The Charmer (Harbor City 2)

Faster than he could blink, she snatched the information she’d printed out from the museum donor database. “Help me, or I’ll shred this.”

He groaned and gave her a sour look. She’d just wait him out.

“Fine,” he said with a snarl. “She’s usually home practicing her marching drills on the day before a new show opens up at her gallery.”

“You seem to know a lot about her for someone who can’t stand her.”

“She lives above me and her gallery takes up a good chunk of the street level part of the building,” he argued, becoming suddenly fascinated with the sugar packets on the table. “Of course I know her patterns.”

“And that’s all there is to it?” she asked, enjoying being on the other side of the needling for once.

“Stop trying to change the subject again,” he said, standing up. “Come on, let’s go get our meeting with the shrew over and done with.”

Fine with Felicia. The sooner she got this plan in motion, the better.

…

Everly had just popped the last two Tums tablets when the knock at her door sounded. Great. Only shitty news came on the day before a show opening. Kind of like how all you had to do was come into a little bit of extra money for something expensive to break—or at least that’s how it always seemed. But she hadn’t made her way up from the free and reduced lunch line in grade school to graduating college in four years despite working two jobs to pay for it to owning her own art gallery by hiding in her kitchen and giving into the nerves gnawing a hole in her stomach. She strode to the door in her bare feet—thank you bitching-downstairs-asshole Tyler Jacobson—and peeked through the peephole.

Think of the conceited jerk of a neighbor and he appeared.

“Great,” she mumbled to herself.

Since she didn’t back down—ever—Everly slipped on the four-inch heels next to the door and opened it. “What do you want?”

The small brunette who’d wrecked Hudson—Felicia—spoke up first. “Your help.”

“Sorry, I gave at the office.” She started to shut the door, but Tyler’s hand on the doorframe stopped her.

He thought she wouldn’t smash his fingers? He was optimistic. Okay, he was also right, but she didn’t need him to know that so she started to push the door shut anyway.

Tyler’s size twelve foot blocked her progress. “Pretend I’m not here, and just listen to Felicia.”

“Why should I?” she asked.

His sharp blue eyes narrowed like he could see right into the center of her and divine exactly what she wanted most out of life—and it wasn’t a pony. “Because I can get the building owner to stop delaying and re-sign your gallery lease without the ten percent rent increase he wants.”

He shoots. He scores.

“How can you swing that?”

The cocky grin on his face did a number on her panties—despite her better judgement’s protests.

“Don’t ask me any questions, and I won’t tell you any lies,” he said.

Everly had grown up in a part of Harbor City where TVs that had fallen off trucks were sold in neighborhood stores and every third kid had an uncle who knew people. A little funny business that could keep her gallery in the black and no one got hurt or ended up in jail? Yeah, she wasn’t going to lose a minute of sleep over it.

“She comes in,” she said. “You stay out.”

“What?” he asked, looking every bit like a bad idea she’d end up regretting. “I don’t get to see the parade grounds where you march around?”

Yep. That’s right. Asshole.

She rolled her eyes. “Good one. I’m laughing on the inside.”

“Really? I always figured your sense of humor was as nonexistent as your heart.”

“Ouch. I might cry.” If she wasn’t having so much fun fighting, damn her snarly Harbor City soul.