Smooth Sailing

Chapter One

July 12th, 12:15 a.m.

The willowy woman with short red hair stalked toward the entrance of The Hill and yanked the door open. Deep, sensual vocals from a local band filled the night air as the door of the restaurant-turned-nightclub opened. When it shut, the crickets and frogs took over singing. Neither calmed Paloma Wagner’s boiling anger. 

She whirled back to the man she was in a situationship with and pointed over her shoulder to his pretty neighbor. Are you sleeping with Lilith? 

Asher wasn’t her boyfriend, but Paloma had insisted at the start of their orgasm arrangement that they’d tell each other if they wanted more. Or less. And yes, lately, a tiny part of her had hoped he’d eventually want more. But above all, she wanted honesty.

No. His voice was firm, but he looked away as if guilt made her gaze too heavy to hold.

She was so damn tired of men lying to her.

Heat spread from her chest, down her arms, and to her fingers that curled into fists. The warmth had little to do with the muggy Michigan night, and all to do with blooming disappointment. She shook her head. Then what the hell is going on?

He crossed his arms. Nothing. I’m just worried about my neighbor.

Because she’s with me? A man snarled.

Paloma jolted, forgetting Asher’s friend Max was in the parking lot with them. He’d been leaving with Lilith. It seemed Lilith was in hot demand. Scorching jealousy flared in Paloma, but she smothered it, refusing to let it burn her. 

Fuck, Asher sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. Listen, man, I’m sorry. You know how I get with crowds, especially when there’s drinking. I saw her leave, and I panicked. I wasn’t thinking clearly.

No shit, Max grumbled, but his tense stance fell away. But listen, if it’ll ease your mind and she doesn’t mind, you give her a ride home instead of me.

His acquiescence annoyed the shit out of Paloma. Asher shouldn’t get a free pass because his past made him an overprotective ass. 

It would, but swear, it’s nothing against you, Asher said.

Whatever, man. I’m going back inside. Max turned, heading toward The Hill. 

She’d always found him handsome with his broad shoulders and lean, ropey muscles, even better looking than Asher. But Max was a nice guy—like a real one, not the assholes who pretend to be decent men. 

And true good guys always found her to be too much.

Her jaw clenched and her gaze snapped back to Asher, who was still avoiding eye contact. He wasn’t the love of her life, not even close, so it wasn’t that he might be interested in Lilith that truly bothered her. It was the lying that got under her skin.

She’d dealt with enough deception to last a lifetime. And here was Asher, a man she’d trusted enough to let into her bed, into her life, lying to her. Pretending he wasn’t into his neighbor when it was painfully obvious.

The anger that had been simmering now threatened to boil over. But beneath it was a sharp sting of hurt. Why couldn’t he just be honest with her? Did he think she was too fragile to handle the truth? Or did he simply not respect her enough to give it to her straight?

She took a deep breath, refusing to let him see how much this affected her. Instead, she focused on the lie. The betrayal of trust cut deeper than any potential attraction to another woman.

This isn’t about your normal controlling tendencies—

I’m not controlling. He had the nerve to sound offended.

 Fine. We’ll call it your hero complex. I see the way you watch her. You don’t look at her like she’s a friend. She took a small step away from him. Don’t be that guy who wants to fuck someone else but is too much of a ball sack to ‘fess up.

I swear that’s not what I’m doing. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulled at the ends, then let his hands fall to his side. But we should take a break.

And you’re telling me this has nothing to do with your neighbor? she asked, relieved her voice didn’t shake. 

It has to do with you wanting more than I can give you, Asher said. 

Paloma crossed her arms, pressing against the gentle throbbing in her heart. She was an idiot. Asher wasn’t even her boyfriend. Hell, that’s why she’d first hit on him—because he didn’t have girlfriends. But of course, her dumb ass had to go and catch feelings for him. They might be small, but it still stung. 

Like I said before, I’m not in a position to be in a relationship, he finished.

Ah, yes, his daughter. Maybe there was some truth to it, but she was also his excuse.

You use Raven as a shield. A justification not to get close to any woman because you’re afraid of getting hurt. 

No, I don’t. 

She held up a hand. It’s true. I do feel more than simple lust for you, so it’s better to break it off now if you don’t feel the same. I’m not interested in being with a guy who can’t give me what I need.

You deserve more than I can give you, he repeated.

Saying it once was enough, thanks, she snapped. 

His words were a cop-out and total bullshit. But she should be used to it. She was always too much. Or not enough. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin high enough that the sting in her eyes couldn’t spill over. 

Kissing his cheek, she curved her lips into the smile she’d perfected after a lifetime of goodbyes. I’ll see you around.

She sauntered toward The Hill, refusing to look back. One foot in front of the other, away from another failed relationship. Forward was the only direction that mattered. 

Her steps slowed. But what if there was nothing to look forward to in her future? 

She rolled her shoulders and shook out her hands. It was time to stop with her pity pary for one. Dating wasn’t everything. She was rebuilding her career and was almost out of the red. And Asher? It was her own damn fault for thinking those lazy Sunday mornings and midnight tacos meant anything more than convenience. Hell, she’d been the one to suggest keeping it casual. She’d practically bragged about her no-strings philosophy. Turns out she was just another woman who couldn’t keep sex from getting complicated. 

Pulling open the door to The Hill, music washed over her, a gentle caress on her sore heart. The daytime dinner tables were shoved against the wall, and gyrating bodies filled the makeshift dance floor with the usual last call hopefuls lining the outskirts and bar. The crowd parted for half a second, and she spotted two friends in a booth on the far side of the restaurant. They were chatting and nursing martinis. She’d grab a drink and join them. 

Heading that way, she sighed. The bar was as packed as the dance floor. A man on a stool stood. Finally, a sliver of luck. She rushed forward and slid into the empty seat, nodding a thank you and signaling the bartender. 

She glanced at the man on the adjacent stool and smiled. It was none other than sweet and sexy Max. Although right now, he looked more sour than sweet. No surprise. They’d both expected their nights to go very differently. She thought Asher would be coming home with her, and Max had probably assumed he was spending the night with Lilith. Instead, those two were riding off into the night together toward their happily ever after. Jerks.

Sitting straight, she ran a palm down her fitted red dress, subtly adjusting the plunging neckline. She and Max could use each other to forget about the night’s disappointments. As the wise adage said, The best way to get over a man is to get under another one.

Chapter Two

July 12th, 12:35 a.m.

Max London tapped his glass on the bartop and raised a hand at the bartender. Although, he should slow down or he’d be staggering home. 

Let me get your next drink, came a sultry voice he recognized. The last time he’d heard it, it was laden with anger. Now it dripped with desire.

He turned to face Paloma. She crossed her legs and leaned against the bar, the silk of her dress pulling taut in all the right places. And damn, the woman looked really good in red. Asher was a fool to let her walk away.

How about I get yours? she asked, oozing confidence and sex. Was it hiding sadness underneath? She had to see the way Asher looked at his neighbor.

Before she told Brian her order, a pretty pink drink was set in front of her. Had she even ordered one? Did you have a lager, Max? the bartender asked. 

IPA, he ground out. Couldn’t Brian, who was the regular weekend bartender for over a year, remember it? He didn’t seem to have the same problem with Paloma. 

Fuck, he was as bitter as his drink. It was time to go home. Add her drink to my tab, then close it. Max downed his beer. It was time to sleep off his shitty mood.

He’d enjoyed dancing with Lilith, but there hadn’t been a spark between them. His only plan was to drop her off on his way home, and he hadn’t appreciated his friend’s insinuations and attitude. Asshole. 

Don’t leave so soon, Paloma purred, resting a hand on his knee.

The words were clear enough. It was their meaning that had his mind spinning. Her palm slid higher on his leg, and his gaze darted between her hand and her face, to those hot, red cupid lips. They curved into a smile that sent his pulse racing. Her fingers traced even higher on his thigh, and his confusion vanished. Oh. Oh.

What about Asher? he asked.

Honey. She leaned closer. I don’t wait around for any man who looks at another woman the way he looks at her.

Every impulse in his body screamed to say yes. Which is exactly why he shifted his leg from her touch. Paloma was hotter than the July sun, but his first instincts were usually his worst—and right now, every single one of them was begging him to accept. 

She shrugged and reached for her drink. He couldn’t help watching her full red lips press against the glass as the amber liquid slipped down her throat. 

Wait. Amber? 

He glanced at his drink. It was pink. He raised his brows at her. 

Sorry. She didn’t sound it and he couldn’t help grinning. He liked her sass. Brian thinks he’s cute giving me that drink. It has grapefruit in it. I hate grapefruit. She took another sip of his drink.

He wrinkled his nose. He couldn’t blame her for the theft. At all. Grapefruit is nasty. Why does he make it for you?

She pointed at the cocktail. It’s called a Paloma.

You’re named after a drink?

Yup. According to my parents, I was conceived on a wild vacation in Mexico when my mom discovered the drink.

Max chuckled. I thought it was after Pablo Picasso’s daughter.

Why?

I don’t know. Figured maybe your parents were into art. Back in high school, our senior year, you were in my art class. And way more talented than me. 

Thanks. She smiled, and he was positive it was the first genuine one during their conversation. It was beautiful. Not that I’ve drawn or painted for fun in years.

But your job is creative. You’re an interior designer, right?

She tilted her head. How’d you know?

When she and Asher first got together, he’d mentioned they’d met while he’d been building a house she was designing. But for some reason, Max didn’t want his friend in his conversation with Paloma. 

We live in a small town, Max said. Isn’t it a prerequisite to know everyone’s business? 

She groaned. Ugh. It is. Picking up his drink, she swirled it, then took a sip. Setting it down, she said, You, um, I don’t know what it’s called, but you design landscapes.

Warmth spread through his chest that she knew what he did for a living, but even so, he couldn’t hold in a grin. Landscape architect. Yup, for homes and businesses.

She stared at him for a full three seconds or so, then blinked and said, Wow, you have a really nice smile. 

He dropped his gaze to his stolen drink. Oh, uh, thanks. He rubbed the back of his neck.

Don’t tell me the guy who designs million dollar gardens gets flustered over a simple compliment, she teased

I don’t— He fiddled with the paper umbrella in his glass of her old drink. They’re not million dollar gardens.

She took another sip of his drink, peering at him over the rim. So half million then? And you’re still avoiding the compliment part.

His face burned hot enough to match her dress. I design functional outdoor spaces that— He caught her raised eyebrow and stopped himself. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?

Hiding behind work talk? Yup. She nudged his shoulder with hers. But it’s kind of adorable.

A laugh escaped his recently clenched jaw. When had his dark mood slipped away?

"And your work is outstanding," she finished.

He sat up taller. Oh, and how do you know?

 I decorated one of Asher’s builds. During our final walk-through with the client, the landscaping was finished. Later, when I saw Asher I mentioned how impressed I was with the design. He told me your company had done the work.

Forget his chest warming—it was damn near swelling with pride. Thanks. He swirled his new pink drink and took a small sip. He grunted as the sweet and sour flavors hit his tongue. This isn’t too bad. The tequila masks most of the grapefruit taste.

When she didn’t reply, he glanced at her. Her red fingernails tapped on the bar top as she stared at nothing. He waved a hand in front of her, and she blinked. Her eyes held a bright gleam, though different from the earlier flirtatiousness.

Could I hire you? she asked.

Had he read her wrong? Was she hitting on him again? If so, this was by far the oddest pickup line.

Max scratched his cheek. I’m not following . . .

I have a super swanky client. It’s a couple with a gorgeous home in Brighton on Woodland Lake with lots of windows. They want a year-round garden in their house. And I don’t mean a few potted plants, but something lush and hardy that blends with the vibe of the indoor decor. 

Oh, she actually wanted to hire him for a job. And his dumb ass was a little disappointed.

And also intrigued. An inside garden would be an interesting challenge, and he admitted as much to her. He ran his finger along the rim of the drink in front of him. I already have a lot of jobs scheduled.

I understand you’re busy, but this isn’t just any job. It’s a chance to create something truly unique—a living, breathing work of art that seamlessly integrates with high-end interior design. We’re talking about transforming an entire section of their home into an oasis that changes with the seasons, right alongside Woodland Lake’s stunning views. It’s not just landscaping; it’s sculpting an ecosystem. Plus, the budget . . . let’s just say it reflects the caliber of the project.

He balanced the possibilities in his mind, absently running his thumb over the worn edge of the bar top. I’ve already got a full schedule. I’m not sure my company is the right fit. 

Taking on another project would eat up the sliver of free summer he had, and he didn’t need the business or the money. But the concept tugged at him like a loose thread he couldn’t help but pull. This wasn’t just another job—it was the kind of innovative challenge that could transform and grow his company.

His gaze flickered to Paloma as the bass thrummed through his chest, matching his quickened heartbeat. Turning her down had been the right thing to do, even if every sip of his new drink seemed to taste of regret.

I’ve seen your previous work. You can do this.

Her certainty got under his skin. For a moment, he saw himself through her eyes: not as the screw-up in his family who made too many impulsive choices. Yes, he saw the irony in taking on an impulsive project to prove he wasn’t impulsive, but something about it—and her—had him intrigued.

Walk me through the concept one more time. The smile that crossed her face told him she’d known all along he’d say yes.

The attraction hit him like gravity, but beneath it lurked a nagging voice. Her relationship with Asher was barely history before she’d turned those siren eyes his way.

It didn’t matter. This was about work. He’d keep it about work.

How about you come with me to their place tomorrow? she said. I’ll show you my plans for the house and what they’re looking for with an interior garden.

He could fit it in, so why not at least look? Sure. What’s the address?

She gave him another brilliant, genuine smile, and his pulse raced, his heart smacking against his ribs. Shit. Good thing he’d managed to hold in his impulsiveness and had turned her down before they’d started talking. The more he got to know her, the more he liked her. He could already tell he’d have wanted more than a night with her. And all she wanted him for was to get over another man. 

Working together was the smarter choice. They shook hands and he ignored how he liked the feel of her soft skin against his callused palm. 

Chapter Three

July 16th, 9:09 a.m.

Paloma pressed a hand to her stomach, staring at the printer. Excitement battled with anxiety, making her regret the small bowl of oatmeal she’d eaten for breakfast. With a final whirl and quiet hiss, the sheet with Max’s contract slid from the printer.

She picked up the warm paper, her fingers tracing over the blank signature line. Who would have thought a failed pickup at The Hill would lead to this? She shook her head, still amazed at how quickly their conversation had shifted from awkward flirtation to professional excitement.

Before they’d met at the Thompsons’ house two days ago, she’d researched his business. It was a small but premier landscape design firm that handled major commercial and residential projects. It was a coup that he was willing to take on this specialized portion of her project even with his packed schedule. Still, her expectations needed to remain low. She’d tried partnerships in the past and they’d failed miserably.

Her phone dinged with an incoming call at the same time her doorbell rang. Her cell was face up on the desk and her dad’s name flashed on the screen. They hadn’t talked in over a month, and it was five in the morning in California. 

Her stomach clenched, and she picked up the phone. Dad? Everything okay?

Everything’s fine. I wanted to catch you before my day got started.

The bell chimed again. She crossed to the door and opened it, the phone pressed to her ear. Oh, good. I was worried because it’s so early. 

Max stood on her porch in a faded green t-shirt and equally faded jeans. Her breath halted somewhere in her chest. Some women loved men in designer suits. Others got hot for guys with calluses on their hands. Hers was the latter. Even his scuffed brown work boots were sexy. But it didn’t matter. He might soon be her work partner. She waved him in, motioning toward her office.

Could I call you back? I’m meeting with a potential business partner. She led Max to her office and handed him the contracts to read.

Oh? Her father’s voice carried that familiar note of concern that always made her shoulders tense. What kind of partnership?

A landscape architect. Max London. I’ve been hired by a couple for a full house redesign, including an indoor garden. We’ll be working together to make sure his design matches mine. It’s innovative. He’s got great technical knowledge of environmental systems and plant life, and combined with my understanding of interior spaces, we could create something really special. The words tumbled out faster than she intended, already defensive. She had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from babbling.

Interesting concept. Her father paused. It’s good to see you taking initiative again, especially after . . . well, after Richard.

The reminder hit like a punch to her confidence. She turned away from Max, who was thankfully still absorbed in reading the paperwork, and left the office. Dad, that was almost two years ago. I’ve learned from my mistakes.

I hope so.

Her fingers tightened around the phone, and she paced the hallway. I’m a smart businesswoman, Dad. I’ve done my research. Sure, she’d proposed the collaboration impulsively, but her gut had been right about him. Max’s company is successful, his reputation is excellent, and this partnership could be incredibly profitable for both of us.

I know you’re smart. I just worry—

I have to go, Dad. Max is waiting. She ended the call before he could respond. Smoothing her silk sleeveless blouse, she squared her shoulders. She was done letting her past dictate her future.

She stepped back into her office, and Max looked up from the contract, concern flickering across his features. Everything okay?

The smile she gave him was genuine. Something about his steady presence helped ground her. Perfect. My dad was just checking in.

And she’d prove her father wrong. Show him she wasn’t the same naive woman who’d trusted her ex-fiancé with her company’s finances, only to discover he’d been draining her accounts. Never again. This partnership with Max was different. They were temporary, but true business partners, sharing both risks and rewards. And this time she’d done her due diligence and planned to establish clear financial controls, where every damn transaction would go through her hands first. 

So, she said, tapping the contract. What do you think?

That you’re efficient. His voice was neutral. That was a good sign.

Coming around the desk, she tapped her mouse, and her computer screen blinked to life. She pulled up the designs they’d talked about while at the Thompsons’ house. I hope—

Max had wandered to her office door and was looking into the main part of her house. You have a nice place, he said.

I’d hope so since I’m an interior designer. She bit her lower lip, secretly pleased. Moving beside him, she took in her favorite part of her home: the large glass doors that made up the far wall, the patio stretching the length, and beyond, the lake. Although I think the beauty comes from the view more than my talent at interior design.

"It’s a combination. Your furniture and decorations accentuate instead of competing with the view.