stopped arguing, though. Either they were waiting with bated breath for Brad’s solution or they’d been stunned into silence by the appearance of a beach bum in The Banyan Room.
Brad dug into his pocket and tossed a quarter at them. Brian caught it in his right hand. “There’s your solution,” Brad said.
“Flip a coin?” Joyce looked horrified.
“It’s a true fifty-fifty chance. And the best way to end a battle between two people who both want to be right.”
“We’re not battling…exactly.” Joyce said.
“We’re newlyweds,” Brian added.
“That explains everything,” Brad said with a smile. “Try it. You don’t really want to fight, do you?”
Joyce looked at Brian. Brian looked at Joyce. Then he shrugged. “Why not? I’m a betting man.” He jiggled the coin in his hand. “Call it, babycakes.”
She pursed her lips, let out a sigh. “Heads.”
Brian tossed the quarter into the air, caught it and slapped it onto the back of his hand. Before revealing the coin’s position, he paused. “Whatever this is, we abide by it. I don’t want to fight with you anymore, honeybunny.”
“Oh, me either.” Joyce nodded.
Brian lifted his right palm. “You win.”
“No, we both win, sweetums.” Joyce grasped his arm and gave her husband a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek.
And just like that, the storm between the Phipps-Stovers had passed. “We’ll donate the painting,” Brian said. “Someone else will surely love it as much as I do.”
“And then we’ll go shopping for something together. Something that’s just us,” Joyce said.
“Oh, truffle lips, you’re so perfect.”
Happiness had been restored. Within a few minutes, the Phipps-Stovers had completed the paperwork for their donation and had left the restaurant, snuggled once again in newlywed bliss. Brad and Parris wandered out of The Banyan Room and onto the veranda.
“Now you owe me twice,” Brad said, smiling at her. “Actually, three times.” He handed her the bag.
When he smiled, his eyes lit up and something traveled between them, like a connection of energy. How could that be? She’d known the man, what, forty minutes, and spent most of that time dripping wet and mad as hell at him.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Your glass slipper, Cinderella. You left it in my boat.”
She felt her face flush. For the briefest of seconds, she had felt like she was in a fairy tale. Who was she kidding? She was an heiress and he was a squid hunter. That was fairy-tale hell. “Thanks,” she said. “Again.”
“I want more than a little gratitude.”
“What…money? Are you some mercenary rescuer who goes looking for damsels in distress?”
He cocked his head, considering that for a minute. “If I could find a way to make it lucrative, I might. Make my time on the ocean a little more productive.”
“I’m not paying you for rescuing me.” She raised her chin. “It’s the deed of a good citizen. And you look like…”
“Like what?”
“Well, like you could be a good citizen.” The last thing she wanted to be was indebted to him. That meant spending time with Brad Smith. A man like him—who drove her crazy and sent her thoughts careening into wild, impossible corners—wasn’t what she needed right now.
“If I cleaned up a bit. Put on a tie, you mean?”
“Well…” She glanced at his T-shirt. Plain, un-adorned, no beer-swilling logo or sea life on it. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“You said you’re available for personal consultations. And I want one.”
Oh no. No way. She knew what he meant. It wasn’t a “consultation” at all. He wanted some kind of sex thing, she was sure. No one hired her. She didn’t have any experience. “Is this some weird way of asking me out on a date? Because—”
“I want to hire you.”
“Hire me?” She blinked. “As in pay me money to help you with a project?”
“Yeah, is that so unusual? I mean, that is what you do in your business, right?”
“Oh yeah.” She let out a hiccup of a laugh. “All the time.” At least all the time in the past few weeks. Before that, the only thing she’d been good at was signing her name on charge-card receipts.
“Good. Then you can help me.”
“Help you with what?”
He patted his chest. “Become more of a tie guy.”
She didn’t believe him for a second. Most men were happy with the way they looked and had a heart attack if a woman changed the brand of athletic socks they wore. There was no way this guy was for real. He wanted something else. Something definitely not involving “consulting.”
Besides, he didn’t look like the kind of guy who could afford her fee, whatever it might be, since this was her first real customer, other than organizing the auction for Victoria Smith. “And how were you planning on paying me?”
“I already paid in advance. With the rescue in the water and by helping that couple. I’m low on cash otherwise.”
Parris held the stack of auction papers close to her chest. There were a hundred details yet to take care of before the auction on Saturday, just four days away. With Jackie gone, she couldn’t afford to lose her focus, not for a second. If there was anything Brad Smith would surely make her do, it was lose her focus. Even if he was sincere about hiring her—which she couldn’t imagine he was since he didn’t need a tie to pull up squids—she didn’t have time for him. “I can’t right now. I’m too busy with the auction.”
“Let me guess. The auction to benefit the Victoria Catherine Smith Memorial Aquarium, right?”
“You’ve heard about it?”
“Often.” Brad scowled. Apparently he hadn’t heard anything good. Was her PR campaign that bad? “I can see why that might be more…demanding.”
“Yes, it is. So, you understand why I can’t take you on right now.” There. She had a valid excuse not to get involved with him, whether she owed him a favor or not. She’d write him an IOU and hope he’d forget about it.
He took a step forward, invading her space, forcing her to deal with him. “No, I don’t. But if you say you can’t, I intend to find a way around that.”
A soft breeze whispered through the veranda, lifting her hair. Resort guests came and went, drifting down to the beach or back up to their rooms for a nap.
“There is no way around that, Mr. Smith. If I say I’m busy, I am. My apologies.” She started flipping through the paperwork, hoping she looked too consumed to deal with him.
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