one bit.

By the end of the night, I had given in to the peer pressure. Taken too many tequila shots, trying to keep up with guys much younger than me. And now I was definitely paying for that decision. The morning sunshine creeping in my window had greeted me with a harsh headache and stomach pains. My ulcer screamed at me. I cursed Lance and the other guys all the way to the bathroom. But as I’d stared at the reflection looking back at me in the mirror, I knew exactly who was to blame.

As I stood in front of the Clydesdale, my phone rang. I looked at my mother’s face on the screen as a Jay-Z tune played—my ringtone. Jay-Z had been one of my favorite contemporary artists since Harvard. His music had gotten me through some of my most challenging days. However, I preferred old-school artists—Sugar Hill, Run DMC, Big Daddy Kane—that my older brothers listened to, and, unlike them, I liked jazz. But because they considered it an old man’s music, I didn’t let on.

I declined the call from my mother. I wasn’t ready to talk yet. When my phone rang again, I answered. One of my suppliers I’d been waiting to speak with for two days was finally getting back to me. As I talked and paced back and forth, Jasmine walked past—headed up the road. Those jeans hugged her in all the right places, and her shirt crept up her back with each step. I forced myself to look away. Why was I even checking her out? I would never date anyone so self-centered. She wasn’t my type at all. Of course, she was attractive, and I only dated attractive women. But she was all over the place, wasting an education and running off to Hollywood to chase a pipe dream of being an actress or a model. And as soon as things didn’t work out, it seemed that she’d rushed back home to the islands to live off her parents again. Why would I be checking out a woman with no stability and misguided ambitions? That wasn’t the type of woman I would have in my life. Not that I was looking for one. A woman like that was sure to be unhappy with my work schedule. Depending on the job, I was often gone for months at a time, and I kept late hours, never leaving a job site until the work was done. My business came first, no matter what, so there was no room in my life for a high-maintenance female.

I made a few more calls, and then I caught myself watching Jasmine again as she moseyed back down the road.

“Here you go,” she said, handing me a disposable cup with a lid.

“What’s this?”

“Warm water and lemon,” she said. “I ran to the little restaurant just down the way.”

“Really? Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Hope you feel better.”

Answering her ringing phone, she started chattering with someone on the other end and took off for the house. I was moderately touched by her act of kindness.

I watched as she walked into the house, couldn’t take my eyes off of her. But then I chastised myself for looking at what I couldn’t have. And didn’t want.