The Schemer (Harbor City 3)

Helene was sure that none of her acquaintances let alone friends would ever spot her at Grounded Coffee. The trendy Harbor City chain was popular with the younger set, not people her age, and definitely not Alberto’s age. He had to be pushing sixty-five if he was a day, and men who were as exuberant as the Italian didn’t age well—or so her mother had always said. He was far too old for her. She was, after all, only in her late fifties. Not that she was looking for a companion. She still wore Michael’s ring for a reason. She’d already had the love of her life, and now that part of her life was over. Still, she’d agreed to this meeting, so she smoothed her newly platinum hair back and walked into the coffee shop.

The patrons looked like a great unwashed mass—really, when did it become acceptable to go out in public in what had to be pajama pants and a sweatshirt—but the place smelled like heaven, the sugary, buttery kind she’d denied herself for decades. Her mouth remembered, though, watering at the sight of an untouched flaky croissant baked to the perfect golden brown on a man’s plate. The customer in question looked up. Alberto. Of course he would indulge in something so without nutritional value just because it tasted delicious.

“Bellisima, it’s so wonderful to see you.” He stood up and pulled out a chair, somehow managing to not look like a man who ate croissants with abandon. The fact that men’s metabolisms worked as fast as they did would forever be an annoyance to her. “Please sit down.”

She did, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet so it wasn’t fully on the chair as he pushed it in. The musky scent of his cologne wafted around her, not enough to overwhelm but enough to inspire her curiosity. Not that she wondered about this man. She was here only to discuss Everly and Tyler, after all, a point she’d made clear to Alberto in her emailed response to his invitation that had arrived via a stunning bouquet of orchids.

“Thank you.” She didn’t relax against her chair, not even when he released it and strode back to his side of the small table. Something about the man made her not jumpy exactly, but she couldn’t deny the zing of expectation, and she didn’t particularly like it. “So you want to discuss Everly and Tyler?”

“Yes.” He cut the croissant in two, picking up one half and leaving the other on the plate that he pushed over to her. “I want to know more about this Tyler Jacobson.”

The temptation of the croissant was potent, a hint of the forbidden followed by the promise of exquisite pleasure. Still, she resisted, turning her attention to the man who failed to freeze when she leveled a frosty glare his way. It was most frustrating.

“Tyler is smart, savvy, and is always looking for new opportunities.”

“No,” Alberto said with a flourish of hand gestures. “I mean is he good enough for Everly? I might not see as well as I used to, but I can definitely see a spark between them, and I am worried because Irena didn’t have the nicest things to say about Tyler after he left.”

Helene just bet she didn’t. “I’d recommend considering your source for that information.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, tearing off the end of his croissant half and popping it in his mouth.

Helene had spent a lifetime gathering information about her so-called peers, not necessarily sharing it. Gossip wasn’t usually part of her repertoire, but this was more of a warning than rumor or innuendo. Considering her options, she gave Alberto a hard look. He might seem like a man who resembled a former model who’d aged out of the profession, with his shock of silver hair that set off his tan skin and made his brown eyes sparkle, but he didn’t waver under her cold stare, and the slightest nugget of respect started to form. Okay, maybe he wasn’t just a flirt. Maybe there was more to Alberto than she’d first noticed.

“Has Irena bothered to tell Carlo why she and Tyler didn’t get married?” she asked, toying with the crusty point of the crois

sant.

Alberto shrugged. “She just said they were young and weren’t ready.”

“That’s one way to put it.” A completely fabricated one. “She tried to sleep her way up the bank balance line and tried to slip into bed with my son Sawyer—who’d been friends with Tyler for years. Sawyer turned her down. Tyler called off the wedding. She went on an extended cruise with a pair of Middle Eastern princes.”

He crushed the piece of croissant in his hand to dust. “I have to tell Carlo.”

“If he’s like my sons, he won’t listen.” There must be something about that Y chromosome that made men unable to take valuable advice the first time it was offered. Lord knows they didn’t get it from her. Okay, maybe they did a little. Still, if she didn’t love her boys so much, she would have knocked their heads together. “They always have to figure things out on their own.”

“If this is the kind of person Irena is, I can’t let him marry her.” Alberto reached across the table, pressing her hand between the two of his, sending an unexpected thrill of awareness through her. “You’re so knowledgeable on this, could you help me with Carlo and also Everly?”

The question shocked her into stillness, and she allowed her hand to remain in his. “You want the two of them together?”

“Oh no, her heart is already interested in someone else; she’s just being too stubborn to see it. Women, always so set in their ways.” He leaned forward across the table and brought her hand up to his mouth, brushing a light kiss across her knuckles that made her chest tighten.

“Someone else?” she asked, mentally fighting to suppress the zing of anticipation speeding up her pulse. “You mean Tyler.”

“Sì,” he said, lowering her hand but not letting go. “If he’s good enough for my Everly.”

Offended on Tyler’s behalf, Helene pulled her hand free, ignoring the way her fingers felt too cool without his welcome heat. “Oh, he is.”

“How can you be sure?” he asked, watching her with wary eyes as if she were the one who needed to prove herself.

As if that could ever be possible. She was Helene Carlyle, and she hadn’t cornered the market on scaring the salt out of Harbor City’s elite when necessary by lacking self confidence—or at least the appearance of it.

“A woman knows these things,” she said, matching the fire she felt inside with ice chips in her tone. “Which is exactly why you’ll need me to have this matchmaking mission go well.”

Where had that come from? Needing something to do when Alberto’s eyes widened with shock and then glee, she reached for the croissant and picked it up, taking a bite before she even realized what she was doing. The flaky, buttery goodness practically melted on her tongue as the carbs rushed through her system, making her jittery. At least that’s what she attributed her reaction to—it definitely was not because of the way Alberto’s brown eyes had turned the color of dark hot chocolate as his gaze traveled over her. She was a married woman. Okay, a widowed woman, but that didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be disloyal to Michael’s memory like that.

“I will gladly accept your help,” he said, his broad smile lighting up his face and making her wonder just how he must have looked as a young man because even knocking on retirement’s door, he had a certain something about him that made her breath catch. “And I have just the plan for our trip to the island.”

Island? She’d nearly forgotten about it. There was no way she could be alone—well, practically alone—with this man and keep her sanity. Just sitting with him in a coffee shop had her eating a croissant and openly agreeing to matchmake, what would being on his island be like? Nothing good, she was sure.