Killer Summer by Lynda Curnyn (e book reading free .txt) 📗

know it,” he said. “I’ve got a handful of designers working under me, and they don’t even want to know me when I ask them to alter their perfect bodies to save production costs.”

Whoa. Where was he going with this? “Alter their bodies?”

He laughed. “I mean their designs. But I know a thing or two about design myself. I wouldn’t ask them to do something that would harm their work.”

“I hear you.”

He leaned back on his heels, still holding the mutilated flesh on the end of his hook. “The key, I think, is to get people to trust your instincts. Your leadership.”

I nodded, studying the fleshy concoction. Didn’t he have to, like, put that thing in the water?

“I used to send all my staff to management courses. Even the non-managers, so they could understand what their managers are up against. Good management is an intricate process. It requires a certain finesse. A strength of character.”

I felt my eyes begin to droop. Man, that beer had hit me hard. I could use a nap.

“The most important thing, I think, is to be able to instill confidence in your employees. Let them know who’s in charge.”

Oh, man. This guy was worse than his wife with the advice. I was starting to think they were perfect for each other. I nearly smiled at the thought. Then I remembered I was supposed to be listening.

“Next thing you need is effective communication.”

I nodded encouragingly, despite the fact that I’d heard enough. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Francesca approaching. I guess her little stud had to go back on duty. Well, whatever. I was glad she was coming back. If nothing else, she always broke up the monotony. Man, look at those breasts.

“You can’t hold an employee accountable for his actions,” Tom continued, “if the employee doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong.”

I don’t even have to touch them. Just look, you know? See if those nipples are as perfect as I imagine them to be.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said once she reached us.

Shit, I probably shouldn’t be ogling the daughter in front of Daddy Dear. God, I practically had a woody.

Not that Tom noticed. My woody. Or his daughter, for that matter.

“That’s why clear and concise communication is the key,” he continued.

Francesca brushed past me without a word, settling down on her stomach on the far side of the blanket Tom had laid out earlier. What, I don’t even get a hello? She’s probably still pissed at me about the Les thing. I had introduced them that night, but I didn’t have any control of who he did and didn’t like. Now, as I watched her wiggle that perfect little body on the blanket, carving out some space for those breasts of hers, I was glad he wasn’t interested.

I saw her first, after all.

Not that it was doing me any good, I thought, watching as she opened one eye briefly to glare at me before turning her face away. Maybe she was glaring at Tom. But why would she be glaring at her father?

I looked up at him, realizing he had stopped speaking and was staring at me. No, he wasn’t staring at me, exactly. He was sort of staring with that weird, spacey look he gets sometimes. I raised my eyebrows, as if waiting attentively for his next words.

“You were saying, Tom?”

“Ah, never mind,” he said. “I gotta go put this line in the water again.”

Creepy. I wondered if Tom smoked a lot of dope when he was younger. He kinda reminded me of this guy Carl I went to college with, the way he shut on and off like that. Spacey. Or something. I turned to look at Francesca again, but she still had her face turned away from me.

Shit. I had definitely lost her. But I still had a shot at her father.

I stood up. “Hey, Tom, you got another rod, man? I’d love to learn how to fish.”

After all, there was no better way to bond with a man than over sports. Too bad I wasn’t much of a sportsman.

But I could be, if given enough reasons.

And I had one very good reason.

Chapter Twenty-four

Sage

Every party needs a pooper. I think I got a two-fer.

“Sage, get out of this kitchen and get yourself a drink,“ Tom said, once he came out of the shower and saw that I had not only marinated the steaks and made the salad, but had a pot of mushroom risotto simmering on the stove. ”If I’d known you were going to cook the whole meal, I would have come up from the beach sooner. This party is supposed to be in your honor.“

I shrugged, then smiled up at him.“I like to cook,” I told him, realizing as I said the words how true they were. I had enjoyed putting this meal together for everyone. This was exactly how I had imagined the summer to be. Good food, good friends.

Good man, I thought, as I saw Vince’s broad-shouldered form shadow the screen door.

“Anyone home?”

“Vince! Come on in, buddy,” Tom called out.

I watched as Vince greeted his friend. “For you,” he said, holding up one of two bottles he carried.

“Whoa, nice, Vince, nice,” Tom said, taking the bottle of red and studying the label.

“And this,” he said, turning to me, “is for you.”

I glanced at the bottle of champagne he held, noting the fancy French label. Well, this was promising.“Thank you, Vince,” I said, meeting his gaze. “That was very sweet of you.”

“Well, it’s not a celebration without some good champagne. And from what Tom tells me about you, it seems we have a lot to celebrate tonight.”

My smile widened as I studied his handsome features. He looked different. More relaxed than the last time I had seen him, with his daughter. But then, so was I.

“Where’s Sophia?” I asked.

“She’s with her mother,” he replied. Turning to Tom, he rolled his eyes. “Gabriella has a lot of rules