Stirring Up Trouble (10 page)

Before her nerves could get the best of her, his hand shifted to her arm, sliding up until it reached her shoulder, gently pushing her away.

“What's the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing. Not a damn thing,” he said, slumping back against his seat and running his fingers through the long strands of his hair. “Except that we're in your car, sitting in the square, in the middle of the night. I don't think that's where you'd want this to progress, and even if you did, I don't have any protection on me. Besides that, we're supposed to be watching for the Penis Picasso. If that's still your goal for tonight, we need to stop now before we get so distracted, he could spray-paint right in front of us and we wouldn't notice him.”

Maddie was disappointed, but she knew he was right. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd handle it if they'd gone any further, anyway. With a sigh, she sat back in her seat and turned her attention to the windshield and the dark, silent town ahead of them. She tried to ignore the tiny bursts of electricity that traveled along her body where he'd touched her and the fire that had been lit in her belly. “That little bastard better show up soon.”

Maddie's eyes fluttered open
as a beam of sunlight stretched across her face. “Whaa . . . ?” she muttered as she looked around and realized she was still in her car.

Looking over, Emmett was passed out beside her, his coat balled up as a pillow against the glass of the passenger window.

“What time is it?” she asked, scrambling around for her phone.

Emmett stirred beside her, but he was slower to rise than she was. She found her phone in the console. Lord, it was eight in the morning.

“Wake up,” she said, giving Emmett's shoulder a shake. “We fell asleep in the car.”

Emmett finally sat up, frowning at her with a grumpy, sleepy face that was a little adorable. His blond hair was standing up, and he had red marks from his coat across his cheek.

“What's going on?” he asked, looking out the windshield as people walked by them.

“What do you mean? They're on their way to church. The Baptist service starts at eight fifteen.”

“I don't care where they're going. I want to know why they keep stopping and pointing at the car as they walk by.”

Maddie looked out the window and noticed he was right. People were giving them peculiar looks. Perhaps being caught sleeping with Emmett, so to speak, was scandalous. But they weren't really looking at them. They were looking at the hood of her car.

She leaned forward in her seat. A slash of crimson across the pearl-white hood of her Mercedes immediately caught her eye. “Oh my God.”

Maddie fumbled for the door handle and stumbled from the car onto the sidewalk. There, she could tell exactly why everyone was staring at her car. The Penis Picasso had spray-painted a giant penis wearing an apron on the hood of her Mercedes. Her jaw dropped open, words failing her. This couldn't be real. It couldn't possibly be happening.

“Holy shit,” Emmett said as he joined her on the sidewalk. He ran his fingers through his messy hair and shook his head. “You were right, he did strike last night. He just did it after we fell asleep.”

“He knew. He knew we were looking for him. The bastard waited until we passed out and did this just to thumb his nose at us.” Maddie reached out and drew her finger across the hood, but the paint had long dried. “What am I going to do? I can't just drive around Rosewood with a giant . . .
thing . . .
on my car.”

Emmett wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder, bringing back memories from the night before. Even his warm cologne and strong embrace couldn't make this moment go away.

Especially not when a bright light flashed across her car. They both turned in time to see Clark Newton from the
Rosewood Times
snapping photos of her car. “Wow,” he said, taking shot after shot. “The sixth one. And on your car, too. Maddie, do you mind giving me a few words for the paper about this?”

She watched him let the camera hang loose around his neck as he reached for the notepad and pencil in his pocket.

“How does it feel to be the latest victim of the Penis Picasso?”

She shook her head, not quite able to find the words. All she could do was turn her head back toward her beautiful, ruined graduation present and stare at the damage. “Violated,” she managed at last. That was a good word.

Clark scribbled on his pad. “Why do you think the Penis Picasso chose your car to target?”

“Because he knows we're onto him,” Emmett said, saving her from the unwanted interview. “Madelyn and I plan to catch the Penis Picasso and put an end to this crude vandalism. Rosewood is a nice town. It doesn't deserve to have trash roaming around free.”

“You plan to catch him?” Clark said with a note of incredulity in his voice. “Do you subscribe to the idea that this is just a teenage prankster?”

“We did at first,” Emmett said. “But now it's gone too far. Whoever is doing it likes the notoriety. And you're not helping the matter,” he added pointedly.

Clark looked up from his notepad. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You're sensationalizing it. Splashing photos of his work across the front page of the paper, giving him that stupid nickname . . . He likes the attention and you're giving it to him. If we all ignored him, the graffiti would probably stop.”

“You think so?” Clark said, looking at him curiously.

“I know so. Interview over. Get in the car, Fancy.”

Maddie didn't argue. They climbed back into her car and she started the engine. She didn't want Clark taking any more photos of it. “Where are we going?”

“We're driving over to Anthony's Auto Shop.”

Maddie backed out of their parking spot, her hesitation evident in her speed down the street. “I don't think the Anthony family likes me very much. You saw what happened with my dad and Logan at the courthouse.”

Emmett dismissed her concerns. “Vince Anthony doesn't care about all that. He's a businessman and he wants everyone's business, including the Chamberlains'. Just like you want everyone's business for your bakery. Would you refuse to make a wedding cake for Pepper and Grant's wedding reception?”

“Of course not.” She turned down Morning Glory Road and pulled into the auto shop. “They're not going to be open on Sundays.”

“That's fine. We'll give them a call and see if someone can come down and pull the car into the garage to keep it safe.”

“I can't just leave it here, Emmett. I need my car.”

He chuckled as he picked up his phone. “Do you really want to drive this around town until you can get it fixed?”

He was right. She couldn't do that. As it was, she was going to be the laughingstock of the town. If it took a few days to get it repainted, she'd survive. She walked to work, and if she was desperate for groceries, she could always see if her mother or one of her brothers could give her a ride.

She sat quietly as Emmett called someone. “Hey, it's Emmett. Do you have the keys to your dad's garage?” He hesitated. “Yeah, we're right outside. If you could open up, we'll pull the car in and leave it for them to worry about tomorrow. Sure thing.”

“Who was that?” she asked after he hung up.

“Logan.” Emmett pointed to the house across the street with the sign that read
ANTHONY, ATTORNEY AT LAW
on the lawn. “He's right across the street and can let us in. We'll worry about the rest later.”

A few minutes later, Logan jogged across the street in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Since he'd moved back, she hadn't ever seen him at the church, so he was probably enjoying a lazy Sunday morning.

Logan unlocked the shop, and a moment later the garage door rolled up. Maddie pulled in and handed over her keys when they got out.

“Dad'll give you a call tomorrow to let you know his estimate and how long it will take to uh . . . remove that.” Logan had the decency to shelve the smirk, which she hadn't expected.

“Thanks.”

They all walked back out, and Maddie and Emmett started back toward First Avenue. Emmett walked her all the way to her house, then hesitated for a moment. Maddie understood. It was almost like the end of a date. There should be more, a good-bye kiss or a promise of another outing together. Instead, he gave her a casual wave and started down the stairs and across the street toward the bar.

“Would you like to come in for some coffee or something?” she asked, reaching out to catch his arm before he got too far. She wasn't ready for him to leave. The vandalism of her car had occupied their minds and put thoughts of last night and what it might mean on the back burner. She wasn't sure if that was just a middle of the night indulgence for him or if it was the beginning of something real between them. She wanted to know. She couldn't let her hopes get up for nothing.

“I can't,” he said. “The bar opens at noon. I've gotta try to catch a couple more hours of sleep before work. But,” he added, “I'll take a rain check. How about dinner tomorrow night?”

“You mean like a date?”

“Yes. You, me, dinner. No paintbrushes or binoculars. Just a date.”

“I'd like that.”

He leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “I'm glad. I'd like it, too,” he whispered into her ear before pulling away with a wide grin on his face. “I'll pick you up at six,” he said as he turned and jogged across the narrow road and entered the side door of the bar.

Maddie couldn't help but match his smile. She hadn't been asked out on a real date since Paris. There, she'd been free to indulge without her family's influence getting in the way. Once she returned home, that anonymity was gone. She'd busied herself with opening the bakery, but in the place where her love life should be there was a gaping hole.

But now, for the first time in a long time, she felt almost a little giddy. The thrill of a new romance heated her cheeks and sent her blood pumping warm through her veins. She was surprised, and not many men had the ability to do that to her.

The last one who had, well, he turned out to be a terrible, dangerous mistake. Maddie prayed her instincts weren't off again this time.

Chapter Ten

Logan was making
a quick evening run through the Piggly Wiggly when he noticed his half brother Grant going down an aisle. He tried a few evasive maneuvers, hoping to lose him in the frozen foods, but the next thing he knew, he rounded the endcap display of paper towels and found himself face-to-face with Grant.

“Hey, Logan,” Grant said in surprise. “I didn't expect to see you here. I didn't see your car out front.”

“I live right across the street, so I walk. It keeps me from buying more junk food than I can carry.”

Grant chuckled in a disarming way that almost made Logan like him. That went against a lifetime of indoctrination and he hadn't been able to buck it as easily as Pepper had. He really wasn't sure how to handle this situation. It was so much easier when the issue was black-and-white: the Chamberlains were all selfish bastards who abused their power and influence, and Logan and Pepper were to stay far, far away from them. The revelations of the spring and Grant's relationship with his sister had changed all that, shifting a lot of things into a nebulous gray area.

Logan knew his dad had told Grant the truth about Logan's paternity. It had been necessary in order for Pepper and Grant to salvage their relationship. Thankfully, Grant had kept a lid on the news and hadn't shared the knowledge with anyone.

Pepper told him that Grant wanted to forge some kind of relationship with him, but Logan had been resistant. He had a hard time trusting Grant or his motives. No matter what, Grant was a Chamberlain and that meant Logan carried a certain amount of skepticism where he was concerned.

Even after months of knowing the truth about his family, Logan had still managed to ignore the fact that he, too, was a Chamberlain. That was an issue that didn't have to be tackled until after the truth got out and everyone knew. He wasn't ready for that yet. He was much happier working silently, twisting the screws on Norman's business and making him suffer.

“Hey, I've been meaning to ask if you'd like to come over to the loft for dinner one night. We thought we might wait until the house was done, but at this rate, it may never happen.”

Dinner with his sister and Grant sounded incredibly awkward and not exactly how he wanted to spend an evening. At least everyone there knew the truth, but he couldn't fathom what they would have to talk about. He really couldn't put them off much longer, though. Pepper had been pushing him all summer to get to know Grant—if not for the sake of bonding with his half brother, then for her sake, since Grant would soon be his brother-in-law. What a convoluted mess Norman had made with his wandering eye and wide-open zipper.

“Sounds good,” Logan said. “Just have Pepper text me or something and we can set up a time later this week, maybe.”

“Great.”

Logan was about to veer his cart in another direction when he heard Grant's voice again.

“Hey, Logan?”

Logan turned back, looking into the Chamberlain blue eyes that he himself had, but never connected to the family the way he should've. “Yeah?”

“I was also thinking that maybe you and I could get together one night and get a drink, just the two of us. To talk about . . . stuff.”

Logan suppressed his knee-jerk reaction to say no. Grant had been put in an unenviable position and was trying hard to bridge this chasm between the two families. He didn't want to, but if he kept rebuffing his half brother, things would become awkward, both with his family and Pepper's new family. Maybe an honest chat with some beer would be more productive than he expected. “Okay.”

“I'm on day shift right now, so I get off at six. I could meet you over at Woody's after that.”

“Sure,” Logan nodded. “Pepper has my number. Just text me when you find a day that works. Most of my evenings are free.”

“Will do.”

Grant headed in the direction of the checkout stands, and Logan went to the pharmacy for some cold medicine. The minute he'd agreed to all this, he'd started praying to catch something contagious so he could avoid it.

The bar cleared out
shortly after closing Sunday night. Emmett cleaned up, cashed out, and headed upstairs. After a long and confusing night, he was looking forward to crashing in bed, watching a movie, and putting unproductive thoughts of Madelyn Chamberlain out of his mind.

He wasn't sure what he'd been thinking when he asked her out that morning. Or when he'd kissed her the night before. She had that spell over him, making him do stupid things when she looked at him with those big blue eyes. He tried to think positive about it. A date might be nice. It might also go horribly awry and tear their truce to shreds. He supposed he would find out tomorrow night.

Emmett was popping a bag of microwave popcorn when he noticed a voice mail message on his phone. He hadn't heard it ring earlier, but when things got busy, he was lucky to notice if the smoke alarms were going off.

Swiping at his screen, he noticed the call was from Adelia Chamberlain. Huh, that was unusual. She was either having some kind of rich-person financial crisis, or she'd somehow found out that he was snogging her granddaughter. Curious to find out which it was, he hit the button to play back the message.

“Hello, Emmett. This is Adelia Chamberlain,” she said as though he wouldn't recognize the sound of her voice instantly. Not many people had his private cell phone number, and those who did sounded nothing like an elderly southern woman with good breeding. “I need to talk to you about my portfolio. I think I want to make some adjustments. I've also got a fairly large chunk of income that I'd like to invest. Can we get together next week to discuss it? I'm not sure if I have any reason to come into town, but perhaps you could come out to the house. Helen is away next week, vacationing with some of her old sorority sisters, so you shouldn't run into anyone at the house. Please call me and let me know.”

Emmett hung up and deleted the message. He didn't want to risk anyone seeing it. It was paranoid; no one gave a crap who called his phone, but it was that kind of paranoia that had earned him three stress-free years living in Rosewood with only a single soul in town who knew about his past.

Adelia was that person. She was the reason he'd come to Rosewood; how he'd managed to move from Florida and trip over a tiny southern town with the perfect business opportunity for him. He was forever thankful for that chance, and as such, was forever in the employ, albeit secretly, of the Chamberlain matriarch.

He pulled the popcorn out of the microwave and dumped it into a bowl. He took it, a soda, and his phone with him into the bedroom, where he climbed into some cotton pajama pants and settled into bed.

Adelia didn't call often. She was a fairly conservative investor. She didn't like moving things around a lot; she wasn't interested in buying and selling to turn a quick buck. She was in it for the long haul and that had served her well. She'd bought Apple stock back when Steve Jobs had hair. She'd had Coca-Cola stock long before they wanted to teach the world to sing. The rest of her portfolio was like the blueprint for progress: steel, oil, electronics, and pharmaceuticals. She made smart choices, both investing in solid businesses and having enough vision to see what had potential in the future.

As her portfolio manager, she wasn't the client who made him the most money by making constant commissioned transactions, but he did enjoy working with her. She wasn't demanding or irritable if a stock didn't perform as expected. After a while, he noted how well her accounts performed and tried to model part of his own portfolio after hers. He had spent several years buying risky, high-yield stocks, and he tried to balance some of that out with longer-range investments like hers. The combination had served him well, allowing him the unheard-of luxury of retiring from that backbiting business at twenty-eight.

Emmett had made a fortune, fast, and gotten the hell out. He thought he'd like the exciting world of finance and investments, but there was a dark side to it that made him uncomfortable. His firm was always pressuring him to sell stocks to his clients when he didn't feel good about them. He'd seen people's financial futures get wiped out from bad advice and manipulative stock-trading tactics. It was a morally ambiguous business and he was happy to take his money and run.

At least he tried. When he called all his clients to let them know about his “retirement,” most of them didn't care. They were handed off to other financial managers without a hiccup. But not Adelia. Oh, no. She wanted to know exactly where he was going and why he was abandoning her. He'd been the first person she'd actually enjoyed working with in all her years of investing and she wasn't about to just let him go.

He'd opened up to her and told her about what he was doing. That he wanted out and was looking for a quieter, less complicated life. That's when Adelia told him about the little town where she lived. It sounded like something out of a movie: the quaint southern town with magnolia trees lining the streets and lightning bugs dancing across the summer twilight. Emmett had lived in Tampa his whole life, but Rosewood sounded like the kind of place—and the kind of pace—he needed.

Then she'd mentioned that the local bar was for sale. She'd billed it as having rustic charm, a prime downtown location, and complete with an apartment over it to live in. Honestly, the woman should've been in sales herself. He caught a flight to Birmingham the next day and drove his rental car to the middle of nowhere to track down his future.

The bar had been a little more rustic than she'd claimed and the town a little more sleepy than he'd expected, but it'd worked out. He sold his waterfront condo, traded his Porsche for a pickup truck, and moved to Rosewood.

Renovating the bar gave him the perfect cover story when he moved to town. He was a craftsman, a woodworker, as far as anyone in town knew thanks to a hobby he'd picked up from his father. No one would expect a young millionaire to move to a small town and live in a thousand-square-foot apartment over a bar. His past in Florida and the fortune in his portfolio stayed secret.

That was how he liked it. He was able to put his life behind him, aside from Adelia. The price for her silence was that he had to continue managing her portfolio. To protect this cover, they rarely met up in person, but when she needed to give him a check or have a chat, she would call. She hated talking on the phone and would insist on him coming to the mansion, or on rare occasions, she would come to the bar when it was closed.

Emmett wasn't quite sure he'd ever be able to erase the image of such a proper lady sitting on a barstool sipping a beer while they talked stocks and bonds. She wasn't quite as uptight as people seemed to think.

He couldn't imagine Madelyn doing the same thing, but maybe he was wrong. She'd thrown caution to the wind last night, but he wasn't sure she'd ever really be able to give in to their attraction. At least not unless she knew who he really was. She would probably think owning a bar and living like he did was charming if she knew he was a secret millionaire. Living the same life with less money in the bank made it pathetic, sad, and likely beneath her. And yet, she'd said yes to their date.

It made him wonder . . . had her grandmother somehow leaked the truth? He couldn't imagine why Adelia would spill the beans, especially to Madelyn, but you never know. He'd have to check with her and make certain their secret was still theirs.

If Madelyn wanted him with the smell of whiskey on his clothes and a quiet, weekday burger date in their future, great. But he wasn't going to let himself fall for Fancy Pants if her change of heart had anything to do with realizing he had money.

Emmett flipped on the television to an old Western he'd seen a hundred times, and reached for his laptop. He shoveled some popcorn into his mouth while he waited for it to boot up, then pulled up his investment software. He idly poked around, looking at a few performance trends before he dumped some stock and bought something else. He might not have liked the business as a whole, but he still enjoyed the excitement of taking a risk and seeing how it turned out.

As he finished and sat his computer aside, he realized that perhaps he was filling that same risk-taking urge with Madelyn. She wasn't the kind of woman he usually went for. She was beautiful and independent, running her own business, which was nice. But she was also high-maintenance, stuffy, and her sense of humor was questionable. Even then, he was drawn to her for some reason. Whether they were fighting or making out in her car, he couldn't get her out of his head.

He'd asked her out, hoping she could accept him as he seemed, not as he was. If he wasn't willing to take a chance with someone who didn't fit into his usual mold, how could he expect her to?