CAMILE FELT LIKE a fox caught in a trap. How was she going to get out of this? She wouldn’t wish Rhys McGrath on her worst enemy, much less herself. Like ripping off a bandage, she’d attempted one final push to jog his memory and dispel the awkwardness. Removing her glasses, she’d looked him right in the eye and had all but dared him to remember her. And she’d gotten nothing from him but what appeared to be mild curiosity. Or maybe it was indigestion. Who could tell?
Harper knew she enjoyed this kind of work. It was popular in wedding parties these days for the participants to take a few lessons before the big day, upping the fun level at the reception. Brides and grooms were wowing their guests with everything from the waltz and the tango to the samba and country line dance. And it wasn’t just the happy couple caught up in the craze. Bridesmaids, groomsmen, family members, you name it, people wanted to learn the moves and get their groove on. Camile had given lessons to them all. She’d choreographed group routines for entire wedding parties.
But there was no possible way she was going to extend her expertise to Rhys McGrath and his bride-to-be if, in fact, his upcoming nuptials was the event in question.
“When is the big day?” she asked, trying to stall. She knew a couple of people she could pass this job to, but they both lived in the Portland area.
“Five weeks,” Anne answered, confirming her assumption.
“How fun!” she exclaimed, unable to wrap her tongue around a more suitable phrase of congratulations.
But then Rhys made a little noise, like an unconscious groan of protest. Camile watched Anne jab him with an elbow. It didn’t seem to faze him. He plucked a napkin from the tabletop dispenser. Why did it not surprise her that he was learning to dance under duress? Maybe his bride-to-be was demanding and difficult. Wouldn’t that be karma at its finest? Weddings could be extremely stressful. She conjured a satisfying vision of him and his equally as attractive yet horrifyingly bridezilla-esque partner arguing on the dance floor. She immediately chided herself for being spiteful. Just because he’d ditched her on a date and didn’t even have the decency to remember her didn’t mean he deserved lifelong unhappiness. And certainly, his future wife hadn’t had a hand in his bad behavior. Camile knew she should feel grateful for having dodged the bullet that was Rhys McGrath. Still, what kind of person did that? Not someone she wanted to associate with on any level, certainly not on the dance floor, not even as his teacher.
Surprising that he was friends with Harper. Although, Harper was one of the sweetest people she’d ever met and Camile imagined her overlooking monstrous faults in even the most unpleasant of people.
Nina appeared by Harper’s side. With unmistakable eagerness, Anne suggested, “How about if we meet tomorrow to discuss it? Would that work? Rhys needs to start these lessons as soon as possible.”
Head bowed, now furiously doodling on the napkin, Rhys appeared to have lost interest in the conversation.
“Um...”
“How perfect!” Nina cried, throwing an arm across her shoulders. Right before throwing her under the bus. Again. “You have the entire day off tomorrow.”
“Or,” Rhys said, finally looking up again, “we could skip the meet and greet and start the lessons tomorrow. You’re obviously highly qualified, or Harper wouldn’t have recommended you. Here.” He held out the napkin.
Reflexively, Camile took it but didn’t look at it. She was too busy watching him and realizing that he hadn’t been as removed from the conversation as she’d presumed.
He added, “That’s my offer for five weeks of lessons. I’m sure it will suffice.”
Anne frowned at her brother before addressing Camile again, “I’ll text you tomorrow. We can discuss it then.”
“‘I’M SURE IT will suffice,’” Camile muttered in the parking lot as she unlocked her car. “Unbelievable, this guy.” She got in, stuffing the unread napkin offer along with her phone inside her bag. The only thing that had kept her from handing the napkin back to him and declining on the spot was her inability to come up with a believable reason that didn’t involve airing her date humiliation to her friends and family.
On the drive to her apartment, she tried out various excuses: she was too busy, she needed to concentrate on her thesis, she didn’t give private lessons. That last one was a lie, and Harper knew it. They all sounded lame, even to her.
Since it was Saturday night, she parked her car on the curb in front of the building that housed her downtown apartment. Most of the time, she left street parking open for dance studio clients and Blue Carafe patrons. Blue Carafe was the coffee shop across the street where she worked another of her several part-time jobs. When Camile had secured the dance instructor job with Pacific Dance, she’d been thrilled to learn that the small apartment above the studio was available for rent. The studio comprised the entire bottom floor of the building, one of the oldest in town. The two-story brick structure was massive by Pacific Cove standards and teeming with history and character.
The building’s owner, Gia Montoya, had a difficult time finding tenants due to the noise from the studio below. Camile didn’t mind, especially for the bargain price of the rent. For the most part, she enjoyed the chaos that drifted up from below: music, the commands of the instructors, kids’ laughter, the patter of feet, and all the accompanying sounds of dancers hard at work. The dance environment was one place where she felt confident and in control. Tap class could be a little much, but when she needed quiet, it was nothing that her set of expensive noise-canceling headphones couldn’t handle. Camile adored those headphones, a thoughtful and generous gift from her college friend Laura. Laura had given them to her the day after Camile had learned that she’d bombed her thesis defense. An added bonus for her was Gia’s agreement to let her rent the space month by month since Camile wasn’t sure what her future held at this point. Right now, she didn’t want to think about it.
Access to her apartment was through the building’s front and very grand main entrance. Double-leaded glass doors opened into a mosaic-tiled foyer where a crystal chandelier hung high above. Camile loved the vintage feel of the building and the fact that so many of the structure’s original fixtures remained: hardwood floors in the studio classrooms, intricately carved wainscoting, elaborate chandeliers and metal-scrolled sconces. Tonight, she extra loved the heavy cast-iron tub in her apartment’s bathroom, where she planned on taking a long soak before bed. A narrow flight of stairs led to a landing where there were three heavy, six-paneled oak doors complete with antique glass doorknobs.
Her apartment was on the left, the studio’s office space on the right, and a large storage room straight ahead. Once inside her one-bedroom studio, she blew out a sigh of relief. Now that she was home, the floodgates of exhaustion broke through with full force. Yawning, she reached inside her bag and retrieved her phone.
And the napkin.
Before she could think about it, her gaze was drawn admiringly to Rhys McGrath’s exceptionally neat handwriting. Her brain, however, could not compute the numbers he’d written upon it, or the final figure he’d circled. She was even more tired than she thought. That couldn’t be right, could it? A rush of adrenaline revived her, scattering her pulse, and she tried to think past the loud whooshing sound in her ears. He was offering to pay her five hundred dollars per lesson and asking her to commit to four lessons a week for five weeks? Ten thousand dollars? That was outrageous. She charged fifty dollars per lesson in Portland. No wonder he’d assumed the amount “would suffice.”
Anger coursed through her, irrational as it was. Because the fact that he’d offered such an excessive amount meant her mind was already sorting through the possibilities and the problems that kind of money could solve for her. She could quit her job at the car wash and cut back on her total work hours, possibly eliminate product promoting altogether, especially if she picked up some weekend shifts at the bowling alley. Living in Pacific Cove for the summer meant driving to the city for most of those jobs anyway, a journey that did not pay travel expenses, not to mention her poor car was on its last legs. She wouldn’t have to wear another smelly suit all summer long, taco or otherwise. She would keep her hours at Blue Carafe, both because she enjoyed working there and because of its convenient location. She’d stay on at Tabbie’s, too, because she liked waitressing and the tips were generous. And of course, she’d keep teaching her other dance lessons. With this kind of money, she could devote real time to her thesis, figure out what went wrong, fix it and then decide what she was going to do next. Camile still couldn’t fathom exactly how she’d messed up her sources so badly. Working forty-plus hours a week while writing it was her only excuse. Maybe she could even catch up on her sleep. Yearning coursed through her so fiercely it brought tears to her eyes. Making her curse Rhys McGrath all over again.
Who was this guy? How could he do this to her? Tempt her like this? It was inexcusable. Her indignation rapidly gave way to disappointment, followed by bone-deep sadness for the mess her life had become. Saying no to his offer would be one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
“RHYS, I DON’T think Camile Wynn is the type of woman you can strong-arm into giving you dance lessons. Could you really not see her hesitation?” Anne wheeled the heavy sander in Rhys’s wood shop against the wall as he’d instructed. “And why do we have to do this right now? She hasn’t said yes, and I haven’t had coffee.”
He’d seen it. But he’d wanted her to agree.
“I assumed her hesitation was due to the fact that she needs the work but was afraid it wouldn’t pay enough to be worth her time.” He hoped so, anyway. What else could it be? There hadn’t been time for her to get to know him well enough to dislike him, had there? People often disliked him in short order but usually there was more interaction involved. “So I made it worth her time.” He’d then gotten up extra early to transform his wood shop into a makeshift dance studio. He’d also baked muffins. “And we have to do this now in case she agrees to start the lessons today.”
Anne crossed the workshop, unlocked the casters on a radial arm saw and moved it toward the wall. “Why in the world would you assume that?”
Rhys unplugged his table saw and lowered the blade. “Money talks, Anne, you know that.”
“Yes, but it does not say everything. Good grief, Rhys, I continue to marvel at how you can be so incredibly smart and so unfairly good at so many things, and yet be so utterly abysmal at interpersonal communication.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Are you sure? It gave me warm fuzzies right here.” He patted his chest around the vicinity of his heart.
“Rhys, you need to take this seriously.”
“I am trying, Anne.” At her dubious frown, he added more sincerely, “I am. Evidence the creation of a dance floor in my wood shop.”
“What if she says no?”
“Then we’ll find someone else, and you can continue lecturing me about my people skills.” But Rhys didn’t want Camile to say no. He couldn’t explain how his imminent humiliation now paled in importance when compared to the notion of her declining. Of not seeing her again. “What time will she be here?”
“Fine, but I don’t think she likes you. Don’t be surprised when she turns you down. An hour or so.”
“She doesn’t have to like me, Anne. We’re going to dance, not date.”
“WAIT A MINUTE!” Nina’s shout ricocheted through Camile’s earpiece as she drove toward Rhys McGrath’s house. The day was shaping up to be a stunner with both the morning sky and the ocean displaying their most highly prized shades of blue. Wispy white clouds floated high above like shreds of gauzy lace. The calm water of the horizon shimmered like a blanket of connected sapphires. It was only 8:00 a.m., but the narrow, two-lane highway that followed Oregon’s coastline was already bustling with summer traffic.
It was the first morning she’d had off in ages. Granted, it wasn’t the result of the most positive circumstances, but still, she should be sleeping, or at least lounging around with a book and a cup of coffee. She’d intended to give McGrath her decision over the phone, but Anne had been the one to call her first. And when she’d asked if Camile would like to come out for coffee and muffins, she’d found herself acquiescing both because Anne seemed so nice and because she couldn’t immediately think of an excuse not to. Nina had essentially announced to the entire restaurant that she was free for the day. So here she was, Bluetooth in place, driving to Rhys’s house and relaying to Nina the contents of the napkin note.
Her sister continued in a slightly more subdued tone, “You are telling me this guy offered you ten thousand dollars to teach him how to waltz? And you’re going to say no? Why?”
“I don’t like him.”
“You don’t even know him.”
Camile was irritated at her sister for ratting her out to Aubrey, but Nina was the person she most often confided in. Harper was rapidly reaching bestie status, but she couldn’t talk to her about Rhys, not when they were friends, too. At least, not about this. And she had to talk about this to someone.
“I know him better than you think.”
“Cagey,” Nina accused flatly. “You know I hate that. What does that even mean?”
“Do you remember a couple of years ago when I had that horrific blind date in Portland?”
“You mean the guy who stood up suddenly, without even taking a sip of his top-shelf gin and tonic or a bite of the forty-dollar crab cakes he ordered, left the table, and never came back?”
“That would be the one.”
“No waaayy!”
“Yep. It’s him. Rhys McGrath. And apparently, he doesn’t even remember it or me. And I had to pay for those crab cakes and drink that I couldn’t afford.”
“Camile. Wow. That’s why you were quiet last night at dinner.”
“Was I quiet? I tried so hard to act normal, but I think I was in shock. I kept waiting for him to say something, to give me some hint that he remembered. But then, when he passed me the golden napkin, I realized that not only was he not going to mention it, he doesn’t even remember it. Or me.”
“Golden napkin!” Nina belted out on a laugh. “That’s funny. You know what you should do? You should take the job and teach him all wrong. Make him look like a fool. Convince him that this unique style of square dancing is trending at weddings these days.” She started singing a playground version of a hoedown, “Swing your partner round and round, kick her in the shin and knock her down.”
Camile laughed. “I love you—you know that, right? I just wanted someone to confirm for me that turning down this kind of crazy money is okay.”
“Of course it’s okay! Although...” Nina drew out the word and left it hanging in silence for a few dramatic seconds. “It would also be okay to take it. That’s a lot of money, Camile, for doing something you truly enjoy. You could do like Aubrey suggested and cut back on your schedule. Then you’d have time to fix your thesis.” Camile cringed as Nina echoed her thoughts from the evening before. “Then again, if you would accept the job I offered you, you’d also have time for your thesis.”
Which was exactly why Camile didn’t take the job her sister offered. She knew it was Nina’s way of helping her out. But she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—accept it. Since “the disagreement” with her father five years ago, she hadn’t accepted help from anyone. At the end of her junior year of college, she’d decided to change her major from premed to psychology. She’d known her father would be disappointed, but she hadn’t anticipated the depth of his disapproval, or his threat to cut off all financial support. She’d called his bluff and vowed to get her degree—the degree she wanted—without any help from her family. That included her sisters. At least they’d been supportive of her choice. Stomach twisting with anxiety, she reminded herself not to think about the fact that her inability to succeed in this ambitious undertaking was the reason she was still dancing around in taco suits and working endless hours at multiple part-time jobs to pay her bills. Not to mention the blow to her self-esteem. Which had also taken a hit from the man she was on her way to see.
“That reminds me, I forgot to ask you last night, did Howard come and see you?”
“Oh, Howard! He did. Seems like a great kid. Thank you. He starts today.”
“Awesome. Okay, I’m getting close to McGrath’s house, and I need to pay attention to the directions Anne gave me. I guess there’s a private drive with a gate, and I need to buzz in or something.”
“Camile, you don’t know who this guy is, do you? Beyond your own date experience, I mean?”
“What do you mean?”
“I guess it makes sense that you wouldn’t know since you’ve been away at college and didn’t come home last summer. Let’s just say that Rhys McGrath is probably the most mysterious and enigmatic resident that Pacific Cove has ever seen.”
Camile pulled onto the private lane and stopped her car. “Nina, what are you talking about?”
“He’d be the most eligible bachelor in town except he’s not exactly well liked. Rude is one of the nicer terms I’ve heard. I’ve never seen that side of him myself, but he’s definitely not a social guy. And you’re about to go where very few people have gone. He won’t let anyone on his property. As far as I know, Harper is the only person to photograph it in the last fifty years or so. In fact, Harper and Kyle are the only people I know who’ve ever seen the inside of his house.” Nina quickly filled her in on what she knew about Rhys McGrath and the acres of oceanfront property he painstakingly guarded. As well as a few of the rumors she’d heard, most of them completely outrageous.
“Wow.”
“Yeah, to say he’s private is the understatement of the century. We’re all still reeling from the fact that he came to dinner. The man does not socialize.”
“Huh.”
“I know. You need to call me later and tell me everything.”
“I will.”
“But first, you’re going to tell him off and explain why you’re not taking the job, right?”
Camile had lain awake the night before pondering this very question, fantasizing about how good it would feel to give the guy a piece of her mind. But then she’d realized something. “I don’t think so. He didn’t tell me why he rejected me. Why should I give him the same courtesy?”
MINUTES LATER, Camile was gawking at the gorgeous house before her. Well, clearly, he can afford the money he offered me. She chided herself for the thought; this wasn’t about money. Opening the car door, she climbed out and took in the scene, the simple beauty of the home’s design, the spacious grounds, the panoramic view of the ocean. Closer to the edge of the bluff, the old lighthouse stood tall and regal, its white-painted finish reflecting the soft orange shades of the morning sun. A quaint shingle-roofed cottage was next to that. Trees skirted the perimeter. Farther in, flowers and bushes were in colorful bloom. Except for the neatly mowed lawn, the vegetation appeared to be mostly native and left to its own devices—an appealing dichotomy of both welcoming and wild.
A cheerful Anne opened the door before Camile could lift a hand to knock, not surprising since she’d had to check in at the gigantic wrought-iron gate to access the driveway that led here.
“Camile! Good morning. Thank you so much for coming out.”
“Good morning. My pleasure. It’s a lovely day for a drive.”
“A drive?” Anne repeated as her face fell, her cheerfulness sliding away along with it. “I knew it. You’re turning down Rhys’s offer, aren’t you?”
What? How could she possibly know that? “Yes.”
Raising one hand, Anne pressed it flat to her forehead for a second and muttered soft words that Camile couldn’t quite decipher. After a quick glance behind her, she seemed to pull herself together and, with a narrow-eyed look of consideration, lowered her voice and asked, “Can I ask why?”
Camile hesitated. She hadn’t prepared for this. She’d been all set to gracefully yet firmly reject Rhys’s offer without an explanation, to leave him wondering. Perplexed and maybe even a little irritated would be a bonus. But how did she tell his sister that it was because he was a date-dodging jerk?
“Is it because you don’t like my brother?” she asked, and Camile wondered if her feelings were that transparent.
“I don’t really know him,” she hedged.
Anne sighed. “I know, but I mean your first impression wasn’t great, was it?”
Nope, and neither was the second, Camile wanted to say. A bubble of irony-laced laughter swelled inside her as she tried to think of how to best respond.
Thankfully, Anne went on, “I told him it was a mistake to offer you that kind of money.” The surprise must have been evident on her face because she quickly qualified the statement. “Not that you’re not worth it. I just meant that it was so high-handed and alphalike, assuming it was an offer you wouldn’t refuse.”
Camile couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Basically.”
“Ha.” Anne delivered a satisfied chortle. “Secretly, I was glad you didn’t look at that stupid napkin right then because if it were me, I would have taken one look and handed it right back to him. On a napkin? With the—” deepening her voice, she managed a solid impersonation of her brother “‘—I’m sure it will suffice.’ I mean, come on! So off-putting, right?” Before Camile could confirm, Anne began walking backward, waving Camile forward. “Rhys is skyping with Willow. He’ll be out in a few minutes. Come in and have coffee with me?”
As tempting as it was to bolt and have Anne give Rhys the news, Camile found herself acquiescing. Like walking into the pages of a storybook, she seemed compelled to move forward while the moment spun out of her control. Part of her knew she should turn back, and yet she continued on, rationalizing her actions as she went: she liked this woman; Anne was Harper’s friend, and she was Harper’s friend; Harper had brought the McGraths to dinner, so chances were high that Camile would be running into them again. The last thing she wanted was for Anne, or Harper, to think she was rude.
Or, she realized in a flash of honesty, for Rhys McGrath to think she was a coward.