The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

“Too many and not enough,” I answer tersely.

Charlotte recognizes that I need to get out of here and quickly finishes her business. Watching Charlotte smooth ruffled feathers and close her deals shows me a different side of her, one unfamiliar but no less attractive. Various family members have told me that she’s begun to build an exciting and successful business. She’s come a long way from Cancergirl—the one that I was afraid couldn’t walk down the hall by herself, the one who I hid in the boy’s locker room at high school.

Mom told me that demand for Charlotte’s business has been so high she can’t keep up with all the requests. I get it. If I was a young athlete with no family going to a new territory, I’d want some bright young thing smoothing out all my details. It’s like having a hot wife without any of the responsibilities. But the women like her too, or at least Peyton does. And she doesn’t look at Christian with anything other than the fond regard you have for someone paying you five figures to help you move.

I’m anxious to get her alone.

A beep of my cell phone signals an incoming text message. I tip my head toward Charlotte, but she waves me off. I smile to myself. We’ve already started our nonverbal communicating, as if there wasn’t years of separation.

The message is from Cabby.

Bring your girl to Flannery’s. That’s an order from your LT.

Did you get a promotion when I wasn’t looking?

No, but I’m sitting next to LT.

Next there’s an incoming picture. Sure enough, Cabby is standing next to LT in front of a large, fake windmill. Fraternizing with officers is usually frowned upon but LT is a bit of a rule breaker and besides, Cabby does not like being alone.

You’ll be drunk by the time we get there. I could bring a clown, and you’d hit on it thinking it was her.

We’re golfing! This is the seventh inning stretch! . . . Wait, LT says it’s 9 hole break. Ha! Golfing is dirty! Anyway don’t bring the clown. You know I’m afraid of them.

“What’s making you smile?” Charlotte taps me on the arm. Beyond her Peyton and Christian have moved toward the house.

“We done here?”

“Yes.”

I take her hand, and we walk toward my Jeep. “The guys want to meet you.” I tilt the phone her way so she can read my messages.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I’m afraid their version of welcoming might cause you to run away.”

She scoffs. “I work with athletes. I’ve been in locker rooms before. It can’t be worse than that.”

“But you’ve never seen another naked man, right?” The thought of her around a bunch of unclothed athletes bothers me.

Her face turns away, but not before I see a smile she tries to hide. “Of course not, Nate. Yours is the only body I’ve ever seen without clothes.”

I can’t tell if she’s serious, but I’m accepting it as true, or I’ll have to do something like give her a ring of hickeys so that everyone knows she’s off limits.

“Before I throw you to the wolves, want to come and see my digs? Maybe check out of the hotel and save a few dollars?”

The reference to saving is a joke, and she grins saucily. We both know that even if she didn’t have her job, she would have her trust fund—just like I have mine. Freedom Funds, our parents’ co-owned hedge fund, has made both her family and mine very rich. Charlotte’s dad has made a mint in construction too, so she probably never has to work a day if she doesn’t want to but from what Nick has told me, she’s worked her ass off to run her own business.

“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

“According to my government-issued timepiece, it’s been about four hours since I last kissed you.”

She reaches up and runs her fingers lightly across my forehead. “Is that right?”

Drawing her into my arms, I lean back against the Jeep. “That’s right.”

In the middle of this posh San Diego suburb, I pull her tight against me and kiss her. My jaw isn’t freshly shaven, but she rubs against me as if the burn feels good. Our tongues clash against each other, and soon I want to strip her clothes off and lay her down on the soft grass, uncaring what the residents might think. I break it off before I lose all control.

Panting roughly in her ear, I tell her, “We need to get going before I’m arrested for lewd and indecent conduct. Navy frowns upon that.”

A smug satisfaction fills me at her glazed expression, and I help her into the Jeep. As we drive toward her hotel, I hold her hand against my thigh, not wanting to have any break in our connection. “I didn’t know you were proud of me,” I comment, recalling how she quickly corrected Christian’s impression of me as a no-name sailor.