Summer at Seaside Cove Read Free

Internet photo had also featured a shower curtain. Now there was merely a liner of dubious cleanliness that drooped off the curtain rod, as half the hooks were missing.
    Her jaw clenched. How could anyone possibly think they could get away with renting something like this? And so grossly misrepresenting it on the Internet? It was fraud! By God, when Jack Crawford called her back, he was going to have to offer her the damn Taj Mahal of Seaside Cove to make up for this snafu.
    Because the pressure on her bladder had reached emergency proportions, she made quick use of the facilities. When she finished, she explored the rest of the house. The door on the opposite side of the main living area yielded an identical bedroom/tiny bathroom/no light situation. The only difference was this bed did have a bedspread—depicting the New York Mets logo. Figures. She was a Yankees fan. Cupcake had taken up residence on the bedspread and currently had her hind leg hoisted in the air to clean her lady bits. She spared Jamie a single glare, then resumed her cleansing ritual.
    â€œFeel free to hack one up on the Mets,” Jamie said, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed.
    Her cell phone buzzed and she quickly pulled it from her pocket. When she saw the caller’s name, she was sorely tempted to hit ignore—as she’d done the last two times he’d called—but since he obviously wasn’t taking the hint, she might as well get this over with.
    â€œHi, Patrick—”
    â€œThank God you picked up.” Patrick Wheeler, the normally unflappable maitre d’ of Newman’s restaurant, sounded like he was about to cry. “Everything has gone to hell in a handbag here. The seafood delivery truck hasn’t come because the drivers are on strike, which could continue for God knows how long. Laurel pissed off both our beef and vegetable suppliers and they’re now refusing to deal with anyone other than you. Not one, not two, but three waiters and the new hostess have all called in sick—yeah, right, like they’re not out in the Hamptons and just don’t want to come back to the city during the worst heat wave in a decade. And don’t even get me started on Eduardo! He’s simply impossible. Why do we have such a diva chef? Plus—”
    â€œPatrick. Stop. Deep breath.”
    She heard him pull in a shuddering lungful of air. “Okay. I breathed. Look, I’m keeping things afloat here as best I can, but it’s like the Titanic after the iceberg—only a matter of time before we sink. You need to come back. Now.”
    â€œPatrick. I told you. I’m not coming back until the end of summer. Consider me temporarily resigned.”
    â€œYou can’t temporarily resign. Newman’s belongs to your family.”
    â€œI’m not the only Newman.”
    â€œBut you’re the only one capable of running the restaurant. God knows I love your mother, but a manager Maggie is not.”
    Jamie couldn’t argue with him on that point. Maggie Newman was a perfect hostess for the busy, upscale restaurant located in Manhattan’s theatre district. But she had no talent—or interest—in anything managerial or financial.
    â€œNathan is perfectly capable of handling things,” she said, referring to her assistant manager.
    â€œYes, but he’s off for the next two days.”
    â€œThen call him at home.”
    â€œI already left him two voice mails.”
    â€œThen you’ll need to speak with Laurel about these problems, Patrick.”
    Her voice caught on her half sister’s name, and the sense of betrayal that she’d fought so hard to swallow rose up and grabbed her by the throat.
    â€œLaurel is part of the problem. She’s great when it comes to schmoozing the patrons and getting her rich, fancy friends to frequent the restaurant, but she doesn’t have the rapport with the staff or suppliers that you do. I told