Big Talking Man (Kings of Castle Beach #2) Read online

  “There aren’t many politicians like you left, Barron.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he says. “Besides, in Castle Beach, we’re not allowed to run on party lines. Makes us loyal to the town instead of whatever letter happens to be beside our name. People don’t want to do away with that section of our town charter, so it stands.”

  “I think it’s pretty fucking progressive.”

  “Hard not to be when the town was founded by the descendants of a pirate who believed in deeds and hard work over talk and money,” Barron says wryly.

  I’m not going to point out the Kings weren’t exactly paupers, at least not anymore, but I will concede that their dad, and now Duke, Barron, and, at times, Deacon, worked their asses off to keep their shipping company running. Last time I checked, it employs fifteen hundred people in the area with well-paying jobs that have great benefits.

  At least that’s what the website touted.

  “Long live Blackbeard’s descendants,” I say.

  A ghost of a smile filters onto Barron’s face. In that instant, I know he’s thinking of Laird. What comes out of his mouth next confirms it.

  “Long live what’s left of the Kings.”

  Chapter 3

  Quinn

  This is officially the fourth or fifth worst day of my life. I’ve had so many at this point I’ve stopped counting.

  Sort of.

  According to Wren Marten, the client sitting in my chair right now, the women in this town are losing their damn minds over Tate’s unexpected visit because it’s rumored he’s finally filming a movie here and is in search of local talent. That’s the only reason my phone’s been blowing up with text messages and voicemails from practical strangers all morning—not because all the stylists at my salon are awesomely talented and everyone in Castle Beach has come to their senses to book appointments with us.

  I run a round brush through Wren’s pretty auburn hair while blowing it dry. “Any word on where tall, dark, and assholish is staying?” I ask over the noise of the hair dryer.

  She glances at me in the mirror, brows rising over her blue eyes. “Supposedly he’s renting a house near the boardwalk—the new section—instead of staying at his aunts’ place.”

  “Of course he is. Can’t live with the locals; we might stain his thousand-dollar suits.” Yes, I realize my family doesn’t exactly live with the locals either, despite being not only a founding family, but also the localest locals to have ever lived in Castle Beach. However, this isn’t about my family; this is about my husband. Scratch that, my soon to be ex-husband because if he thinks that I’ve changed my mind in the thirteen days and twelve hours he’s been gone, then he’s out of his daggum mind.

  Wren smiles thinly.

  I don’t know if her smile is directed at Tate or me. Probably both because Wren lives on a tulip farm on the outskirts of town near Queens Creek, and she thinks all of us beach folks are snooty.

  Maybe.

  Honestly, I’m not quite sure because Wren’s naturally quiet. She waits for people to insert their foot into their mouth before giving her opinion.

  “Do you have plans this weekend?” I ask as I dry the last section of hair. I put away the dryer and brush, then grab some product to make the flyaways stay put.

  “The usual.”

  “Dancing and drinking, then church on Sunday, huh?” When I wink, her formerly thin smile turns genuine.

  “Yup. What about you?”

  “Hair, hair, and more hair. Tate’s good for business, apparently.” I eye her for a second. “Although, I have no idea why.” I also have no idea why he hasn’t contacted me yet. Maybe he was full of shit, and he’s only here to scout out the area.

  My heart pinches at the thought while my brain reminds me that is exactly what I want. Distance.

  “Let’s see—he’s extremely hot, sexy, and talented. He makes stars out of formerly unknowns. Also, he’s freaking hot and sexy.”

  “Heard you the first time you said it.”

  “Girl, that man is so fine, you have to say it twice.”

  Despite the fact I think Wren is poking fun at me by commenting on Tate, I roll my eyes so hard I’m shocked they don’t go bouncing across the salon. “Do you plan on auditioning as an extra in the movie?”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t have to. Tate’s people already reached out wanting to visit the farm as a potential film location.”

  My stomach flips before falling to my feet. Wren is a pretty woman and capable to boot. She runs her family’s farm, and she manages to look amazing while doing it.

  I kind of hate her, but since I’m partially responsible for her look, I’ll keep that to myself.

  “Really? Why in the world would he film at a farm when he has the entire beach?” And is that his cover-up for coming home to win me back?

  “No offense,” I quickly add, then bend down to check the evenness of the cut from every angle.

  “None taken. Besides, I wondered the exact thing, but no one had an answer for me,” she replies.

  “All done.” Once I unsnap the cape, I brush off any visible hairs from her shoulders. “Did they say what the movie would be about?”

  “Only rumors. Thanks for fitting me in.”

  “Anytime. I know it’s hard for you to get away.” Wren also takes care of the grandparents who raised her, and it’s almost a twenty-four-seven job. So when she calls, I fit her in no matter what. I figure she needs the time alone.

  Wren jumps up, paying my usual fee and leaving a tip—in cash, no less—which I appreciate. Less card fees eating at my bottom-line that way.

  She glances at me over her shoulder, her blue eyes twinkling. “By the way, the rumor is that it’s a second chance at a love story.”

  For once in my life, I don’t have a snappy comeback. “Oh.”

  “Put me down for another appointment in eight weeks. Or thereabouts. I’ll text you.”

  Hands shaking, I grab my phone and enter her information into the app that keeps track of all my clients. “Done. You’ll get a confirmation text and a reminder the day before, but I won’t hold you to it, until you let me know for sure,” I say out of habit.

  “Thanks.” She moves to the open doorway, then pauses and turns to face me. “If I were a betting woman, I’d say Tate has ulterior motives for being here.”

  My heart slams against my chest. No one, and I mean no one, in this town knows Tate and I are married, much less estranged. Sure people have always speculated about our relationship, but that’s because we’ve always hung out, even when he was spending time with my brother. “What would those be?”

  “I heard he used to have a thing with Pam Wright.”

  I make a face. “No shocker there. Tate always had things with the pretty girls.” Yeah, yeah, I’m a total liar. Tate wasn’t a manwhore. Never will be, no matter how hard I want him to be one so I can be righteously angry about it.

  Wren tilts her head to one side. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same Tate Prescott? The same guy who barely spoke to any girl at school because he was so shy, except when he was on stage? Theater geek Tate Prescott, who hung around with the most pompous nerd to ever have lived, Barron King?”

  Yeah, the one and the same. “It was all an act. One big, fake, ugly act,” I mutter while ignoring her dig at my brother. “Maybe Pam shouldn’t forgive him or give him another chance.”

  “We all make mistakes, Quinn, even the high and mighty Kings.”

  But then she adds, “No offense,” mimicking me with a wink.

  “Is there a particular King you have in mind who makes a lot of mistakes?” I ask, feigned innocence in my tone.

  “Your brother.” She rolls her eyes. “See you around.”

  I don’t have to ask her to clarify, because it’s a well-known fact Wren and Barron can’t stand each other. And not in a they secretly have the hots for each other kind of way either. They simply can’t bear to be in the same room without trading insults. They’v
e been that way forever.

  “Bye.” I watch her leave, then start to clean my station.

  Put it this way—when Barron ran for mayor, Wren threatened to run against him, despite the fact she despises politics and all the underhandedness that comes with it. Then again, politicians used her family’s name and farm’s history to get elected, which put the Martens on several mega agriculture companies’ radars. They’ve been declining offers to buy them out for years.

  I don’t know all the details, but that would be enough to keep me out of politics, too. However, the impish part of me would have threatened to run against my biggest enemy, then stomp their ass come election time. I think most women are awesome like that.

  With a thick sigh, I plop down in my chair and roll my aching shoulders. I should have gotten a massage last week.

  My one day off in the past seven was Laird’s memorial service. The last thing I wanted to do was pamper myself, even if it was for the very legitimate reason of having a pain-free workweek. Worse, I felt guilty. There’s nothing I can do for Ophelia to make the pain of losing her husband go away.

  I know how difficult it must be for her... and not only because I miss Laird so much my heart hurts. But because I remember what it feels like to have the man you love no longer around.

  Even if Tate was the one who willingly left.

  THE REST OF THE DAY goes by in a blur, just the way I like it. After the last client leaves, I sweep and dispose of the hair collected, then tap my foot on Jeeves. He’s the only man, outside of my brothers, who has never let me down.

  Okay, so Jeeves is the nickname of my robot vacuum, but seriously, he gets the job done, is always where I left him, makes happy noises when I turn him on, and texts me for help when he gets stuck.

  Honestly, it’s the perfect relationship.

  Leaving my space, I stop by the front desk to convince my newest sister-in-law to give me baby time with Hazel.

  Campbell is at her desk because she never slacks off, and she’s really good at her job. With her platinum-blonde hair and deep brown eyes, she’s a great advertisement for our salon... although I can’t take credit for her look. She’s one of those weirdoes with naturally light hair that every woman hates.

  Except... I suspect Campbell does a little home maintenance to keep up the façade, or she thinks my skills are so lacking she doesn’t trust me with color.

  Eyes narrowing, I step up to the tall desk. “What’s the story, morning glory?”

  Campbell points to the jar, the one I have to shove a dollar in for ‘overusing rhyming words’. It sits on her counter in plain view—so I can’t claim I didn’t know I still had to pay. Secretly, I like that she takes the time to make those jars, even if my twin brother is the one who suggests the labels.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sick of this.” I make a big show of cramming a couple of bucks in—something I always have in my pockets—even though I actually enjoy filling up the jar because the money ends up going to local animal shelters. Who wouldn’t be thrilled with those kinds of consequences? “Don’t the animals have enough money to buy bones and pimped-out dog beds?”

  “Nope. Anyway, busy day today. Tomorrow looks to be slammed, too.” She frowns a little. “You’ve double-booked yourself four times.”

  I shake my head, my multicolored hair swinging. “Not really.”

  Campbell cocks an eyebrow. “Care to explain?”

  “I’m like a project manager. Besides, I only do this when I have a client who needs a color. While the color is processing, I fit in a shampoo and cut, or a brow waxing. It’s all a matter of maximizing your time. And money.”

  “So there is a method to your madness.”

  I give her a confident smile. “Naturally.”

  Campbell nibbles on her bottom lip. “You had a phone call today, but I didn’t want to interrupt you during your break.”

  “That’s because you’re the best wife Knight has ever had.” Campbell is the only wife my brother has ever had.

  She nods, but... anxiousness is all over her. “The phone call—the caller, actually—wants to meet with you about possibly coming on set for consults.”

  Blood rushes from my face, then back again, leaving me lightheaded. “On set... As in a movie set?” Is he seriously going to film here?

  Another nod as her gaze skitters away. “Tate Prescott was the one to call, so...”

  “He called?” I all but screech the last word, then clear my throat so I can get a handle on my erupting emotions. This is a place of work, and Roxi and Will are still with clients. “And you didn’t think to come get me?”

  “Um, no.” She grimaces. “Sorry, but I thought you didn’t like him, so I took a message instead.”

  “It’s okay. Seriously. I’m sorry for being so weird.” I flip my hair over my shoulder. “I don’t have time for Tate Prescott. If he wants to work with me, then he can man up and ask me in person.”

  Campbell’s grimace gives way to a broad smile. “That’s what she said.”

  “Exactly.” I point to the jar labeled The Office References, and my sister-in-law puts a dollar in. “Let me know when I can get some Hazel time this weekend.”

  Her eyes soften. “You’re always welcome to spend time with your niece.”

  “Thanks.” A lump forms in my throat, despite the fact I don’t want to get emotional. Emotional has been my default ever since my little brother went missing at sea and the Coast Guard downgraded their search. It’s time like these, even four months later, that I need my family and the distraction sweet Hazel provides.

  I think I’d fall apart without it.

  Chapter 4

  Quinn

  My plans to have much-needed baby niece time with Hazel this weekend are derailed by a text from Barron, reminding me of the engagement party our mother is hosting tonight at the lake house.

  Ugh.

  I’d rather be forced to do an asymmetrical bob with sheered ends in the front and a mullet in the back.

  Don’t get me wrong—I’m happy my brother has found the one. I just wish the one was an entirely different person. Someone who doesn’t make me want to punch her in the tit whenever she breathes.

  Normally, I’m the least violent person in existence. I prefer retaliation in subtle ways that display my creative imagination.

  Unfortunately, I can’t do either to Eden because Barron, Duke, and our momma have threatened me with the worst thing possible—having another salon be responsible for the bridal party’s hair and makeup.

  It’s like they know what really gets me going.

  Either way, I am not excited to pretend to not only like my future sister-in-law, but also be interested in her every word.

  Kill. Me Now.

  Luckily, I arrive early enough to help Momma with her hair, but not so early that Eden or her family is still there, directing everyone like they own the place. Ugh. In any case, Momma keeps her thick tresses long enough to put up, but short enough so she doesn’t seem like she’s trying to be something she’s not.

  Honestly, I think women should wear their hair how they want. Yeah, it’s my job to make them beautiful, but I also want them to feel confident. Confidence is what makes a person beautiful, and it’s why I love being a stylist so much.

  Grabbing my bags from the trunk of my vintage Mustang, I race inside and up the stairs, calling out greetings to the staff and vendors finishing up last-minute touches to the main floor rooms.

  Barron steps out of our father’s old office, almost ramming into me, but I sidestep him with a rushed, “Hi. I’m doing Momma’s hair. Bye.”

  “Not so fast.” He grabs my arm. “We need to talk about tonight first.”

  “Oh my gosh, Barron. I’ll be nice to the woman. I always am in public,” I remind him as he lets me go. “I didn’t even say one ugly word to her the last time I saw her.”

  His mouth quirks. “You didn’t say anything at all, Quinn, and it hurt her feelings.”

  Like that cold fis
h has feelings. “I’ll be sure to say hello next time.”

  “Thank you,” he says.

  Because I can tell he means it, I actually feel bad for thinking Eden is a cold fish. Inwardly, I sigh and promise to be nice to her this evening. Extra nice... even if it kills me.

  “In any case, Eden’s not the one I’m concerned about tonight.”

  Prickles of awareness dance on my skin. Son of a... “Tell me you didn’t invite Tate.”

  “I wish I could, but then I’d be lying.”

  I slug Barron in the shoulder, my bag hitting him, too. “How could you? Why didn’t ask me first?”

  “He’s one of my oldest friends, and I want him here. It’s not up to you.”

  “Not up to me...” I sputter, at a loss for words. “Tate and I... he’s...” There’s no way I can tell Barron that I don’t want my husband to ruin my night. “I don’t like him. He’s an asshole who was a complete jerk to me. If you had any loyalty to this family, then you wouldn’t want to be friends with him, like Knight and Deacon and Duke.”

  Barron’s eyes narrow as he strokes his jaw. “Remind me what he did to you that was so heinous none of us should acknowledge his presence?”

  My face flushes hot. There really isn’t an easy reason why I should be so mad at him, other than the one I have, but since I can’t share that...

  Think, Quinn, think.

  Okay, so there was that one time when I asked him out a long time ago. He’d told me no because I was “too young” for him, and I complained to Knight about it so much that my twin brother wanted to punch him.

  “Remember that time I asked him to prom?”

  Barron exhales thickly. “You were seventeen, Quinn. He was twenty-one at the time, not to mention I’m his best friend. There’s a code. He didn’t want to break it, nor did he want to go to jail since he was a grown man. So excuse me if I find it unreasonable that you’re holding a ten-year grudge against him.”

  “Ten years isn’t that long,” I weakly protest.

  “Be nice to everyone tonight, Quinn. If you can’t do it for me, then do it for Momma.” Barron brushes past me, jogging down the stairs, not even acting like he just brought out the big guns by pulling our momma into the conversation.