Barefoot in the Sand (22 page)

“Will we be by tomorrow?”

“No,” he said, making her heart slip a little.

“But if they call an emergency meeting—”

“Page fourteen, section three.” He held up the binder. “Nothing can be decided in an emergency session of the council that impacts the bylaws without a written notice that is posted a full two weeks in advance.”

“You memorized the bylaws?” She couldn’t believe it. “I’ve never even looked at them.”

“You should. They’re fascinating and totally old school. Of course I read the bylaws regarding building. Oh, and there is no such thing as a secret council meeting. In fact, according to page four, section five-A, if all five members of the town council are in a room together, any citizen of Mimosa Key has the right to call order and take notes, then publish those notes in the
Mimosa Gazette
the next day.”

“Seriously?” She slowed her step, looking up at him, knowing there was awe on her face and not caring.

“What?” He laughed. “Did you think I wasn’t a legit architect just because I didn’t take some stinkin’ exams? I’m doing my job. Although I like when you look at me like that. It’s hot.”

“Yeah? So are you.”

He took the time to share a sexy smile with her. “Hold that thought for later. Now we have to concentrate on our goal.”

“And you still haven’t told me what it is.”

“Buy two more weeks. If they want to call an emergency meeting tomorrow, they can. But our little book here says
that they can’t do anything in that meeting except set an agenda for another meeting two weeks later. We need those two weeks to find a loophole in the law that lets us build whatever we want. Which”—he squeezed her arm and reached for the door—“I think I’ve found.”

“Really?”

He didn’t answer because about ten sets of eyes greeted them on the other side of the door. The small group sat in an informal circle of chairs, as innocent as a church meeting but with a lot more guilt on their faces.

“Lacey!” Charity stood up, her arms planted on her narrow hips, her long nails crimson like blood drops against ill-fitting white pants. “This is a private meeting.”

“No such thing,” Lacey said, her voice cracking as she felt the weight of so many gazes on her. For a moment she had a flash of walking into the kitchen to greet her mother and getting a different version of the same comment every day.

You’re wearing
that
to school?

And then she’d start to back down. Change her clothes. Question her decision. Doubt herself.

She cleared her throat. “I came to take notes that will be published in the next issue of the
Gazette
.”

“What?” Three people asked the question at the same time.

She glanced around to do a quick count of council members in the gathering. Sam Lennox, the mayor; George Masterson, one of his cronies; a woman named Paula, who was a former neighbor of Lacey’s; and that new guy with the heavy New York accent. That was four. Only four?

“Would you care to explain that, Lacey?” asked Sam
Lennox, a fairly reasonable mayor despite Charity’s claim to have him in her back pocket.

But Lacey was still doing the math. If there were only four present, the plan wouldn’t work. They couldn’t threaten to take notes and publish them. They couldn’t—

Her gaze fell on the face of Nora Alvarez, who headed up the Fourway Motel cleaning crew. Yes! She had been voted onto the council last month, no doubt through strings Charity and Grace pulled.

“It’s in the bylaws,” she said authoritatively. “It’s on page…”

“Four,” Clay supplied.

“Section…”

“Five-A,” he finished.

Lacey threw him a grateful look. “I’m a citizen and resident of Mimosa Key and I have the right and privilege to attend any function where all five members of the town council are present and take notes.” She beamed a smile right at Charity. “Our forefathers and -mothers were so smart and careful like that.”

“I don’t remember seeing that rule,” Nora said, sliding a look to Charity.

Mayor Lennox stood. “Actually, Lacey’s right. Come on in, Lacey. And bring your friend.”

“This is Clay Walker. He’s the architect I’ve hired to rebuild my property in Barefoot Bay.” Just saying the words made it real and right. They’d never signed a contract, but Lacey didn’t care.

They took two empty chairs slightly outside of the main circle of people and, after an awkward moment and some very dirty looks from Charity, talk continued.

Lacey tried to focus, but found herself returning the
glances of her neighbors. Glo avoided eye contact altogether, but Gracie stared her down, and so did several others.

Charity remained standing as she spoke, her back to Lacey and Clay. “As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, in light of recent events we should have a brief meeting—”

“Excuse me, Charity.” Lacey interrupted and Charity turned very slowly, her dark eyes tapering.

“Yes, Miss Armstrong?” she asked with the exaggerated patience of a kindergarten teacher who doesn’t want questions. “Would you like the full spelling of my name for your report in the paper?”

“What recent events are you referring to?”

“The hurricane. Do you remember it?”

Several people laughed, but not the dark-haired young man whose name Lacey didn’t remember. “Aren’t you the one who rode it out in your bathtub with your little girl?” he asked, that nasal Bronx sounding so out of place here.

“I am,” Lacey said.

A few more mumbles and Charity’s back grew stiffer. “May I continue? As I was saying, we need to have an emergency town council meeting tomorrow to review the existing zoning restrictions as they will apply to multiple new buildings that are proposed to—”

“Excuse me, Charity.”

This interruption got a sigh of disgust that Ashley would envy. “What is it, Lacey?”

Next to her, Clay gave a little nudge with the binder he held. Taking his cue, Lacey stood. “You can’t have an emergency town council meeting that affects zoning without two weeks’ written notice.”

Charity stared at her, then tilted her head. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m right,” Lacey replied. “I have the bylaws right here.”

Charity reached under her seat and pulled out her heavily tagged binder. “Trust me, I know them. My father wrote them.”

“With my grandfather,” Lacey reminded them. She took the book from Clay, letting their fingers brush, which gave her a surprising kick of confidence. “I’d ask you to please look at…”

“Page fourteen, section three,” Clay prompted.

A few people chuckled, but not Charity. She flipped open her book and ruffled pages with slightly shaky hands.

“There is no section three on page fourteen, Lacey. Perhaps you have an outdated version.”

Was that possible? Did the library have an old version and she was about to look like a total fool? “I-I…”

“This book was notarized last year as the latest version of bylaws,” Clay said, standing next to Lacey. “I was shown the paperwork by a lady by the name of Marian.”

“Marian the Librarian,” someone said. “She’s never wrong.”

Under thick powder blush, pink circles of frustration darkened Charity’s cheeks. “Well, my version, which isn’t notarized but is quite accurate, contains no such pronouncements, Lacey, and I—”

“Let me see it,” Sam said, reaching for her book.

She held it. “No, Sam, this has been in my family for years. Only Vails and Gramblings handle this. It’s like a Bible to us.”

“Then open it and let me see it, Charity,” Sam said. “And Lacey, bring that book here.”

Lacey went forward, holding the binder open on page fourteen, her finger on section three, her heart hammering with every step. God, if Clay was wrong…

“Nice shoes, Lacey,” Grace said as she passed. “You know what they’re called, don’t you?”

Lacey ignored her.

“Fuck-me pumps,” Grace whispered under her breath, getting a laugh from the two people around her.

Sam took her book and placed it next to Charity’s, frowning. For a long, quiet minute, no one said a word. Then Sam looked up and handed the book back to Lacey.

“This is for official record,” he said to Nora. “So, as the secretary, I want you to note that for some reason these bylaws don’t match. However, we will err on the side of caution and post a two-week notice before holding a zoning meeting.”

A small murmur of voices filled the room as Lacey turned to give Clay a victorious smile.

“But in the interest of fairness and expediency,” he added, “we’ll meet tomorrow to set the agenda for that meeting. The town council can approve an agenda and if a citizen fails to get on that agenda, they can wait up to a year for the next zoning meeting.”

A year? “How do I get on?” Lacey asked.

George Masterson stepped forward. “Any property owner who wants to have a structure approved that requires rezoning will have to appear at that meeting with preliminary plans detailed enough for the council to agree to put them on the agenda two weeks later.”

Preliminary plans by tomorrow? Lacey swallowed. “How detailed?”

“Very detailed,” Charity said.

“Define ‘very.’ ” Everyone turned when Clay spoke, including Lacey. He stood now, and, like a lion ambling across the plains, he walked to the center of the circle, in complete control.

And poor Charity was his prey.

“Because, ma’am, if you’ll turn to page twenty-five, section eight, and read real carefully and slow…” Clay drawled out the last word enough to send a little flutter through Lacey and maybe a slight sigh among a few other females in the crowd. “You’ll see that getting on a zoning meeting agenda requires the property owner only to give a verbal description of the proposed structure, a timeline for building, a general budget estimate, and a declaration of intent to improve quality of life on Mimosa Key.”

That was all? Lacey could have kissed him.

Charity, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to sucker-punch him. “That’s correct, young man. And anyone”—she lifted a brow in Lacey’s direction—“anyone who thinks they can cavalierly change the status quo of this island will find that last little item very hard to get by my, er, this council.”

“What the heck do you mean?” Sam asked Charity.

“I mean, Sam, that quality of life is subjective and I expect this town council to recognize that fact no matter what smoke and mirrors and ridiculous promises Lacey or this tattooed man think they can throw at us tomorrow.”

Clay bit back a smile. “We’re up for that challenge, ma’am.” He took the book from Sam’s hand and nodded
to Lacey for them to leave. “We have some work to do, Lacey.”

He reached for her hand to walk her out. As they passed by Grace, Clay leaned down and whispered, “Actually, they’re called fuck-me-
senseless
shoes. They’re my favorite.”

L
acey practically fell against the door when they closed it behind them. “I can’t believe we did that.”

“We did that,” Clay said, pulling her into him for a hug. “You were awesome.”

The compliment warmed like a straight shot of whiskey, and the embrace was like a full-body all-muscle chaser that made her dizzy with joy.

“
You
were awesome.” She held on to his biceps as he lifted her. “With the pages and the sections and the big save at the end! It was like a movie!”

He laughed, spinning her around, and, when her feet hit the ground, he kissed her. A celebratory kiss that didn’t last long enough. She wanted more. She wanted so much more.

But he quickly turned them toward the car, wrapping an arm around her. “You still hungry?” he asked.

Not for dinner. “Maybe we should do takeout.”
At your apartment
. “We have a lot of work to do tonight.”

“Oookay.” He drew out the word.

“What does that mean?”

“It means we might not get enough work done. We might get senseless.”

She leaned close and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I can do senseless.”