Ms. Perfect

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Lincoln Reeves stood knee-deep in a gaping hole right in the middle of his kitchen floor.

He was annoyed.

Not so much at the fact that his six-foot three-inch frame had caused the rotting spot in the original Mackay cedar flooring of his Granddad’s house to give way right under his feet, although that was a problem. No, Lincoln was annoyed at a bigger problem, his younger brother, Luke, whose phone call had caused him to reach for his cell and take the one misstep that caused the cedar to c***k and crumble.

Plus, Luke was whining on the other end of the phone. Lincoln hated it when Luke whined.

“Come on, Link, just this one time,” Luke asked for what seemed to Lincoln like the millionth time.

“No, I don’t have time to cover for your mistakes.”

Luke groaned and coughed. The sound was wet and phlegmy. He sounded as hungover as he claimed to be, but that wasn’t Lincoln’s problem.

“What are you doing today that’s so important?” Luke wanted to know.

Lincoln looked down into the hole in the floor where his feet had disappeared. “I’m busy at Grandad’s.”

“Jeez, Link, you’re always gonna be busy up there at that dump.”

Hackles on the back of Lincoln’s neck stood up at the insult. The hill house on Hamilton Island was old and in disrepair, but it was not a dump.

His eyes roved up from the rotten flooring to the handmade cabinets and the solid wood beams in the cathedral ceiling that encompassed both the kitchen and the great room. He glanced at one of the long windows lining the living room seating area. They opened out onto a wide deck that stretched the length of the house and provided a view of the thick groves of palm and gumtrees just outside and the beautiful Whitsunday waters stretching out from the island far below.

Their Grandad had built this house with his own hands and though it had suffered from neglect for quite a few years, Lincoln considered the hill house a diamond in the rough. Not to mention that it was the only connection he still had with his Grandad. Besides Luke, of course, and the boat they had inherited, which Luke had taken charge of…for the most part.

“It’s not a dump. It needs a lot of work, though,” Lincoln answered. “Which is why I don’t have time to cover for you every time you hit the bottle a little too hard.”

Luke groaned again, a mixture of his hangover and the frustration of not getting his way.

Lincoln carefully lifted one leg out of the hole, found more solid footing, and climbed out of the mess, balancing his cell between his shoulder and chin as he did. “Why don’t you just cancel the charter if you can’t do it?”

Luke scoffed. “Give up the money? That’s no way to run a business.”

Lincoln was too busy dusting off his legs and inspecting the brand new hole in the floor to point out that getting hammered and being too hungover to take a bunch of rich tourists around on a boat was no way to run a business either. Besides, it would have fallen on deaf ears. Luke never listened to anybody, least of all him.

“And it’s not just any old group of tourists,” Luke continued. “It’s a Hollywood movie studio. For the movie they’re making on Whitehaven Beach.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know about that.” Everybody on Hamilton and all of the surrounding islands knew about the movie. The locals talked about it incessantly. It didn’t surprise Lincoln that Luke had gotten in on some of that action. Though Lincoln was a little surprised a big movie studio would bother hiring a one-off charter boat when there were whole fleets available.

“It’s a big deal, Link. Grace Woods and Zac Foster are starring in it. Syd Masters is directing.”

Lincoln knew who Grace Woods was, but the other names didn’t ring a bell. “If it’s such a big deal you should throw back some coffee and do it yourself,” he suggested.

“I can’t,” Luke whined. “I’ll get sick on the water.”

Lincoln didn’t respond.

“That’s no kind of first impression,” Luke continued. He sensed an opening in his brother’s silence. “It could be a big break for me and the boat.”

Lincoln sighed. He ran his hand through his hair, looking around the kitchen and living room of the hill house. There was so much work to be done. Weeks, even months’ worth, and it would cost a lot of money. He had talked to the bank about helping him out with some of the raw materials costs. He could do the labor. He’d trained under his Grandad as a carpenter until drink had taken over his Grandad’s personality and eventually sent him to his grave, much like it had he and Luke’s father decades ago. But the bank hadn’t given him a solid answer yet.

“Link?” Luke’s voice nudged him hopefully.

Lincoln sighed again. A sigh of resignation. Any money Luke could bring in on the boat would be that much less he would ask Lincoln to loan him, which would help keep him on track with the repairs until the bank came through. He supposed delaying construction work on the house by one day wouldn’t make that big of a difference in the end.

“Is that a yes?” Luke pressed.

“All right, but just this once.”

“Beauty! I’ll text you the details,” Luke said quickly, then hung up before Lincoln could change his mind.

Lincoln scowled, grumbling to himself, “A fine thank you, little brother.”

He took one last look at the hole in the floor, his eyes flicking to the pile of unused supplies in the corner of the room. Some he had picked up from the hardware store and some had been ferried to the island. It had taken weeks to get everything in place in order to get started on the floor, the plumbing, and the electrical that needed fixing. He did have loads of work to do on this place, but once it was done it would be his to enjoy. A little piece of paradise on earth, gifted to him by his Grandad.

His phone buzzed with Luke’s text.

8:15am. 6 people. Full tour. Sell them on another booking before they get off the boat!

Lincoln mumbled a few choice words about his brother as he grabbed his keys to leave. It seemed like he had been cleaning up after Luke’s irresponsible messes his whole life. Today was no different. The last thing he wanted to do was stop everything, trek down to the dock, and ferry a boatload of spoiled Hollywood types around the island like they owned the place and he was their chauffeur.

He stepped out into the morning that was just beginning to break and climbed into the old golf cart he used to get around the island. It was a little dinged up, but it got the job done on a car free island. The cart buzzed heartily as he drove it down the long driveway onto the winding road that led down the hill.

Lincoln took in a deep breath of the fresh morning air and steered the cart deftly around the sharp curves in the road. He would bite the bullet and get this tour done, then be back at the house by mid-afternoon. How bad could it be?