“Look, I saw the guest list and there are a shit ton of his real estate buddies going to this thing. I figured if you were there as my date it would get you an in with them and you could use the opportunity to make inroads so you’d have a few more potential clients in case Dad got all pissy and walked.”
I hated to admit it, but it actually wasn’t a terrible idea. I’d learned early in my career that the business world ran on who you knew, and the more people you knew, the more opportunities that led to. Still, I hated the idea of perpetuating the lie that Richard and I were back together.
“If I go with you, this doesn’t mean we’re getting back together,” I told him.
“You won’t even let me try to seduce you just a little?”
I couldn’t help but smile. Richard liked to play at wanting to get back together, but we both knew the truth: we were never truly suited for each other. At this point it was more a game to him than anything else.
“Not going to happen.”
“What if I take you out to Bramo’s ahead of time? You know how peckish I am on an empty stomach, and the last thing you want to do is take me to a gala with an open bar when I’ve had nothing to eat.”
He had a point. I didn’t need to risk Richard getting tipsy at the gala; there was no telling what he would do. “Fine,” I ground out.
I heard him clap his hands. “Excellent! You’ll have to make the reservations, the hostess hates me. Pick me up at six. See you then, ’kay? Byeeeee!” And with that he hung up.
I felt my shoulders drop as I looked out at the family being photographed on the bluff. A young couple in the group was clearly in love, and I realized it must have been an engagement or wedding shoot of some kind. The parents and other adults all smiled and chatted, looking over at the couple with sweet affection, like the entire world was there for the taking now that the young couple was on the cusp of joining their lives together.
Fresh starts and lifelong companionship.
I wanted that. I’d always wanted that. Someone to spend my life with, sit next to on the roller coaster over the years. Someone whose hand I could cling to while the car swooped low and then shot back up. Someone I could comfort during the scary bits and shout excitedly during the adventurous ones.
My relationship with Richard had been such a desperate attempt at the white picket fence. Who in the world could ever see a free spirit like him being content with a steady life at home? The man rarely slowed down. We hadn’t been like peanut butter and jelly, but more like peanut butter and Gucci luggage. I could see clearly now that it hadn’t been fair of me to expect Richard to settle down.
I looked back in the direction of where Sawyer had driven off in his jeep. Finally, I’d met a man who wanted nothing more than family and stability—a white picket fence that had been the Gilleys’ for generations—and not only could I not have him, but I was here to rip it away from him.
Thankfully, the photographer broke me out of my sullen mood as he raced up to me with a now familiar frantic look on his face.
“Do you know where I can find a tiara, a conch shell, and an old wooden buoy?”
I stared at him for a beat. “Uh…” I thought of the bar where Sawyer worked, the Bee Tee Dub. “Actually, I think I do.”
16
Sawyer
I raced through my work at the pub, getting the new kegs set and tapped and prepping the dining area for dinner service. If Karlie noticed I was preoccupied, she thankfully didn’t say anything about it. Instead she merely smirked as I finished things up and started for the door. “Tell your lawyer friend I said hello!”
I shot her the bird over my shoulder as I left, and her cackling laughter followed me out to the parking lot where I passed the quirky photographer from the inn. “Hey, Brant,” I said with a wave.
His head jerked up. “Oh, hi. It’s Brantley, actually. Um, James sent me here to find a few props I need for the Lovejoys. He thought you might be able to help me?”
My stomach swooped at the mention of James. “Yeah, head on in. Karlie is working and I’m sure she can help you.”
The man’s face turned bright pink, and his eyelashes started flicking up and down rapidly. “Oh. Oh right. K-Karlie. Um, that’s… she’s your… girlfriend, right?”
I bit back a smile. “My cousin.”
“Not your, um, wife?”
The poor guy was worse at fishing than the most ignorant client my uncle Brian had ever taken on his deep-sea charters. “Nobody’s wife or girlfriend, I’m afraid. Single.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “But beloved and protected by tons of family. Tons. You feel me?”
His head nodded like a bobblehead. “Yes, uh, sir. I f-feel you? I mean I understand.” He hustled into the bar as I stifled a laugh and hopped in the jeep.
It was full dark by the time I returned to the Sea Sprite, and while normally the mostly empty parking lot would cause my gut to tighten with anxiety about our dwindling clientele, tonight it only meant more privacy for James and me.
Before I’d left, I’d casually mentioned to Ana Lucia that I might be doing some late-night construction on the room I was renovating, so she might not want to book any guests into that wing so they wouldn’t be disturbed by the noise. It was only half a lie—I was worried about the noise, just not from the construction.
I parked my car and started down the walk toward James’s room when a sliver of light through a cracked door caught my eye. I slowed my steps as I neared—it was the room I’d been renovating. Judging by the off-key singing, there was clearly someone there. Cautiously, I pressed my hand against the door and slowly eased it open wide enough to glance inside.
It was James. Holding a sledgehammer. Between his legs. Belting out the lyrics to Rihanna’s “Umbrella,” Tom Holland style. He wore plaid pajama bottoms and tennis shoes, but his chest was bare and glistening with sweat. He swung the hammer up over his head, using it as a prop as he writhed and danced. I watched, mesmerized as the muscles along his arms bunched and bulged. His back contracted with every swivel and gyration of his hips.
The man was irresistible. I wanted to storm inside and pin him to the wall, but at the same time I didn’t want him to stop. I was enjoying this stolen moment, of getting a glimpse of him in the raw, singing—terribly—with abandon. Gone was the buttoned-up, big-city lawyer. Gone too was the shy man who stammered under my touch.
This was James. Pure, unadulterated, free.
Mine.
That’s what I felt more than anything in that moment. That I was the only one who got to see him like this.
He spun, stomping a foot against the floor in time with the song. Then his eyes landed on mine. He froze. I could see his mind whirring, trying to decide how to respond. Slowly he lowered the sledgehammer to the ground. Already I could see him retreating, second-guessing himself. A blush starting to creep up his neck.
“Don’t stop.” My voice came out a growl, low and commanding.
His top teeth sunk into his bottom teeth.
“Please,” I added.
Something shifted in his eyes, the pupils growing wide. He started singing again, slower, as he stalked toward me, letting the head of the sledgehammer trail along the ground. I only caught snippets of words, too distracted to glean their meaning when he pressed his palm against my chest and dragged it across to my shoulder. He stepped behind me and ground himself against my ass, and I groaned.