Build Me Up Read Free Page B

and see where the nearest shopping mall was. She was planning to have at least part of her closet shipped out here, but she needed more casual wear – and winter clothes. She doubted ski wear would work. Did it snow in Greenport?
    She looked around. The grocery store sat alongside a wooden deck stretching from one rock formation to another at the opposite end of the harbor area. There were little eateries and more souvenir shops than she could count. A quick glance at the displays showed that representations of various sea creatures were popular trinkets, as well as postcards of the Greenport lighthouse. The lighthouse she was hired to remodel.
    Kristen felt an unease spread throughout her body. Mr. Bankhead had cleared the purchase of the light house and the rebuilding of the same with the town council, hadn’t he? Why would they part with a tourist attraction and landmark without reservations? Was this where the smooching would come in?
    A couple of kids running past made Kristen sway on her feet, and she was happy she hadn’t worn her heels. Giant lobsters bobbed in the air behind them as they ran. At least they weren’t giant lighthouse balloons… that would have been weird-looking.
    The little harbor was busy and the chatter of people blended with the smells of smoked fish, the sun hanging low on the horizon warming her cheeks. Kristen liked people and the bustle suited her. However, the lighthouse catching and reflecting most of the sun’s rays was like a beacon of forebodance. She was about to make a lot of people very angry.
    Despite the fact that it was Quinlan Bankhead’s name on the deed and his money paying her fee, Kristen had been around long enough to know that any negative press always came down hard on the middleman. You could criticize the head honcho nonstop in the privacy of your own home and head, but when it came to throwing out accusations and threats to a person’s face, it was the little guy that got it, the one with his or her paycheck in hand.
     
    Kristen remembered visiting her father’s office as a young girl, and being assigned to play with her dolls behind his assistant’s desk. She had been too young to understand that Mrs. Kale’s patient voice over the phone remained the same no matter what words were uttered to her, but Kristen remembered vividly the angry man who’d come busting through the door and yelled at the middle-aged assistant, calling both her and Kristen’s father horrible names. She’d begun to cry from the exchange, and the angry man had spotted her on the floor. He’d lost his train of thought, then, and security had come and taken him away.
    When she’d asked Mrs. Kale why the stranger was so angry, the older woman had patted her cheek lovingly and told her that sometimes people got upset and they needed to let off steam so that their heads wouldn’t explode, and it didn’t much matter to them who they were yelling at.
    Kristen had thought it unfair even then, and had muttered something about wishing the mean man had blown his head off. This had not gone over well with Mrs. Kale, who’d sternly said that only bad people wished other people harm, and that Kristen should take care never to become such a person. She’d tried her best not to.
     
    Kristen’s stomach made a disgruntled sound, reminding her that she had yet to eat. Music was coming from a little restaurant nearby, with string lights hanging down from the steepled roof. A menu was tacked to a fisherman’s net out front and Kristen made a qualified guess that the restaurant specialized in seafood.
    A waitress came over as Kristen perused the menu, her apron even shorter than her daisy dukes. She had long hair pulled back in a ponytail placed high on her head, and a couple of pens were stuck up there.
    “Find anything you like? Happy hour starts in half an hour. Bartender does a mean Martini, but don’t tell him I said so,” she added in a stage-whisper. “He prefers being known as the King of