An Island Affair Page 4

  When I pulled up at the Clydesdale, my men were already on the scene and work had already begun. And I was relieved to know that the fire was about a mile farther down the road at one of the local vacation homes. I exhaled as I stepped out of the backseat of the cab and paid the driver. A quick glance and I spotted her, not that I was looking for her. Although she wore a pair of tight jeans and a faded T-shirt, she was still just as beautiful as the day before. My energy changed. She made me sweat and caused my heart to beat a little faster. I was nervous for no reason at all, and I didn’t like it. No man should feel that way around a woman, unless she’s Beyoncé or Halle Berry. Jasmine Talbot wasn’t a celebrity. She was a wannabe.

  She stood in front of the house chatting with my construction manager, Lance. Pointing her finger up at one of the windows, it seemed she was giving him orders and that was completely out of the question. Whatever she wanted done, she needed to address it with me. And I would tell her so, just as soon as I was able to peel my eyes from her and gather my thoughts. I found myself wondering how old she was, as if it mattered. I knew she was Edward’s younger sister and he was my age. I’d recently celebrated my twenty-ninth birthday—two months before his. So she couldn’t have been much younger than that.

  “Is there something I can assist you with, Miss Talbot?” I interrupted her little meeting.

  “I was just explaining to Lance here that I’ll be working in that room up there—” she pointed upward again “—and he’s agreed that he’ll have someone bring the old desk out of the storage shed for me...and place it in my office.”

  “Miss Talbot—”

  “Jasmine,” she interrupted. “Call me Jasmine please.”

  “Jasmine.” I faked a smile. Chose my words carefully. “You asked me about that desk yesterday...”

  “Yes, and I didn’t like your response.”

  “If you don’t mind, please do not address my men. If you have an issue or concern, I would appreciate if you would take it up with me.”

  “I would’ve done that, Mr. Conner—”

  “Jackson,” I corrected her.

  “I would’ve done that, Jackson. But you weren’t here.”

  “I’m sorry I was a bit late. I was detained. Stomachache. Had to settle my...” Why was I explaining this to her? “I’ll make sure the desk is carried upstairs for you.”

  “Thank you, Jackson.” She walked away, headed inside and then turned back to me, catching me staring at her. “Lemon and warm water,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Best thing for an upset stomach. My mother used to give it to us all the time. Settles it right away.”

  “Thank you,” I said, but she was already gone. I glanced over at Lance, who was also staring at Jasmine. “Close your mouth.”

  “I think she likes me.” Lance smiled.

  I laughed and handed him a set of plans I’d revised. “Here. I’ve revised these. The wood paneling on the wall in the great room stays. And when you get a chance, have a couple of the guys bring that cruddy old desk out of the storage space and take it up to that room. Let’s get the room painted and the floors done right away. Maybe that’ll keep her out of our hair.”

  “I don’t mind her being in my hair,” said Lance with a huge smile.

  I gave him a sideways look and he wiped the grin from his face.

  “I’m on it,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and Jax,” said Lance, “let’s not drink so much tonight.”

  “I’m not drinking with you fools at all...ever again,” I said, “and contrary to popular belief, we’re not on this glorious, wonderful, magnificent island for a vacation. We’re here to work! That’s it.”

  “What? All work and no play? That’s boring. No wonder you can’t find a woman. You’re a workaholic.”

  “I’m not looking for a woman. I’m happy, see?” I faked a smile.

  “Right.” He shook his head and walked away.

  He was right. I was a workaholic—a lifestyle that I’d developed at a very young age. Ambition didn’t allow for much sleep or playtime. Even in my sleep I dreamed of success. And playtime consisted of an occasional eighteen holes on the golf course with a few of my college buddies. Being a workaholic had everything to do with why I didn’t have a woman in my life. Women required things that I wasn’t prepared or willing to give them—time. And I didn’t have much of it. When I was at home in Key West, after a hard day’s work, I usually settled into my renovated bungalow in Old Town. With a cold bottle of Heineken and takeout from a local eatery, I normally watched SportsCenter or caught a game on ESPN, with my laptop in front of me as I simultaneously reviewed plans and designs. I lounged in my leather easy chair in the corner of the room, where I almost always fell asleep before finally going to bed. It was my routine.

  Since being on Eleuthera, I’d been having a hard time finding my rhythm. My vacation rental home was a far cry from my bungalow in the city. Although it was a gorgeous place, with its similar pastel-colored homes as the ones in Key West, Eleuthera was not my home.

  Last night, I’d allowed my staff to twist my arm and I’d reluctantly stepped outside of my comfort zone. I ventured to a local bar on Harbour Island and found every one of my employees there. They were loud and boisterous and encouraged me to be the same. My good senses told me to rule against it, but I didn’t listen. I started the night with a cold beer at the opposite end of the bar as them, wanting to alienate myself from the rowdiness. I rarely drank more than a beer or two, but my first few days on the island had proved to be somewhat trying. I’d had to work out a few details with the town planning board and Ministry of Works, make sure the proper permits were in place, bring my new hires up to speed. And then there had been a small fire, caused by improper electrical wiring, and one of my best workers had injured his hand. A trying week at best, and bumping heads with Jasmine Talbot hadn’t helped one bit.

  By the end of the night, I had given in to the peer pressure. Taken too many tequila shots, trying to keep up with guys much younger than me. And now I was definitely paying for that decision. The morning sunshine creeping in my window had greeted me with a harsh headache and stomach pains. My ulcer screamed at me. I cursed Lance and the other guys all the way to the bathroom. But as I’d stared at the reflection looking back at me in the mirror, I knew exactly who was to blame.

  As I stood in front of the Clydesdale, my phone rang. I looked at my mother’s face on the screen as a Jay-Z tune played—my ringtone. Jay-Z had been one of my favorite contemporary artists since Harvard. His music had gotten me through some of my most challenging days. However, I preferred old-school artists—Sugar Hill, Run DMC, Big Daddy Kane—that my older brothers listened to, and, unlike them, I liked jazz. But because they considered it an old man’s music, I didn’t let on.

  I declined the call from my mother. I wasn’t ready to talk yet. When my phone rang again, I answered. One of my suppliers I’d been waiting to speak with for two days was finally getting back to me. As I talked and paced back and forth, Jasmine walked past—headed up the road. Those jeans hugged her in all the right places, and her shirt crept up her back with each step. I forced myself to look away. Why was I even checking her out? I would never date anyone so self-centered. She wasn’t my type at all. Of course, she was attractive, and I only dated attractive women. But she was all over the place, wasting an education and running off to Hollywood to chase a pipe dream of being an actress or a model. And as soon as things didn’t work out, it seemed that she’d rushed back home to the islands to live off her parents again. Why would I be checking out a woman with no stability and misguided ambitions? That wasn’t the type of woman I would have in my life. Not that I was looking for one. A woman like that was sure to be unhappy with my work schedule. Depending on the job, I was often gone for months at a time, and I kept late hours, n
ever leaving a job site until the work was done. My business came first, no matter what, so there was no room in my life for a high-maintenance female.

  I made a few more calls, and then I caught myself watching Jasmine again as she moseyed back down the road.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing me a disposable cup with a lid.

  “What’s this?”

  “Warm water and lemon,” she said. “I ran to the little restaurant just down the way.”

  “Really? Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Hope you feel better.”

  Answering her ringing phone, she started chattering with someone on the other end and took off for the house. I was moderately touched by her act of kindness.

  I watched as she walked into the house, couldn’t take my eyes off of her. But then I chastised myself for looking at what I couldn’t have. And didn’t want.

  Chapter 6

  Jasmine

  The old wood on the kitchen floor had been revived. The walls had been sanded but not painted yet. The only appliance was an antique gas stove, which needed to be cleaned. I rolled up my sleeves, put on a pair of rubber gloves and commenced to clean it. I had my work cut out for me, and it took the better part of the morning to get the stove to usable condition.

  As a gesture of goodwill, I’d decided to prepare lunch for Jackson’s team. It was impulsive, I knew it, but I wanted to show them how much I appreciated them for tending to all my little requests. Jackson hadn’t been the friendliest person, but his guys had been more than helpful and accommodating since they’d started work on the Grove. They’d moved things around and carried heavy furniture to places where I needed it. I’d chatted with a few of them during their smoke breaks, given advice about women, laughed at their jokes. We’d become great friends in a short time, to Jackson’s dismay. Occasionally he’d walk past while I joined them during their breaks and scowl at us. Every one of them expressed that Jackson was a workhorse and needed to loosen up, but despite that, they had the utmost respect for the man who paid them very well and loved them like family.

  “He has a hard exterior, but a big heart,” said Jorge one afternoon while taking a puff on his Marlboro. “Last Christmas when I was having a hard time financially, Mr. Conner bought Christmas gifts for all four of my children. Dirt bikes, Tonka trucks, dolls, a PlayStation...even clothing. He left it all on our back porch on Christmas Eve. Sent me a text message and told me to go look outside. It meant the world to me and my wife. It was a great gesture.”

  “When my mother was about to lose her home, Mr. Conner made a few calls to some of his buddies at City Hall and turned everything around for her,” said Diego. “She makes him pulpeta at least once a month.”

  “Pulpeta?” I asked.

  “Cuban meat loaf,” Diego said matter-of-factly. “Meat loaf is his favorite.”

  I was startled to hear all of the admirable things that Jackson had done for his employees, particularly since I hadn’t seen that side of him. The side of Jackson that I’d experienced had been far from admirable.

  I finished cleaning the old stove. Then I fired it up to make the men an authentic Caribbean lunch. I prepared conch salad, conch fritters, Bahamian spiced chicken and cassava bread. On the old folding table Jorge had pulled out of the closet for me I placed the platters on a crisp white tablecloth along with two candles and fresh flowers in a vase that I’d found.

  I plugged my docking station into the wall and searched for a nice Caribbean playlist. Something upbeat and contemporary. I found a nice mix of Caribbean rhythms and pumped up the volume.

  “It’s time!” I yelled.

  “Time for what?” Lance removed his hard hat and gave me a wide grin. A tall, light brown, thin man, Lance was a flirt, and I was careful not to give him false hope.

  “I prepared lunch for everyone,” I told him.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and it’s getting cold. So, let’s go!”

  “Jackson ran out for a bit,” Lance explained. “Had to meet with a supplier.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll put a plate aside for him.”

  “I don’t know if he’ll appreciate us eating and listening to music and stuff on the job...”

  “You’re not allowed to eat and listen to music on your lunch break? You do get a lunch break, don’t you?” I asked. “US labor laws require that you get at least thirty minutes. I’m sure Bahamian laws are much looser.”

  “We do get a lunch break. It’s just that it’s still early. We don’t usually break until around one.”

  “So make an exception today. What’s the big deal?”

  Lance looked around as if he was contemplating my question. Then loudly he made the announcement to his crew. The men slowly began to gather in the dining room.

  “Miss Talbot made lunch for us...” he began.

  “Jasmine,” I corrected him. “I’m just Jasmine.”

  “Jasmine made lunch for us. And we’re going to break a little early,” said Lance. “But thirty minutes is it, guys. Then it’s back to work.”

  As soon as he made the announcement, the men went for the food like gluttonous beasts, piling up their plates as if they hadn’t eaten in days. As they ate, I began to move my hips to the music, even sang some of the words. Although I’d never been much of a singer, I didn’t let that stop me. I knew how to have fun. Jorge started dancing with me, balancing a plate of food in his hand, and before long, everyone was moving at least one or more parts of his body.

  “I like how you move, girl!” said Tristan, the blond young man who’d only recently graduated high school. Laughter filled the room at his remark. “I wish I was a little older.”

  “And what would you do if you were older, Tristan?” I teased.

  “I’d make you my wife.” He grinned. “You’re beautiful!”

  “And you are a sweetheart,” I said. “Come dance with me.”

  “Tristan can’t dance,” said Diego. “He has two left feet.”

  “Of course he can dance,” I insisted. “There’s no right or wrong, as long as you’re having fun.”

  I motioned for Tristan to join me on our makeshift dance floor—a small area just between the kitchen and dining area. He found his way to me and started moving, but he was so focused on his feet that he looked as if he was in pain.

  “Don’t look at your feet, honey. Just let your body move with the music. Just be free with it.”

  “Like this?” he asked, his hips still stiff.

  “Keep trying. You’ll get it.” I closed my eyes and continued to sway.

  Suddenly the music stopped and I opened my eyes to see Jackson standing across the room, a frown on his face.

  “What the hell is this?” he asked.

  “Why did you unplug my music?” I ignored his question and asked my own. I was livid.

  “Lance, what is this?” Jackson ignored me. Instead he turned to Lance, who looked like a cat who’d swallowed a canary.

  “It’s called lunch.” I said it so Lance didn’t have to.

  “I was speaking to my construction manager, if you don’t mind.”

  “Frankly I do mind,” I said. “The men are entitled to a lunch break, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, but on my terms. Not yours.”

  “So you decide when grown men eat lunch?” I asked.

  “I’m done having this conversation with you,” said Jackson and then he turned to his men. “Finish up and get back to work!”

  He gave me a look of dismay and then pulled Lance aside. He was cool and calm, but he appeared to be giving his construction manager a reprimand. I felt sorry for Lance. The men slowly started to move back to their working positions.

  “Thanks for lunch, Miss Talbot,” said Diego. “Everything was delicious.”


  Tristan kissed my cheek. “You’re a great cook and a great dancer.”

  “You’re going to make some man very happy someday, mi querida.” Jorge gave me a wink and a warm smile.

  “Thank you, baby.” I pressed my hand against Jorge’s rugged face.

  “May I speak with you, Jasmine?” asked Jackson.

  He didn’t wait for my response, just stormed past me. I followed the very angry man into the kitchen, and once we were both there, he turned to face me.

  “I think we would get along much better if you would allow me to handle my staff. I’m very close to asking you to leave this property.”

  “Excuse me?” I frowned. “You don’t have the authority to ask me to leave this property. In case you’ve forgotten, this is my family’s property. Therefore, you work for my family. Thus, you work for me. Not the other way around.”

  “For your information, I do have authority here. I have a stake in this property. I’ve invested a considerable amount of my own assets into this project.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight, Jackson Conner. You might control those men out there, but you sure don’t control me. I can do whatever I please, and there’s nothing you can say or do about it.”

  “I’m not trying to control you, but I am trying to run a business and I can’t have my men all over the place. We’re here to work, not dance to Caribbean music and party in the middle of the afternoon. This isn’t Hollywood. This is real life. And you should take it more seriously.”

  “Maybe you should take it less seriously,” I said. “How dare you judge me?”

  “I’m not judging you. Only speaking the truth,” he said. “Maybe if you’d taken your education more seriously, you’d be working at some high-level company right now and not here cramping my style.”

  “You don’t know anything about me, you pompous...arrogant...”

  He walked out of the kitchen before I could finish my sentence, and I followed.

  “Don’t you dare walk away while I’m still talking!”

  “This conversation is over, Miss Talbot.”