Page 41 of The Exit Strategy

JUNIE

At six a.m.,I step out of my apartment, ready to get a jump on the day and possibly avoid Cole for as long as possible, but nearly fall to my death when the top stair sets off a chain reaction that has each subsequent stair lighting up as though it’s a fairy path in the forest and I’m the magical Fae.

“What the hell?” I grab hold of the railing and spin in a circle before kneeling onto a step to get a good look at what’s going on.

This isn’t a quick fix. Someone spent time—I poke at the professional strip of lighting—considerable time installing these. On a Friday night, no less.

I narrow my gaze at Cole’s office window, then across the path toward the clubhouse. Does maintenance work odd hours so they don’t disturb anyone, or is Cole playing Mr. Fixit to ease a guilty conscience?

That’s his typical MO. When I was fifteen, Hudson yelled at me about using all the hot water, and the next day we had a newer, bigger hot water heater installed. I came home from the library early and saw Cole tearing apart thebox and agreeing to shovel Mr. Jamison’s drive all winter to cover the service fee.

I shake off that thought and make my way to Cole’s kitchen for coffee, having officially surrendered in the decaf war. Not because he won but because I ran out of energy, and I need him to be able to focus on every bullet point I send his way. The fight against Devin is more important than the war on caffeine right now.

I must be going soft, and it doesn’t bode well for my future. That’s precisely why I’m sneaking into Cole’s house to get ahead of some work at six on a Saturday morning.

Except when I attempt to insert my key into the knob, I find it already unlocked, and the house is in chaos as the door swings open.

Nana Mae is on the phone, issuing commands that sound less like requests and more like a mob boss coordinating a siege. Cole is at the counter with a clipboard, which means this is serious. He’s also dressed in a Henley that does inappropriate things to his forearms that I refuse to spend another second on.

Still, I take a mental snapshot. Involuntarily. My brain is a traitorous bitch.

“Morning,” he says without looking up. His gruff tone sends heat to a heart that’s trying desperately to defrost against my will.

“What’s happening?”

“Festival,” Cole grunts at the same time Nana Mae says, “War, didn’t I tell you? I thought for sure I mentioned it.”

She didn’t.

He flips a page on his clipboard. “It’s the annual Haven Community Day.”

“Yes, but those snots over at Cypress Hill caught wind of it and have been one-upping us ever since,” she scoffs.

“Nana Mae.” He pinches the bridge of his nose as if this is a conversation they have often. “Cypress Hill is twice as large as we are, and the quality of their builds is half of what ours are. This is in no way a competition.”

“Bullshit,” she barks. “Cypress Hill is trying to take your thunder in that architectural design award, just like Paula Pea Brain did back when your mama was up-and-coming.”

“An award I haven’t entered. Ever,” Cole fires back, ignoring the comment about his mom—he never talks about his parents.

Her eyes pinch at the corners. “No, but this year I dug the application out of the trash and entered it on your behalf. Those soul-sucking leeches are not encroaching on your success.”

He goes still. “Nana Mae. What the hell are you talking about?”

Ventriloquism looks sexy on Cole.

Ugh.

Cole Whittaker is not sexy.

“Try me, Cole. Just try and win this one.” Nana Mae’s tone is enough to have me stepping back. Something passes between the two of them. A story, a secret I’m not privy to, but Cole is the first to acquiesce.

“The award means nothing,” he grinds out. “Just because you have some old vendetta against Paula Van Holten?—”

“This has nothing to do with that old bat and everything to do with you, this land, and our family.”

“Ah, I’m just going to?—”

Nana Mae tosses an apron over my head as though I’m cattle she just hog-tied. On the front it says, Kiss the Cook’s Granddaughter, and she wastes no time tying it behind my back. “Pushy Paula’s daughter and Cole’s mama were rivalsgrowing up. That rivalry reignited when they ended up in different branches of the same company. His mama in Boston, and that twit over in Charleston.”