Prove Me Wrong Page 2

  I nodded. I gestured towards a large knotted wood bench behind him. “I make furniture,” I said. “And Alex let’s me use the back room here to photograph them. I don’t have enough space to work and photograph at home.”

  The man turned towards the bench and then whirled around at me in surprise. “You made that?” he asked incredulously. He gave me a thorough look over, as if judging if someone like me could really possess any carpentry skills at all.

  I straightened myself up, raising my chin a little. “I definitely did,” I said without an ounce of hesitation. I took a great deal of pride in my work and never took anyone’s belittling of it well.

  The man stood there, staring at me in silence. Without Geoff between us, I could now get a sense of just how tall this guy was. He literally loomed over me. And with those dark blue eyes searching me, I started to feel my skin prickle with a heat I hadn’t felt in a long while.

  “What’s your name?” he asked finally.

  I gave him a bright smile. “Clara,” I said. “Clara Daniels.” But before he could ask his next question, I cut him off by adding, “And I’ll tell you my age, alma mater, and drink of choice once you’ve helped me set Geoff up on that wall there.”

  The man looked back down on Geoff as if he had momentarily forgotten about him.

  “You want me to nail the moose head onto the wall,” he said in a flat voice as if still not able to believe he was standing next to Geoff.

  I shrugged. “For a start,” I said, now eyeing my studio space. “But we’ll see where Geoff works best in the photo. I don’t know exactly where he’ll look best next to the bench.”

  The man turned around and hefted up the moose head. “Of course,” he muttered. “The dilemma we all have every morning of where to put the moose head.”

  But he obediently headed over to the wall I had pointed out, muttering some more under his breath.

  I felt an undeniable grin tugging at my lips.

  Today was turning out to be an interesting day.

  ***

  “So how long have you been making furniture?” Jonah asked. His large hand nearly swallowed the coffee cup he held.

  I made eye contact with Jeanie, the waitress on duty today at Bull’s Diner, and she immediately grabbed the pot of the good hot stuff and came over, refilling both of our cups.

  “Another early day, Clara?” Jeanie asked with a knowing grin.

  I grinned back, lifting my cup for the caffeine ambrosia. “Gotta get my photos in before Alex opens the store,” I replied. “You know how whiny he gets when I’m still back there snapping away with customers around.”

  Jeanie gave a jingling laugh at the accurate description of Alex. She shook her head smiling as she walked away.

  “Since I was about twelve,” I answered Jonah after taking a fortifying gulp. Since it was so early, the diner was just Jonah, Jeanie, and me. Oh and of course, Ralph, the cook in the back.

  Jeanie returned to the counter where she pulled out her notebook from under the register. It was the notebook where she kept track of her Mary Kay sales. On top of being a world class waitress, she was also a beauty consultant for Mary Kay. I had made the mistake of letting her do a make over on me once.

  Although wonderfully bubbly and kind, her aesthetics for make up and mine differed wildly. For almost a week, I had permanent raccoon eyes from inability to remove the black tar she had called mascara.

  “That’s quite the hobby to take up at twelve,” Jonah replied, taking a sip of his coffee. He pulled back suddenly, a little surprised.

  I raised a questioning brow.

  “That’s actually good,” he said in surprise, holding the coffee cup in front of him like an alien artifact.

  I snorted and giggled. “Right?” I said, taking another delicious sip. “Bull’s has been open for about two decades now and I’m pretty sure those pots are the same pots that they had on opening day. I think all the ghost pots of coffee brewed are still lingering in the glass. It makes each successive pot more delicious.” I closed my eyes and inhaled the coffee aroma. When I opened my eyes, I saw Jonah staring at me with an indescribable look that was partly amusement and partly curiosity.

  “What made you get into woodworking?” Jonah asked, resuming the conversation.

  I tilted my head a little. “It was my dad’s thing. He was always making stuff and when I got old enough to be trusted with a drill and hammer, that’s what I started doing too.”

  Jonah gave a faint smile. “What does your old man think of your furniture? You think he’ll like the moose head?”

  I returned the smile and shrugged. “If he could see it, I’m sure he’d love it. He was always proud of me, even when I made a six legged chair.” I laughed, remembering that project. I had been thirteen and convinced the chair would herald a new wave of design in furniture making.

  “Was?” Jonah asked softly, his eyes intent.

  I nodded. “My dad died when I was nineteen,” I said simply. Enough time had passed that I could now say those words without feeling my entire heart shatter. Now there was only the tiny crack that ached desperately. “But he would’ve loved Geoff.” I grinned.

  Jonah didn’t return the grin right away. He watched me. “But your mom? Where’s she then?” he asked.

  I bit my bottom lip. “She died when I was born. She was diabetic and it was a rocky pregnancy,” I said, saying the words in one quick breath. I gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to bum you out with such a tragic history of my life. I’m an orphan now but I’ll tell you, I know my mom loved me when she was pregnant with me. And I double dog know that my dad loved me when he raised me. I had the best parents a kid could ask for. I just didn’t have them for very long.”

  I shrugged, that familiar ache in my chest still dully thumping along in rhythmic beats. “But that’s more than some kids can say,” I said.

  Jonah sat quietly across from me. The diner had a gentle hum to it as the sounds of pots and pans being stirred into action in the back echoed through the front room.

  “You’re right,” Jonah replied softly. “It is.”

  I gave the mystery man a look. “What about you? Mr. Jonah I-Have-No-Last-Name?” I asked, teasing gently. “You know my whole life history now but you haven’t said a word about your own.”

  Jonah raised a dark brow. “Something tells me that I barely scratched the surface on your history,” he said in a deep voice that hadn’t failed yet to make my skin ripple in warmth. This man had something electric about him and it was dangerously intoxicating.

  “Well something tells me you’re not from Hanover,” I said, naming the town closest to us. Judging from his clothes, I could tell they were expensive. Very expensive.

  And his car! It looked like it had come straight out of a magazine. Did people really drive cars like that in real life?

  Jonah quirked his lips. “No, I’m not from Hanover,” he said. He took a sip of the coffee, grunting in approval at its taste before saying, “I’m from out of town.”

  I raised a brow. “Oh I see. You want to hold on to that mysterious bad boy image for as long as you can, huh?”

  Jonah looked at me in surprise. “Bad boy? What makes you think that of me?”

  Oh please. The man oozed danger. If the idea of forbidden fruit could be personified, it would be this man. I didn’t know what it was about him but I knew enough to know that this was a lethal man.

  “Well,” I said, ignoring his last comment, “what are you doing in a place as remote as Irvington, Vermont? This isn’t exactly a huge tourist draw, if you hadn’t noticed.” I grinned. The town boasted a population of three thousand on its best day.

  Jonah took in a deep breath, leaning back in his seat. He glanced out the window towards the street where his unbelievably flashy car was parked out by the old pick ups and sedans. The morning light had now lifted across the skies and it was looking to be a beautiful day.

  “I just thought I’d go exploring,” he said, keeping
his eyes on the window.

  I watched him, admiring his profile. The strong jawline, the straight nose, this man was a photographer’s dream model. He could sell ice to an Eskimo.

  “So just passing through, huh?” I asked, feeling an unexplainable pang of regret at just thinking about his departure.

  Jonah was quiet a moment before he turned the full force of his gaze towards me. My breath caught in my throat as I looked into those deep blue pools that seemed to search me down to my very marrow.

  “No,” he said, a slow smile pulling at his lips. “I think I’m planning on staying awhile. Know a good place I could crash at?”

  My heart skipped a beat.

  Chapter Three

  Jonah

  I watched as Clara helped a customer find the right nails he needed to fix a broken dresser.

  Standing behind the small counter of Mackleson’s Hardware Store, I felt a little awkward and useless. Give me a business merger worth several hundreds of millions of dollars and I will have that deal closed within an hour. But put me in a small town where the residents seemed as comfortable talking about family fights and neighborhood gossip as they are about caulk and nails and I clam up like a shell.

  David Lowell was not one for any kind of personal talk, especially with his stepson. Never once did he enquire about how I was doing in school or what my plans were for the weekend. Every meeting with him felt just like that—a meeting.

  Of course, it wasn’t as if it had been that different with my mother.

  I grimaced. It was never a pleasant feeling to remember my parents.

  Clara’s laughter cut through my thoughts. I watched as she laughed along with whatever joke the customer was cracking.

  When I had caught her on the street with Geoff, she had been bundled up in a sweater and coat with the hood up. But now in Mackleson’s, she was wearing a loose flannel shirt and jeans and I could get a clear look at her.

  Looking at her, my most immediate thought was of a feather. There was something light and delicate to her. With golden honey hair that was tied loosely down her back, she looked fair and sweet. Her smooth skin and sweet lips only added to that image. Seeing her now, I had no trouble seeing why she had so much trouble with Geoff. She was as slender as a willow reed. There were definitely womanly curves but she was petite and fragile looking. I had noticed the swell of full breasts even though she wore loose clothes. She didn’t seem too worried about accentuating any of her assets.

  But as she began to talk, I realized a feather was the wrong comparison. She was no delicate little thing that would blow away with one wisp of air. She was strong as steel. She had a mind of her own and a mouth to match.

  My lips twitched remembering her first words to me when she had caught me staring on the sidewalk behind her and Geoff.

  “Who the hell are you?” she had huffed at me.

  Not many people would speak that way to a man who defined the billionaire set.

  Immediately, I had felt my body responding to her. There was an intelligence in those soft hazel eyes. It was an arresting combination—beauty, sass, and brains. I watched as Clara directed the customer to the hammer section. And talent. The girl was clearly talented as well. I had seen the bench she had made. It was deceptively simple looking but I could immediately see the skill and workmanship that had gone into it.

  I was pissed at Martin. He had been cold and controlling of me for years. He had never approved of my mother marrying into the Lowell family. He had never approved of me being adopted into the Lowell family. And now, he wanted to make sure this deal between DXC Global and Lowell Enterprises would go through, forever cementing him in my life so he could have access to all the Lowell family businesses.

  My mother was dead. David Lowell was dead. Couldn’t Martin just leave well enough alone and be happy with his own billions?

  But I knew that wasn’t the case. We were both ruthless businessmen and when we smelled a deal, we jumped on it. Except this time, the deal was me. Once Lowell Enterprises joined DXC Global, there would be no getting rid of Martin.

  I would forever be playing defense against that fucking bastard until one of us lost or died.

  So I had driven off, sick of the cloying atmosphere of New York City. Of Martin.

  My phone had been buzzing nonstop since I had left. I’m sure Mrs. Drune, my personal assistant, was expertly fielding most of my calls since my sudden disappearance. After many years with me, she was used to my impulsive actions and held her tongue for the most part since DXC was still thriving under my leadership.

  No, I knew most of the calls were from either Martin or Vanessa.

  I grimaced. Another reason to get away from New York. Vanessa was getting all too needy these days. She had her eyes set on a large diamond ring and a huge wedding of the century. But that was not what I wanted and her calls were the last thing I wanted to hear.

  So as soon as I had gotten a good look at Clara and her full lips and soft body, I had made up my mind. Irvington and Clara seemed like just what I needed. A few days away from the ruthless city with a small town and a soft body sounded like just the getaway I needed.

  I had spent nearly my entire life with women hanging on me at every turn. In college, parties had shut down when I had walked into the room. Son of a billionaire with the title of the ‘Model Millionaire’ in papers and magazines, I knew what kind of attention I drew and I knew exactly how to use it to my advantage.

  I had absolutely no doubt I could make Clara fall hard and fast for me.

  I sighed and leaned back on the wall, the small counter and register in front of me. I chuckled to myself.

  Well, Clara now had the distinction of proving one of the most successful businessmen in the world wrong.

  She had offered me her couch to sleep on until I could find better accommodations. I calculated that by the end of the day, the better accommodations would be in her bed.

  Then she had surprised me by saying if I intended to stay, I’d have to make myself useful.

  “You want me to work at a hardware store?” I repeated, incredulous.

  “That’s right, Mr. Lawrence,” she had said with firmness as she crossed her arms, giving me a direct yet adorable look. I had given her my middle name. She, along with the rest of Irvington, didn’t seem too familiar with my face. A miracle. I’m sure they had heard of the Lowell name but they didn’t seem to know the faces attached with the name.

  Wanting to enjoy a moment of anonymity, I had given her my middle name instead.

  “You’ll need to earn your keep,” she said, her hazel eyes fixed on me. “You can work with me at Mackleson’s while here. You won’t get paid since Alex wouldn’t hire someone who’s just passing through but I’ll give you meals and a place to sleep for your work.”

  I raised a brow. “What’ll you be doing while I’m out doing all the grunt work at the store?”

  Clara gave me a smile so sweet it made my blood heat. “It’ll give me more time to work on my furniture.” She dropped her arms suddenly and her firm expression gave way to a conspiratorial look. “I have a big firm interested in my pieces. If they like them, they’ll help me look for buyers in the city.” She bit her lip, clearly a little nervous at the prospect. “So I need to get all my pieces into perfect condition before I shoot a sample catalogue and send it to them.”

  And with that, I found myself being introduced to Alex, owner of Mackleson’s. An older man with a big portly belly and a constant look of confusion just simply nodded at Clara when she explained my new role in the store.

  “Just know I don’t want any customers just wandering about not getting helped,” he had mumbled to Clara, his bushy gray brows knitted together in a look of perpetual confusion.

  “Of course, Alex,” Clara said soothingly. “You know I wouldn’t let that happen. Every single person will get our fullest attentions.”

  “I don’t like people just wandering about, messing up the aisles,” Alex continued, completely ign
oring Clara’s words.

  But eventually through a combination of soft words and browbeating, Clara had secured my position in the store.

  The woman was unstoppable.

  I jerked up as the bell above the door rang. The customer Clara had been helping had left, a paper bag full of nails in his hands.

  “Hey, he didn’t pay,” I said, straightening up.

  Clara waved a hand at me in dismissal. “Oh, George forgot his wallet again. He’ll pay the next time he comes in.” She seemed absolutely unconcerned about this loosey goosey form of business transactions.

  “I don’t think that’s the most efficient way to run a business,” I said, leaning one hand on the counter as she stood in front of me, organizing some old papers and equipment catalogues.

  She turned suddenly, her eyes alight with amusement. “Oh no?” she replied. “A drifter and a business expert, are we? I don’t see you with your own hardware store, Mr. Fancy.”

  I pressed my lips in amusement, tempted to tell her about the drilling companies we owned in South America and Northern Africa, a type of hardware in a way, but was able to stop myself.

  “You know, you really should learn a bit about handiwork,” she said, turning back to the yellowing catalogues. “It’s not very manly of you to not know the difference between a Phillips head and a Frearson.”

  My first project in business school had been purchasing a dying drill manufacturing plant to restructure and revitalize it. The plan had been so good, the actual head of the company had implemented it, offering me a job in the bargain as well.

  The screwdriver heads she had in this store were probably made from that very factory.

  But I enjoyed hearing her talk and my body heated whenever she was being playful with me. I wanted distraction and holy hell, did Clara Daniels deliver on that front.

  I lightly pressed my body against her, feeling the hardness of my muscles touch the softness of her body. I heard the short gasping intake of air as we touched.

  “Then why don’t you show me,” I said lowly to her, enjoying the soft pink that suffused across her cheeks.