A Love Like This Page 3

  Glancing up, he waved her in. “What’s up, Hadley?”

  She entered the office and took a seat in one of his guest chairs. The office, which had been occupied by their father, Carver, before his retirement, still looked much the same as it had ten years ago. Savion had held on to most of their father’s books and decor, as well as the navy blue carpet and soft-textured blue wallpaper.

  Aware of her eldest brother’s obsession with detail, she waited silently for a few moments while he finished reading whatever currently had his attention.

  He looked up again, closing his magazine and making eye contact with her. “What do you need, sis?”

  Seeing that his body language invited conversation, she sat back in her chair. “I’ve got a pile of repair request forms on my desk. Again.”

  “That’s Campbell’s responsibility, not yours.”

  She pursed her lips. “I know that, Savion. What I want to know is who keeps dropping the forms on my desk instead of handing them over to Cam.”

  Savion’s exaggerated shrug said all. “Must be somebody on staff. Maybe Belinda? Even though she doesn’t work for us, she’s in and out of here all the time.”

  She shook her head. “Belinda knows better.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s one of her people. Either way, it’s Campbell’s job to handle that stuff, so just pass the stack to him.” He reached up, stifling a yawn with his hand.

  She rolled her eyes. Whoever was leaving her brother’s work on her desk would catch pure hell from her if she ever caught them. Pushing that aside for now, she spoke again. “Listen. While I’m in here, what’s going on with the shoot for the new TV commercial?”

  He opened the cover of the black leather-bound planner he kept with him at all times, dropping it on his desk. His eyes were on the pages as he answered her question. “We’re supposed to shoot next Wednesday and into Thursday, if necessary. We hope to get it on the air right after the New Year.”

  “Does it have a script? Are we doing voice-over? Who’s going to be in it?”

  He looked up, his brow knitting as if he were confused. “Yes, yes and I’m going to be in it. Why are you asking all these questions about the commercial, anyway?”

  She shifted in her seat, pushing away her discomfort with his scrutiny. “I have some ideas for the commercial. You know, to punch it up a bit.”

  Now he looked annoyed. “What’s wrong with the commercials we’ve been making, Hadley?”

  She cleared her throat. “Nothing, per se. I just think it’s time to try a new direction.”

  “I don’t know why you’d say that. Monroe Holdings isn’t lacking for business, despite competition from Rent-A-Retreat and Homeshare Plus, so the commercials must be working.”

  “Sure they are. I’m not saying they aren’t effective.” She did her best to temper her response, knowing how much her brother enjoyed being the face of MHI, and how much he hated being contradicted. She was sure the commercials worked, to a degree, and especially with the female audience. Savion, just like Campbell and their father, was a handsome man, and possessed enough charisma to sell sand at the beach. Still, she thought a change of pace would be nice. “I just think it would be good to film an updated concept, something new to add to the rotation of ads.”

  He wore his skepticism like a mask. “Hadley, why rock the boat? People know me as the spokesman for MHI. It’s comforting, familiar. And isn’t that what we’re all about? Providing clients with comfort?”

  She sighed. This conversation isn’t going anywhere. Once again, her brother had dismissed her idea before she’d even had a chance to properly express it. “Never mind, Savion.” She rose from the seat, vowing not to waste any more of her time on the matter—at least not today. “I’m going to go deliver the forms to their rightful owner.”

  Savion nodded, then returned his attention to his planner.

  On the heels of his nonverbal dismissal, Hadley left the office, seeking out her other brother. Before she could make it to the end of the hall, Campbell dashed out of his office and jogged past her.

  Spinning around, she called after him. “Cam. You have to get this stack of repair requests—”

  “Not now, Hadley. I’ve got a meeting.” He kept walking, his long strides taking him out of the corridor and into the main lobby.

  She followed him, half tempted to shake her fist. “A meeting or a date?”

  He glanced back at her long enough to shoot her a crooked grin. “Don’t hate, sis.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Cam. It’s the middle of the day. You have to do some actual work around here.”

  “I’ll get to it later,” he called back as he slipped out through the glass doors, letting them swing shut behind him.

  Standing in the lobby alone, Hadley propped her fists on her hips, feeling her face crunch into a frown. Her work at MHI had begun to seem like a combination of babysitting and playing secretary, neither of which she’d signed up to do. Her brothers had always been expected to remain in Sapphire Shores and continue the Monroe legacy of controlling most of the rental property on the island. As the baby of the family, and the only girl, she hadn’t had those expectations placed on her. Still, she loved her hometown, and loved her family more. When she’d turned down an executive position out of state to work for the family business as office manager, she hadn’t considered it a sacrifice. But as time went by, and she put in more and more work only to be dismissed and undervalued by her brothers, she wondered if she’d made the right choice.

  With a shake of her head, she returned to her office. The small digital clock on the desk told her it was almost noon, and as she plopped down in her chair, she contemplated what she’d do for lunch. Leaving the office sounded fabulous, so she decided she’d walk a few blocks down to the nearby shopping center to grab something. The walk would likely do her good by helping to clear her mind and giving her time to let her irritation with her brothers dissipate.

  She eyed the stack of repair requests still sitting on her desk. Eight of their rental units needed some repair or other, and four of those were currently occupied. As was standard, those units with people staying in them would take priority over vacant ones. She thought about Campbell, and with no idea of where he’d gone or when he’d be back, she picked up the phone to call the plumbers and technicians needed for the occupied units.

  Erring on the side of caution helped her cope with situations like this, and as she waited for the plumber to answer her call, she vowed to give Campbell a smack upside his head the next time she saw him.

  * * *

  Devon thumbed through the pages of Reader’s Digest as he sat in the waiting room of Stinger Urgent Care. He’d only been in town for forty-eight hours, and already the pain from his herniated disk had become worrisome enough to bring him here. This was the last place he’d wanted to spend the first Friday of his winter vacation, but there hadn’t been any way to avoid it.

  Trying to take his focus off the pain in his back, he half read an article in the magazine. While he read, he shifted his hips in the seat, a vain attempt at getting comfortable. But with the searing pain radiating through his low back, achieving comfort was an impossibility.

  “Mr. Granger?” A scrubs-clad nurse appeared in the doorway to his left, her gaze cast down at the clipboard in her hand. “Devon Granger?”

  He put the magazine down and stood, approaching the nurse.

  As he walked up, she looked up from her clipboard. Her eyes immediately grew five sizes larger. “Oh. My. God. You’re that Devon Granger?”

  Despite his discomfort, he managed a smile. He had a lot of genuine gratitude for his fans—their support had given him a very good life. “Yes. And you are?”

  Blushing, she looked away, seeming to struggle to remember her name. “I’m...uh...Marla. It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Grange
r. I loved you in Reach for the Sky... It’s my favorite movie of all time.”

  “Thank you, Marla. And please, call me Devon.”

  A giggle he’d expect to hear from a teenager erupted from her lips, and she stifled it. “Oh my goodness. Let me stop holding you up. Follow me to your exam room.” She started walking down the narrow corridor leading to the rear of the clinic.

  He followed her, still a bit amused by the encounter. A few seconds later, she escorted him into a room complete with the typical doctor’s office setup: a counter with a sink, a short wheeled stool, a chrome and plastic chair, and a paper-covered bed.

  As he took a seat in the chair, she spent a few moments taking his vital signs. That done, she headed for the door.

  “Dr. Stinger will be in to see you soon.” Still smiling, she departed, closing the door behind her.

  The hard seat and backrest of the chair made him nostalgic for the one in the waiting area; at least it had been padded. The stiff material wasn’t helping his pain any, so he got up and moved to the bed, which was set in the upright position.

  He was scooting his hips onto the paper-covered surface when the door swung open.

  Dr. Steven Stinger, dressed in dark slacks and a white medical coat embroidered with his name, entered the room and closed the door behind him. A Black man in his late forties, Dr. Stinger wore a pair of black-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose, as well as the traditional stethoscope draped over his neck. “Mr. Granger. What brings you here today?” He took a seat on the wheeled stool and looked Devon’s way.

  Settling back against the bed, he released a breath. “My back. I have a herniated disk, and I can’t deal with the pain anymore.”

  Dr. Stinger slid the clipboard holding what Devon assumed to be his medical chart from beneath his arm and jotted something on it. “Which disk?”

  He swiveled to his left, gesturing to his tailbone region. “It’s in the sacrum area.”

  “Oh. That’s a particularly uncomfortable spot.” He scribbled some more. “How long have you had the injury, and how have you been dealing with the pain so far?”

  “It’s been about a month. I injured myself doing a stunt on my last film...”

  Dr. Stinger’s expression changed, becoming less serious. “Destruction Derby 3, right?”

  “Yes.” He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that the doctor would ask, given the immense popularity of the series. Still, he wanted to steer the conversation back to the pain that had brought him to the clinic. “Anyway, I’ve been treating it with hot and cold therapy and some turmeric capsules my trainer gave me.”

  Still making notes, Dr. Stinger nodded. “Is there a reason you didn’t get a prescription from the doctor who diagnosed you? In most cases like this, a prescription is offered.”

  Straightening, Devon scratched his chin. “My doctor did offer a prescription, but I wanted to try the natural remedies first. I’m not the biggest fan of pharmaceuticals, so I avoid them when I can.”

  “I can understand that. A lot of my patients feel the same way.” Dr. Stinger set his pen and chart aside. “Let me examine you to get a better idea of how I can help you going forward. How long will you be in town?”

  “Until just after the New Year.”

  Dr. Stinger adjusted the bed until it lay flat, and then instructed Devon to lie down on his stomach.

  The doctor left the room and returned with a portable X-ray machine and the nurse. Once the examination was complete, and the nurse and equipment were out of the room, Dr. Stinger readjusted the bed so Devon could sit upright again.

  “I’m going to recommend a nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory for you. Considering your attitude toward medication, I’ll start you at a low dose.” The doctor quickly wrote on his prescription pad. “Also, you’ll need to remain active—walking will help keep the joints lubricated and lessen your discomfort. Where are you staying while you’re here?”

  “I’m in a rental town house on Rising Tide Drive.”

  Dr. Stinger’s brow hitched. “Two story?”

  He nodded.

  “You’ll need to stay off the second floor. Walking will help, but climbing stairs several times a day will put undue stress on your injury. Can you make arrangements to do that?”

  “I guess so.” He knew that would involve calling MHI and probably interacting with Hadley again.

  “You may also need some help around the house. Standing in one spot, such as for cooking or washing dishes, is probably not going to be comfortable. You should consider hiring someone for that kind of thing.” Tearing the prescription from his pad, he handed it over.

  Devon accepted the prescription, tucking it into the hip pocket of his jeans. “I’ll look into it.” The housekeeping staff already kept the place clean for him, but he’d still need to make some adjustments. Plus, he’d planned to cook for himself, since he didn’t want to spend two and a half weeks eating takeout. Now he’d have to see if Hadley could spare a staff member to be at his disposal.

  As Devon left the clinic, heading for the pharmacy two doors down, he inhaled, letting the ocean breeze fill his nostrils. The air in Los Angeles was notoriously dirty, and deep inhales there often involved suffering through some unpleasant odors. Here, all he smelled was the salt, the sand and the grass.

  Coming here once a year did him a world of good. It wasn’t just about escaping the busyness of life in LA—it was about returning home to the place that had shaped his youth. Doing that gave him a sense of peace, and he’d sorely needed that when he lost Natalie.

  As he swung open the door to the pharmacy, he contemplated what he would say to Hadley when he called the office to make his requests. She’d said to call if he needed anything, and now he’d have to take her up on that.

  Chapter 4

  Friday afternoon, Hadley was stretched out on the love seat in her office with her head resting on one of the arms. She held her cell phone to her ear, listening to her mother on the other end of the line.

  “Hadley, say something, honey. We need to decide what we’re serving so I can send out for the groceries.” At fifty-six, Viola Monroe was still as fastidious as ever when it came to her holiday menu. While she loved to cook, she hated to shop and always arranged to have the groceries delivered to the house.

  “I know, Mama. I like what you’ve mentioned so far.” Hadley tossed one jeans-clad leg over the other, resting her ankles on the opposite arm of the love seat from where she reclined. “We should definitely do a glazed ham. It’s tradition, and I don’t think anybody wants to change it. And the turkey breast was a big hit with the guys last year.”

  “We’ll keep those things. But we need to decide on some side dishes to go along with them.” Viola paused a moment before launching into a list. “We need at least three vegetables, two starches, desserts...”

  While her mother went on and on about the menu for Christmas dinner, Hadley found her mind wandering. That was common whenever Viola started obsessing about the minutiae of the holiday meal. Today, however, Hadley’s mind wandered into the most enticing territory. She recalled Devon’s arrival in town, and the time she’d spent in the town house with him. Her mind replayed the intense look in his hazel eyes, the way he’d smiled at her. She inhaled and could swear she smelled his woodsy, masculine cologne. She imagined what his arms must look like beneath that sweater, what the hard lines of his chest might feel like beneath her palms...

  “Hadley, are you listening to me?”

  Snapped back to reality by the harsh tone of her mother’s voice, she swung her legs down and sat up. “Sorry, Mama. I’m swamped with work around here, so my mind wandered a bit.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Viola didn’t sound convinced in the least. “I said, we’ll have roasted potatoes, stuffing, glazed brussels sprouts, green beans and turnip greens to round out the mea
l.”

  “Sounds fantastic.”

  “Then I asked you what we should have for dessert.”

  Frantically searching her mind for an answer, Hadley nervously drummed her fingers on her thigh. Then she remembered a conversation she’d had with Devon the previous year about his favorite desserts. “Why don’t we have Dutch apple pie and peach cobbler?”

  After a few beats, Viola answered, “I like it. We haven’t had those in years, not since your father got on this tiramisu kick.”

  Hadley breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Now that we’ve settled that, why don’t you tell me what you were really thinking about just now when you were ignoring me?”

  Her eyes widened as she realized her relief had been premature. “I, uh...well, I found another stack of repair request forms on my desk yesterday, and Cam wouldn’t—”

  Viola scoffed. “Oh, please. You’re my daughter. I’ve only known you since you took your first breath. And I know good and well you weren’t thinking about anything related to work.”

  Falling back against the cushioned backrest of her love seat, Hadley sighed. “It’s nothing. It’s just that Devon checked in Wednesday, and I’ve been a bit...distracted.”

  Viola’s soft chuckle met that admission. “Honey, I know he’s here. He’s a celebrity. Everybody knows he’s here. What I want to know is when are you going to ask him over for Christmas dinner?”

  She bristled. “Mama. I’ve asked him to join us for dinner for the past four years, and every time he’s turned me down.” Devon had always pointed to his desire to spend the day in reflective solitude. She wasn’t sure that was the full story, but who was she to question his choice?

  “Maybe the fifth time will be the charm. I respect his wishes if he says no again, but at least ask him, honey. Nobody should be alone on Christmas, and we have so much to share.”

  As much as she’d love to bring Devon home for Christmas—if only to corner him under some mistletoe—she still doubted he’d be receptive to her invitation. “I don’t know, Mama.”