hips.
Spread out before them was a vista of disturbed ground waffled with bulldozer tracks and dotted with orange construction flags. Some of the earth-moving equipment was already in place, but the real work was not scheduled to begin for several months, in April, when the spring tourist season had passed.
She turned as he approached, and he saw her eyes widen at the sight of him. She had expected Brett. He didn't know if she recognized him or not, but it didn't matter.
Welcome to the majors, lady,
he thought.
I sent the babysitter home. You're dealing with Daddy, now.
But before he could say another word, she attacked. She glared at him, and he could have sworn that she bared her teeth. “You!” she exclaimed. “Good, this will save me a trip to your office. Okay, Mr. Celebrity Billionaire, suppose you tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?”
Jake flinched. He was accustomed to hearing women curse like men, and never thought twice about it, but hearing this kind of language issuing from the lips of someone who looked like Molly Shaw made it seem much more serious.
“Do you really think I'm that stupid?” she continued. “You sent me over here with a kid to herd me around like a senior citizen on a bus tour, and that might even have worked if you had picked someone with enough sense to do a
good
job of lying to me. Leaving aside the whole issue of what you're doing to Mary's estate, I am frankly offended, Mr. Berenger, that you would send such a nitwit to be your watchdog. Only a complete moron would have believed that kid. Do I
look
that stupid to you?”
No,
Jake thought.
Unfortunately, you don't look nearly stupid enough.
He was wondering how he could have considered her mousy. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, exposing an unexpectedly pretty face. Her skin was pale except for her flushed cheeks, and something about her appearance reminded him of his fourth-grade teacher. She was the proverbial girl next door. Gone homicidal.
“Anytime that you feel like jumping in here with an explanation,” she said, “feel free.”
Jake gritted his teeth. If he played this right, he had a chance of calming her down, charming her, and defusing a potentially disastrous situation. He could practically see the headlines now: “Berenger Sued Over Preservation of Feminist Heritage Site.”
Damn her,
he thought.
Damn her, her pirate, and women in general.
At this point, there was only one thing to do. He smiled at her, and lied. “Dr. Shaw, it sounds to me as if Brett gave you the wrong impression. You've got nothing to be upset about. We're not doing anything to Mary Morgan's estate.”
“If you're not doing anything to this site, then why, may I ask, did Brett have instructions to keep me away from here?”
“Because the ruins aren't safe,” Jake said. “We don't bring guests back here because the walls of the old house haven't been stabilized. It wouldn't be very good PR for my resort if you were accidentally squashed like a bug, would it?” He paused for a moment, enjoying the thought.
“Hah,” said Molly Shaw scornfully.
Jake raised his eyebrows at her, and she continued. “You called me Dr. Shaw, so I presume that you know who I am. I
specialize
in the eighteenth-century Caribbean, Mr. Berenger. This is my
field
of
expertise.
From the looks of your construction zone, you're about to bulldoze over whatever is left of the workers' village and the old cane fields. When is the rest of the estate scheduled for demolition?”
“Workers' village?” Jake said. He had a feeling that he knew what was coming, and he didn't like it at all.
“Slaves,” Molly said coldly. “African workers and tradesmen. By all accounts, Mary Morgan was a modern thinker who ran a liberal operation, and she was known to have provided a good life for her workers, under the circumstances. My guess is that she knew from her years onboard ship that her success depended on the loyalty of the people around her, so she did
Spread out before them was a vista of disturbed ground waffled with bulldozer tracks and dotted with orange construction flags. Some of the earth-moving equipment was already in place, but the real work was not scheduled to begin for several months, in April, when the spring tourist season had passed.
She turned as he approached, and he saw her eyes widen at the sight of him. She had expected Brett. He didn't know if she recognized him or not, but it didn't matter.
Welcome to the majors, lady,
he thought.
I sent the babysitter home. You're dealing with Daddy, now.
But before he could say another word, she attacked. She glared at him, and he could have sworn that she bared her teeth. “You!” she exclaimed. “Good, this will save me a trip to your office. Okay, Mr. Celebrity Billionaire, suppose you tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?”
Jake flinched. He was accustomed to hearing women curse like men, and never thought twice about it, but hearing this kind of language issuing from the lips of someone who looked like Molly Shaw made it seem much more serious.
“Do you really think I'm that stupid?” she continued. “You sent me over here with a kid to herd me around like a senior citizen on a bus tour, and that might even have worked if you had picked someone with enough sense to do a
good
job of lying to me. Leaving aside the whole issue of what you're doing to Mary's estate, I am frankly offended, Mr. Berenger, that you would send such a nitwit to be your watchdog. Only a complete moron would have believed that kid. Do I
look
that stupid to you?”
No,
Jake thought.
Unfortunately, you don't look nearly stupid enough.
He was wondering how he could have considered her mousy. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, exposing an unexpectedly pretty face. Her skin was pale except for her flushed cheeks, and something about her appearance reminded him of his fourth-grade teacher. She was the proverbial girl next door. Gone homicidal.
“Anytime that you feel like jumping in here with an explanation,” she said, “feel free.”
Jake gritted his teeth. If he played this right, he had a chance of calming her down, charming her, and defusing a potentially disastrous situation. He could practically see the headlines now: “Berenger Sued Over Preservation of Feminist Heritage Site.”
Damn her,
he thought.
Damn her, her pirate, and women in general.
At this point, there was only one thing to do. He smiled at her, and lied. “Dr. Shaw, it sounds to me as if Brett gave you the wrong impression. You've got nothing to be upset about. We're not doing anything to Mary Morgan's estate.”
“If you're not doing anything to this site, then why, may I ask, did Brett have instructions to keep me away from here?”
“Because the ruins aren't safe,” Jake said. “We don't bring guests back here because the walls of the old house haven't been stabilized. It wouldn't be very good PR for my resort if you were accidentally squashed like a bug, would it?” He paused for a moment, enjoying the thought.
“Hah,” said Molly Shaw scornfully.
Jake raised his eyebrows at her, and she continued. “You called me Dr. Shaw, so I presume that you know who I am. I
specialize
in the eighteenth-century Caribbean, Mr. Berenger. This is my
field
of
expertise.
From the looks of your construction zone, you're about to bulldoze over whatever is left of the workers' village and the old cane fields. When is the rest of the estate scheduled for demolition?”
“Workers' village?” Jake said. He had a feeling that he knew what was coming, and he didn't like it at all.
“Slaves,” Molly said coldly. “African workers and tradesmen. By all accounts, Mary Morgan was a modern thinker who ran a liberal operation, and she was known to have provided a good life for her workers, under the circumstances. My guess is that she knew from her years onboard ship that her success depended on the loyalty of the people around her, so she did
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