The Schemer (Harbor City 3)

“Of all the ridiculous…” But the rest of Helene’s denial trailed off as she clasped her hands together and looked around at the art lovers and pretenders, her regal attitude returning. “So are you going to go over there or spend all your time making me your verbal security blanket?”

Direct hit again. Damn, she was good.

He planned to walk over eventually, but first, he needed to rethink his plans for the evening a bit. Luckily, it took only a few seconds for the outline of a better idea to form, the best kind that would be a win-win for all involved. All he had to do was get the woman who hated his rice-scorching guts to agree to help—in other words, a total cakewalk.

Chapter Four

Mr. 2-fucking-B was headed straight for Everly. Obviously, it was proof that she’d been a very bad person in a former life—the kind who pulled wings off flies and stole children’s baseballs. Or worse—wore Crocs. Shiver.

She’d spotted Tyler the minute he’d swaggered—yes, swaggered like a cowboy wearing a black hat in an Old West movie—into the Black Heart Art Gallery. She hadn’t been avoiding him when she’d had to rush into the back room to check on the party caterers from her friend Kiki’s company, she’d just been a good business owner determined to make sure everything for the show went off without a hitch. And then, when she’d come out, it had been of utmost importance that she touch base with the valets outside to make sure everything was in order. After that, she had to check in on the artist, Umberto Bradley, who was either puking or doing blow in the bathroom. Was it wrong that she was relieved to hear the sound of retching through the bathroom door?

So, when Alberto Ferranti—patron saint of starving artists and antacid-addicted gallery owners—showed up to see the work of the artist she’d been raving about to him for a solid week, she didn’t have any choice but to stroll over as he gazed at the piece entitled The Thrill of It All and find out what he thought. None of it had been done to avoid her annoying downstairs neighbor—or to block out memories of that knee-knocking kiss in the parking garage two weeks ago.

And now Tyler was heading straight for her. Sure, he was having to weave through the healthy crowd at tonight’s show, but there was no question about his destination. This didn’t bode well. The closer he got, the wobblier her stomach became and the higher her blood pressure spiked. By the time he was only a few steps away, she was primed for an argument or another kiss or a bare-knuckle, God-you’re-annoying brawl—metaphorically speaking, of course. Her nunni wasn’t gonna get to stay in that upscale facility if the cops hauled Everly away, so she’d keep her anger locked on the inside.

Steeling her shoulders and clamping her molars together tight enough that her dentist would be giving her a firm talking-to, Everly turned in her four-inch heels ready to engage the enemy and looked Tyler directly in the…chin. The man was too damn tall.

“2B,” she said, the nickname coming out weird because her jaw was clenched.

Tyler winked at her. “3B.”

Next to her, Alberto looked from her to Tyler and back again, his head cocked a little to one side. “Why are you calling each other numbers?”

For…reasons…each of which sounded dumb in her own head and saying them out loud wasn’t going to make them any better, so she zigged instead of zagged. “This is my downstairs neighbor.”

“Does he not have a name?” Alberto asked in a stage whisper, which was probably as close to an actual whisper as he got.

“Several that she’s saying in her head right now, I’m sure.” Tyler chuckled, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Most of which can’t be said in polite company.”

A loud laugh erupted from Alberto. “I’m too old to worry about being polite. Don’t worry, Everly, someday you’ll get there.” The older man held out his hand for a handshake. “Alberto Ferranti.”

“Tyler Jacobson or 2B, whichever you prefer.”

The men laughed together, easy friends from the word go—of course. With Alberto, she believed it. He was as genuine as he was completely loaded. But Tyler? He was up to something. Ultra aware of him as always, she could feel the extra something in the air. The spark of trouble and the whiff of danger ahead were as identifiable as the smell of ozone on the wind after a rainstorm.

“What did you ever do to my Everly to make her scowl like that?” Alberto asked.

“I cooked. Badly,” Tyler said, all appeasing good-old-dude bro. “But I’m pretty sure she has a soft spot for me anyway.”

A look passed between the two men, one of complete understanding that left her on the outside. Ugh. Men! Alberto, she could make allowances for because of generational and cultural differences. Tyler? He was as close to being an ass as a donkey. Too bad he kissed like a god.

Determined to regain control of the conversation and her own mutinous mind, Everly exhaled a calming breath and yanked her thoughts away from her exasperating neighbor and back to what had brought Alberto here tonight.

“Alberto,” she said, turning and taking a step toward Umberto’s The Ecstasy of It All. “There’s a truly fascinating piece I wanted to show you. Another buyer has already expressed an interest, and I wanted you to see it before they put in an offer.”

The older man nodded, but before they could move away, Tyler made his move.

“I can’t wait to get a look at it, too, if it’s as exceptional as you say,” he said, falling into step beside them.

She leveled a glare at Tyler, turning her head enough that Alberto wouldn’t catch sight of it. “It’s not of cake.”

“Well,” Tyler said, his gaze dropping to her mouth. “Perfection is hard to come by.”

Heat slammed into her, smacking her on all four cheeks. She teetered, which, if she fell in her heels, would have been a timber of epic proportions. Tyler’s arm shot out and he grabbed her, steadying her before she went down and holding on just long enough for her to recover. Sensation sizzled up her bare arm even without his touch, and her breath caught. Damn. The man was a fucking menace to her equilibrium in every way possible.

“You’ll only find perfect in a good woman,” Alberto said, seemingly unaware of the snap, crackle, pop going on around him. “Trust me. I’ve got decades more experience.”

Since there wasn’t any way to get rid of Tyler, she vowed to ignore him and her own body’s reaction as she strode over to Umberto’s most popular painting during the preshow when critics and high-end collectors made an appearance. It was fantastic. The bold use of color and exuberance of his technique made the rest of the world fade into black and white. It was like falling into a place where there was only joy. No memory loss, no di