Paradise Point Read online

  Paradise Point

  Dana Volney

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Copyright © 2014 by Dana Volney.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  Published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

  www.crimsonromance.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-8144-4

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8144-1

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-8145-2

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8145-8

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © iStockphoto.com/LesByerley

  To my family, for instilling in me a love of the “lake life” that will be a part of me forever.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Crimson Romance for being an amazing publisher! I’ve absolutely enjoyed every step of working with such a talented group of people. I’m grateful for the tenacity with which you put forth the best of what I have to offer—from editing, to artwork, to marketing, and everything in between. Tara, Julie, Jess, and Jennifer—you are appreciated! Thank you for continuing to let me be a part of your business. Julie, once again you’ve outdone yourself. I hope that “quirk” and all of its versions doesn’t keep you up too many more nights.

  Mary Billiter—thank you for being the best critique buddy a gal could ask for. Our clubhouse and poolside meetings were delightful for so many reasons. Your friendship is precious and I’m really glad that I signed up for your class two years and three months ago … it’s the little decisions in life that have the ability to make the most impact.

  Nurieh Glasgow—thank you for being a willing and able beta reader who goes the extra insightful mile. You help more than you know every time!

  Marissa Dresang—thank you for being a great beta reader and sister. No matter what you say, you’ll always be my north star. That, my love, is a fact.

  Chris Dresang—thank you for sharing my interest in this industry and for answering my grammar questions like the consummate professional that you are.

  Bruce and Laura Volney—thank you for all of your encouragement throughout this project. Your support means the world to me and allows me to aim high. Dad, I appreciate you being my go-to guy for knowledge on all things military and weaponry and dreaming the big dreams with me. Mom, thank you for your advice as a well-informed reader and for being an epic champion of mine.

  Hello, Wednesday night writing class. How you doin’? Our lively discussions, laughter, and friendships go a long way!

  Thank you to my friends and family who have and continue to support my dreams. You inspire me every day and are appreciated!

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Author Bio

  More from This Author

  Also Available

  CHAPTER ONE

  Liv Barnette slapped her coral flats onto the standard-issued wooden desk and closed her eyes. Her stomach growled and she moaned. She barely opened her eyelids to spy her coffee cup. Just out of reach. Coffee’s for closers. And I don’t seem to be one of those lately. Her loud sigh turned into a grunt as she stretched to grab the black ceramic cup. She needed food, she needed a new job—hell, she needed a new life or her old one back.

  She took a deep breath and pictured thick, blue waves gliding up white sand riddled with shells. The ocean. Soaking up the sun instead of this stupid-ass florescent lighting. She listened, but try as she might, she couldn’t hear rolling waves crashing on the beach. Instead, she heard cars racing past, honking, and a backhoe crunching a parking lot into pieces outside of her downtown San Diego real-estate office window.

  “Liv.”

  Neil Shiverly’s strong business voice caused her to jump. She whacked her chest with her hand as she regained her balance from the scare.

  His near-coal eyes showed no amusement. “Staff meeting. Conference room. Now.”

  She swung her feet off her desk. A staff meeting … today?

  Liv gathered her teal and yellow notebook, straightened her tan pleated skirt and white blouse, and headed for the conference room. The only open seat put her in a Deb-and-Ken sandwich. She did a mental eye roll. Ken Novak, her nemesis and former lover, smiled neatly at her grimace. With his expertly coiffed hair; stellar suits; and no doubt purchased, even tan, he was better suited for a Barbie-esque girl, not Liv.

  The smell of rich imported coffee caught her attention. Shit. My coffee. Meetings without coffee in hand sucked. As she rose out of her chair to pour a cup, Neil spoke. Balls. She relaxed back into the leather as if she had been adjusting her skirt. She fixed her eyes in Neil’s general direction and nodded insightfully to seem interested. Extra undivided attention was in order due to her crappy sales stats she had no hope of rescuing. She rapidly tapped her purple-ink pen against her notepad with impatience while her boss passed out the next round of listings, skipping her. The exclusion was fine, it would only give her time to figure out a way to sell the properties she did have and regroup. Being in a slump was for the birds. It was time to buck up and better her numbers or move on. Out of the options in front of her, looking into other jobs had a more appealing ring.

  “Liv.” Neil eyed her hand tapping the Bic.

  She cleared her throat and retracted her pen and hands to her lap, smiling curtly.

  “The last thing is the houseboat,” Neil said.

  A low groan rose from the crowd of Realtors.

  “I know. I’ve mentioned it before and had no takers, but now it’s a priority.”

  Fixing up a houseboat involves the bay. Liv pictured Paradise Point Bay on Coronado Island: topaz water surrounded by a perfectly manicured golf course that led into the San Diego Bay. Her skin warmed at the mere thought. “I’ll do it,” Liv practically yelled, surprising herself. She’d just jumped way ahead of her coffeeless thought process.

  Oh crappity crap. I don’t want a project. I want outta this job.

  “You really want to take this on?” Neil’s voice mimicked her astonishment.

  “Yep.” Liv nodded feverishly. “Yes. I do.” Kind of. Maybe. I could use it as sort of a vacation, right? A two-fer.

  Neil stared, seemingly deciding whether or not to breathe again. “That’s it, everyone.”

  Her fellow cohorts milled around and she was almost out the door when she heard, “Liv. My office.”

  Dammit. She couldn’t talk to Neil about her sudden decision. She needed a minute to get a game plan together. Why in the hell must her brain go on autopilot and screw her in the process?

  “I don’t have to tell you that you’ve been in a slump.” Neil was already halfway into his sentence before she sat on the plush chair in his office. “A long slump.” His clean-shaven face didn’t look as attractive in a frown.

  “Yeah.” Liv elongated her word. I know I need to get it together, Neil. You don’t need to lecture me.

  Adrenal
ine rushed through her head and flowed down to her toes. She shifted in her chair, ready to start arguing for her career. She opened her mouth to speak, but Neil beat her to it.

  “I need the houseboat dealt with, Liv.” Neil’s voice sounded pleading and uneasy, rather than its normal arrogant. “I don’t know if you’re the person to do it. Frankly, I’m not sure you can make it in this business.” He glanced at a stack of papers in front of him. “Your closing rate is very low.”

  He didn’t have to tell her. Her empty fridge and cupboards with one jar of peanut butter and some graham crackers were an ever-present reminder.

  Her father’s voice echoed in her head. Wingfields get the job done and do it better than everyone else.

  She’d never been fired before; never even close. She prided herself on being the kiss-ass at the head of the class showing others how to perform. Her ears began to ring. Quitting and being fired were two very different things.

  “You’ve had the same two listings for three months.”

  “I know.” Her eyes darted over Neil’s plaques and trophies. “I’ll flip it … and sell it … no problem.” Could I sound any more unsure? Holy hell, I’m a goner for sure.

  What would she do? She had no fallback. Although she could always take her dad up on his offers to come back to work. He offered about every other week.

  Her green eyes settled on a picture of her boss and his family on the houseboat in question. Cerulean waters surrounded the smiling bunch. Years had passed since that photo because his kids were grown now. The pit of her stomach started to ache. The houseboat wasn’t in great condition in the photo; who knew the condition now? Neil had been trying to sell it for at least a year with no luck. The knots tangling her digestive system loosened. She’d focus, she’d fix it up, and she’d sell the shit out of it. No problem. After all, she had the familiarity factor with all things boating and Coronado Island, thanks to her grandparents. She really was the best person for the job.

  “I’m going to lay it on the line.” Neil interrupted her thoughts. “I’m giving you this simple project. If you fail to fix it up and sell it within thirty days, then you need to find another place of employment.”

  “Thirty days?” Liv shrieked more than she’d wanted it to, but shock did that to a person.

  “I’ve seen you do more with less. Remember the Walen Meadow project?”

  “There’s no way…” She shook her head and wrinkled her face in dismay. “The Walen Meadow project took almost four months to plan and execute.” Although she had rocked that deal and presold all forty lots, even gaining a bonus for using the same contractor for the entire subdivision.

  “That’s the deal.” Neil opened his middle desk drawer. “Here’s a credit card for you to charge the rehab to. I expect receipts. Don’t go crazy. It’s parked in slot fourteen out at Coronado Boat Club.” He handed her a set of keys with the credit card.

  Liv bit the side of her bottom lip. “Do you already know what needs to be fixed?”

  Neil’s head tilted toward the ceiling. “Well…” He looked back down. “Not much. It runs and there’s nothing wrong with the plumbing. It’s basically cosmetic. Your job, your call.” He reached for his vibrating smartphone and nodded her toward the door.

  Liv strutted toward her office, choosing not to acknowledge her livelihood now depended on the outcome of a houseboat renovation and sale. Challenge accepted, Neil. She had work to do.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Liv slowly removed her sunglasses. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be. The structure did float on water—the only resemblance it had to a boat. No elegant curves welcomed her. The square sides and house-like structure were unwelcoming. The dull white paint peeled away from the sides in long strips, exaggerating the red and black racing streaks now faded to pink and gray.

  This hunk of sad metal is a friggin’ nightmare.

  The name Out & A Boat plastered in big, chunky, crusted black lettering on the stern didn’t help. Are you kidding me with this? She shook her head. It wouldn’t be a project no one wanted if it were easy.

  Reusable bags hung heavy against her sides. Silly, silly girl. This wasn’t going to be some spit-shine deal. The bottle of disinfectant, T-shirt rags, duster, and other miscellaneous cleaning supplies she’d brought clearly weren’t her starting point. She blew a lungful of air into the glorious day—a day she wouldn’t be spending basking in the glory of the sun, but rather in filth, ink, and thoughts of where she went wrong this year.

  She stepped toward the floating home docked at the very end of the row. The tarnished aluminum poles connecting the water-level deck to the upper deck no longer reflected the sun. She studied the top deck, which should beckon passengers to enjoy the outdoors. She pursed her lips to one side at the sad, torn, and stained reddish canopy that, at one point, covered half of the top deck. Two plastic, light blue Adirondack chairs and a short, round table to match sat in her view. They would need to be trashed. This is going to take more money than I thought. She did have a budget to consider, although if the outside indicated the inside, she may want to hold off on tossing anything in the trash. She surveyed the nearby well-maintained floating homes and had no words for the out-of-place heap of junk in front of her.

  The before and after pictures are going to be epic. Just like her to-do list. In all fairness, the camera and her notebook were probably the only things she needed to bring. She squared her shoulders and proceeded to board the vessel from the back patio. She stood on a film of filth. Rain trails of dirt littered the patio.

  The bag of supplies fell from her shoulder and she caught it on her forearm. She searched for a clean place to set it down. Not finding one, she lifted it back onto the dock. She reached in her bag for Neil’s keys to unlock the door to the cabin.

  The smutty lock forced her to jiggle and wiggle the key to gain access. Once inside, she coughed and waved away dust. The stale smell stung the insides of her nose. Her heart sank.

  It’ll just take some good old-fashioned elbow grease. That’s all. Her internal pep talks had helped her get through the night. Now wasn’t the time to stop her stream of positivity.

  The flimsy door opened into the living room to reveal couches on either side of the eight-foot wide space. She took care to navigate the cabin. The last thing she wanted was to fall through the floor and take an unwelcome bath in the bay. Holy. Hell. She pointed her camera to the high-top, round table on the right with four equally high chairs. They’re not in bad shape. Another coat of paint and they’ll spruce right up. The kitchen nook stood just past the dining area. Stove, sink, fridge, good. She headed down the hallway and snapped pictures to her left of floor-to-ceiling cabinets.

  Her trepidation eased as she moved further into the boat. Dirt, she could deal with.

  The first door revealed a bedroom with built-in bunk beds on either side of the room and cabinets in between. The second door gave way to a bathroom, complete with sink, toilet, and shower enclosure. Liv decided not to peek too closely. Her bravery had limits.

  The last door, which signaled the end of the hall, yielded the master bedroom. The dank smell hit her before the state of the room did. She wrinkled her nose and made a mental note to shower immediately when she got home. Her apartment might not be much, but it was clean.

  A queen-size bed butted up against the right wall of the master suite with surrounding cabinetry, consuming the space. Straight ahead a door led to the front patio and the left housed dressers for clothes and a television. Every item on board could be safely stored away behind any one of the cabinets. As if someone would actually try their luck with this baby on open water. Liv couldn’t imagine unhooking Out & A Boat from the dock would be a very good idea. Ever.

  She filled her trusty yellow and teal notebook with notes and meticulous lists of everything she would have to do to get the watercraft in tiptop shape. Painting, updating, and trashing.

  Three hours and eleven pages of scribbling later, her lower back hurt, her hair sme
lled like mildew, and the grease stain on her jeans didn’t look like the forgiving kind.

  She stepped into the bright sun, tilted her chin to the sky, and closed her eyes. After a couple of beats she opened her eyes and refocused on the rows of pristine houseboats. She checked her watch. Noon. It’s gotta be lunchtime somewhere around here.

  She followed the bend of the road in her white Jeep to the marina, Paradise Point, mere meters from the Coronado Boat Club where Neil moored Out & A Boat. The dark wood marina stood as well maintained as she remembered from her childhood. Through the front door lay the small grocery and refrigerated area with alcohol, and beyond held the restaurant and bar. The sand from the beach mixed with coconut suntan lotion and the smell of hamburgers sizzling on the grill drifted into her bubble. Mmm. She felt her soul relax with every deep breath. She’d forgotten how much she’d missed Coronado.

  “What can I help you with, buttercup?” a raspy female voice greeted her.

  Liv turned and set her green eyes on a short older woman in a white polo shirt and long tan legs peeking out of navy shorts. “Lunch?”

  “At the bar.” She nodded to a partially enclosed area, leading Liv into a rectangle room with a long tiki bar. “We haven’t opened full service yet. Not till June first.” The woman appeared sun worn but wore the tan wrinkles as well as other women in town wore Chanel.

  The seamless windows provided a beautiful view of the bay, a view Liv could relax in front of every day. The lounge seemed smaller than she remembered, but she’d been a kid peering from the outside in and probably most things seemed bigger then. She’d drive her grandma in the golf cart to the marina to pick up odds and ends they needed to prepare the latest catch of the day. While her grandma picked up butter, Liv would people-watch. The marina became her very own aquarium of human interaction.

  Liv’s attention landed in the far corner, where the two glass walls intersected. “I don’t remember a piano here.” She spoke more to herself, noting the updates, but the older woman replied.