Double Trouble

By Darcy Flynn

From the first moment coffee mogul, Will Carrington, gazes into the fiery, green eyes of Clare Sullivan, he’s hit with the feeling she does not like him. Not. One. Little. Bit. Used to being the proverbial prize by some gorgeous gold-digging fortune hunter, he’s learned to be careful. But with his hunter instincts now on high alert,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paper Moon Publishing
• Release date: Mar 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781941925065

Darcy Flynn

Darcy Flynn is known for her heartwarming, sweet contemporary romances. Her refreshing storylines, irritatingly handsome heroes and feisty heroines will delight and entertain you from the first page to the last. Miss Flynn's heroes and heroines have a tangible chemistry that is entertaining, humorous and competitive. Darcy lives with her husband, son, two English Setters and a menagerie of other living creatures on her horse farm in Franklin, Tennessee. She raises rare breed chickens, stargazes on warm summer nights and indulges daily in afternoon tea.

Book preview

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to my wonderful critique partners, Cindy Brannam and Jeanne Hardt. From the brainstorming stage to the final critique, your thoughtful input always makes me think.

To my editor, Ally Robertson, as always your attention to detail, and your insightful suggestions, made my book even better. Your editorial intuition always amazes me. Thank you.

Tom and Roman, you both know what your support and encouragement mean to me. Thank you!

Dedication

Some of my dearest friends have been identical twins - for as far back as I can remember, to now. Six sets, to be exact. I’ve always loved being the one who could tell you apart, the best friend who shared your secrets and your pranks.

I thought it was time I dedicated a book to you. You know who you are!

Chapter One

Oh, my gosh. Megan’s eyes widened. That’s him. That’s Carrington.

He’s here? Clare Sullivan shifted in her seat for a better look.

So that was the man who’d called her billionaire sister a gold digger.

Since he was perusing the lunch menu, Clare did a bit of perusing herself. Even in thoughtful study of the menu, he eclipsed the other two men seated at his table. He wore a light gray suit, and his dark hair was neatly trimmed. He possessed an air of self-assurance she normally would have admired in anyone else.

Why was it always the attractive, impeccably dressed and amazingly fit men who believed an equally attractive, and flawlessly dressed woman could only be after their fortune? Or, in this case a younger brother’s inheritance.

Seriously, did they all think a woman could only gain wealth by marrying some old geezer on his deathbed? Not that the man sitting mere feet away from her was old or a geezer. On the contrary, he was every bit the opposite.

Megan stared down at her plate and fiddled with her pizza crust. Her younger sister’s pout reminded her that a man’s looks were not everything, and rarely could he be trusted for what was underneath.

Are you sure that’s Chris’s brother?

Megan raised blue eyes to Clare. I could only see his profile, but I’m certain that’s him. She shivered. "After he called me a gold digger, he told Chris not to bring any more like me to their island."

If this was an example of the Carrington charm, her sister was well rid of them. Clare hadn’t been keen on Megan going alone to some bachelor’s island during spring break anyway, but there were other, less hurtful ways to un-invite someone. But, seriously? Gold Digger? Her half-sister could buy ten islands with her inheritance.

Greek salad and half-eaten sausage pizza, now cold from neglect, permeated her senses. Clare pressed her lips firmly together and gazed across the table at Megan. Clare had hoped after Megan’s semester in college, raising her would have become easier. But, her sister’s delicate crease of annoyance between her brow clearly said Clare’s job was far from finished.

Having lost their parents ten years earlier when she was sixteen and Megan ten, Clare had fired the nanny. With the help of their beloved butler, she had raised her sister. From that point on, her life was consumed with studying, and with Megan. As co-heir to the Pendelikon fortune, she lacked for nothing, except a date on Friday nights.

Now, she was one of the most sought after home designers in South Florida, but sadly lacked experience when it came to men.

Stomach acid churned Clare’s midsection. She so wished she’d had the nerve to give this Carrington a piece of her mind. But, Clare didn’t lose control.

Ever.

She sucked in a calming breath and reached inside her purse for an antacid. For the moment, thinking daggers into his heart would have to suffice.

She chewed the chalky tablet and eyed her half-sister. It had been a decade since their parents’ accident, and she’d championed Megan, taking on role of protector and mother ever since. They’d had such a nice morning shopping along Fifth Avenue South, finishing up the outing here at Osteria Tulia for one of Chef Betulia’s famous pizzas. She hated it had to end on such a sour note.

Megan tossed her napkin on the table and stood. Excuse me.

Sure, honey.

Megan hurried off to the restroom. Poor kid, she was obviously upset. They should leave. After she motioned to her waiter to bring the bill, she glanced at the other two men seated with Carrington. They were also in suits.

Wait, she knew one of them.

Kenneth Barton from Caldwell Developers.

She quickly glanced at the bathroom entrance and still, no Megan. Taking a chance Megan would be a bit longer, she stood and crossed the short distance to the table where the gentlemen were seated.

Ken?

He glanced up and immediately smiled. Clare. My goodness. He stood and held out his hand. It’s great to see you.

It’s good to see you, too. She shook his hand.

How long’s it been? Six, seven months?

Yes. About. She smiled.

Will, Dave, this is Clare Sullivan, Ken said. She’s a designer with Lot’s House Designs.

"Former designer, she corrected him. I’m on my own now."

That doesn’t surprise me, he said.

She nodded toward Dave, then turned her attention to Will.

This is such a coincidence, Ken said. Will was just saying that he needed to find a decorator for his new penthouse.

Clare raised her brow and looked right into the gorgeous, self-assured face of Will Carrington. He eyed her with an appreciative gleam, stood, and extended his hand.

Is that right?

It is. She placed her hand in his, surprised that such a warm, gentle pressure could belong to such a heartless creature.

Was it her imagination or did Will cling to her fingers a fraction longer than necessary? His direct gaze mesmerized and, for a moment, rendered her speechless. And those violet eyes… She swallowed and pulled her hand away. Will smiled, and Clare’s knees buckled. Dazzling. No other word came to mind. If the younger Carrington’s smile was anything like the older brother’s, she could certainly see how her eighteen-year-old sister had lost her heart.

Do you have a card? Will said.

Clare slipped one from the pocket of her silk dress and handed it to him. His warm fingers brushed against hers, and tingles skipped up her arm. She snatched her hand away as if she’d touched fire. His fine lips quirked. Warmth flushed her cheeks. She took a controlling breath, despising herself for her schoolgirl reaction.

Well. Her glance encompassed the group. Don’t let me disturb you any longer. I just wanted to say hi. Enjoy your lunch.

The three men stood as she turned away. Clare grabbed her purse, slipped cash into the plastic folder that housed the bill, then left. She met Megan at the entrance right as she came out of the restroom.

I thought you might want to leave, Clare said.

You thought correctly. Megan shot her a brief smile and skirted the waiting crowd to the entrance of the restaurant.

Megan sat quietly in the seat next to Clare on the drive back home, periodically swiping at a tear. Why would he even say such a thing about me? He doesn’t even know me.

Clare huffed out a sigh. Do you want me to go back and sock him one?

Megan giggled on a half sob. "No. Besides, that’s something more like what I’d do."

Don’t I know it.

It was actually more like her than Megan realized. Upon the news of their parents’ tragic death, she’d immediately outgrown her impulsive streak. Done. Over. She was never the same.

She turned into the parking garage and pulled her practical, blue Prius into one of four slots marked Pendelikon. Her little gas-saving car looked ridiculously out of place sandwiched between the family Bentley and Megan’s vintage Corvette.

Clare switched off the engine right as Megan glanced in her direction. Seriously, you’ve got to get a different car. This is borderline embarrassing.

It’s practical for my work.

Until you need to cart a piece of furniture to someone’s house.

And when I do, I just fold the back seats forward, and there’s plenty of room.

Megan placed her hand over Clare’s. Why not get an SUV. An Audi or a Lexus. They hold a ton of stuff.

Clare shrugged. I like my little car.

Megan pursed her lips. You like punishing yourself.

Clare glanced at Megan, whose wide, stricken eyes locked onto hers.

"Oh, Clare. I’m so sorry. That came out all wrong. I just meant...I just wish you’d quit blaming yourself. It’s okay to use his money. It’s now your money. He left it to you."

Clare gave Megan a half smile and pulled her hand away. I’ve made my decision. Now, let’s not talk about it.

Okay. Fine. Megan pushed open the car door and got out.

Clare clicked the lock button on her key chain as she maneuvered her body sideways between her car and the Bentley. Look, I know you’re disappointed about Chris. She hoped the change in subject would refocus Megan on something other than their father. We’ll finish our shopping later and plan your revenge. How about it?

And salvage my spring break with new clothes? That sounds suspiciously like a bribe to me. Megan struck a pose. You know me so well.

Clare was rewarded with Megan’s cagy grin. Mention the word shopping, and the world became a brighter place. Over the years, Clare had learned that word held magical powers over her younger sister. Subsequently, she’d used it often. As a result, Megan had turned into a bit of a spendthrift. Completely Clare’s own fault, of course. But it always cheered her, and it wasn’t like they couldn’t afford it.

As they crossed the concrete floor to the penthouse elevator, Clare thought about her earlier encounter with Will Carrington. The appreciative gleam in his eyes had held her spellbound, his devilish smile adding a roguish twinkle to their depths. The sudden image of a pirate loomed in her line of vision.

Would she have confronted him if Ken and the other man hadn’t been there? The old Clare certainly would have. The old Clare would’ve shaken her fist in his irritatingly fine-looking face. Told him exactly what she’d thought of him and his comments.

The elevator doors closed, and she let out a sigh.

Go ahead and say it, Megan said.

Say what?

That it was stupid to pretend I was poor. That it backfired just like you warned it would.

"Any girl who drives a vintage Corvette is not poor."

Megan shrugged.

"And I never said it was stupid, Clare added. Certainly not the best idea you’ve ever had, but—"

Megan spun toward her. "For once in my life, I just wanted someone to like me... love me, for me. Not Daddy’s millions."

It’s actually billions, honey.

Whatever. You know what I mean.

The elevator opened to a wide foyer. A round antique walnut table graced the center of the room with an arrangement of fresh flowers.

Edward, their long time butler, crossed the marble floors to greet them. How was lunch?

Lovely, thank you, Clare said. And you really don’t need to keep meeting us at the door, she lovingly chided, while Megan continued on to her bedroom.

As you keep telling me. He tilted his head in deference to her.

You practically raised us. A hug would definitely be in order, she teased.

He raised a shaggy brow. What would your father think?

"Technically, he was not my father." She smiled, hoping to lessen the blow to his sensibilities. Edward had been in America for years, but was still very British and quite proper.

I was with Mr. Pendelikon for twelve years before he met and married your mother. He always considered you his daughter.

I know he did. He’s the only father I ever knew, and I loved him, but that doesn’t mean you are to treat us like him. Don’t you want your own life?

"The Pendelikons are my life." With those final words, he excused himself.

Oh, Edward?

He stopped in his tracks and turned around.

My new assistant, Brenda Simpson, was supposed to stop by this morning at ten. I hired her last week to help with my overflow. Sorry, I meant to tell you sooner. She was supposed to take a look at the Howards’ file.

Yes. Miss Brenda was most punctual and told me she scribbled some notes in the margins for you.

Clare entered her home office, where her latest client’s file was spread out over her desk. She picked up Brenda’s notebook. Talk about scribble. Angling her head to the side, Clare did her best to decipher Brenda’s handwriting. She finally gave up and stood over the collection of paint chips and fabric swatches, playing with the Howards’ color pallet.

They’d been a joy to work with, eager for her suggestions and open to her ideas. She wished all her clients were so agreeable. Several of them ignored her input to such an extent she wondered why they’d hired her in the first place.

Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the caller ID. Speaking of which...

Hi, Laney.

Clare. The upholsterer just arrived, and he covered the chair in the wrong fabric. I specifically wanted the yellow and white stripe.

Clare groaned inwardly. We changed it to the gold and white, remember? Especially since you insisted. You said the yellow was too bright next to the floral sofa. But, I think the—

"We discussed that, yes. But then decided the yellow and white was better because it blended with the wall treatment."

The walls in the living room are painted. The wall treatment you’re referring to is for the Master bedroom.

Oh, that’s right. I forgot. But I still don’t like the gold stripe on this chair.

As I tried to tell you.

That’s fine. Put Theo on the phone.

Clare wanted to cuss. A darn string of cuss words, but she held her tongue.

Theo. I’m so sorry. Take the chair back to your shop, and I’ll order the yellow stripe for her. We’ll do it her way.

Yes, ma’am.

Laney got back on the phone. Are we all set?

Yes. Theo will take the chair back, and I’ll order the other fabric this afternoon.

Clare pressed end, then punched in the number for the Dayna Embrey rep. She placed the order for the yellow and white stripe, then made her way to the kitchen for a cool drink. After mixing orange juice and Perrier over ice, she plopped herself down on the cream linen sofa in the family room.

She took a long drink, then rested her head against the goose down cushion. She was still furious with Laney, who’d cost Clare more than once with her indecisive screw-ups. But not this time. This time the mistake was clearly Laney’s, and Clare wasn’t about to pay for another one.

She still wanted to cuss, or at least kick something. She blew out a frustrated breath. When all of her friends were coming of age and taking on the culture around them, Clare hadn’t followed the pack. She had a little sister to raise. After their parents had died, she’d taken on the responsibility, determined to set the example her sister needed, and never looked back. Megan adored her, and she couldn’t let her down, or her parents. She could not, would not, disappoint them.

The Pendelikon fortune was left equally in trust to the two of them. Clare still felt her share was undeserved and had refused to access it when she’d turned twenty-five. One, she was not James Pendelikon’s daughter. And two, it was her fault he and her mother were dead.

* * *

Will Carrington tapped the edge of Clare Sullivan’s business card against his desk. Even though lunch was hours ago, her sparkling eyes continued to accuse him. But accuse him of what? She’d certainly been angry, but talk about control. This woman had it in spades. But, she couldn’t have been angry with him? He didn’t even know her. Had only just met her. However, he found himself wishing he’d been the cause.

He raised the card to his lips. Truthfully, he’d like nothing better than to take her in his arms and kiss that pent-up regression right out of her. He shook his head and stood.

He yanked open the door to his office. Carol. He crossed the carpet to his assistant’s desk and handed her the business card. Call Miss Sullivan and set up an appointment for her to come by. I’d like to talk to her about my house.

Which one?

Miami.

Ah, the infamous penthouse. She smiled. So you decided to keep it after all?

And listen to my brothers carry on about my bohemian beach lifestyle? He grinned. No thank you.

As he approached his car, he punched in Chris’s number. It rang twice before his youngest brother picked up.

Wes tells me you’ve gotten yourself another gold-seeking girlfriend. What’s all this about?

She’s not a gold digger. She’s adorable. And I think I love her.

"They’re all adorable. And you

Reviews for Double Trouble

[carolyn · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

This was the most ridiculous book I’ve ever read. It started out ok and typical for this genre but then it started getting more and more ludicrous. The worst part was when the “hero” was acting toward the heroine in ways that could easily get him arrested for abuse and though resisting, the heroine was secretly enjoying the abuse. What kind of a statement is that? After that, the book just continued the miscommunication nonsense and immaturity till the HEA.