Abyss (Elements of Rapture Book 4)

9. Hudson

HUDSON

Garrett eyes the plates of food in front of me. “You sure you’re not trying to feed a small country?”

I pull the plate of scrambled eggs toward me, shoving the plate of pancakes and bowl of fruit I just emptied aside, and shrug. “Just trying to keep the breakfast industry from tanking. My contribution to the greater good.”

My best friend barks out a laugh before digging into his waffles. “That or contributing to the city’s food shortage.”

It’s another rare day where both my and Garrett’s schedules aligned and we met up to workout at the gym. I had half a mind to cancel on him this morning, given how late I got home last night and the little I slept the night before, but I couldn’t pass up a chance to hang out with him.

Garrett and I actually met at the gym years ago. I helped him correct his form on a couple of exercises and, surprisingly, he didn’t think I was a smug asshole for doing so. Ever since, I’ve not only become good friends with him, but with his brothers, Dean and Darian, as well.

I grin to myself, taking another bite of my eggs and thinking about the time we all went to Vegas and lost Garrett for a night. Turns out, he’d run into Bella—the woman he’d been in love with for four years—and they’d proceeded to get drunk and married.

Two years later, they’re the picture of domestic bliss with their two daughters and innumerable cats.

My grin wavers a little as I think about the fun and close-knit family Garrett is always surrounded with—from his kids and wife, to his two brothers and loving parents.

It’s not that I’m jealous—I have Maddy and honestly, have never felt the need for more—but at one point I also had kinship with my brother . . . or I thought I did. He was supposed to be both by my side and on my side, much like Darian and Dean are for Garrett, but I suppose I meant less to him than his greed and desire.

And even if I’ve come a long way in accepting his betrayal for exactly what it was, I can’t say it doesn’t still sting. Like an old wound, scabbed over but not quite healed.

“How’s Maddy?” Garrett’s voice has my head and thoughts lifting. “All ready for the wedding? Saw on the invite that they’re doing it at your ranch.”

I nod. “Yeah, Maddy’s always loved the ranch. Ever since I bought it when she was little, she said she’d get married on it.” I smile. “Who was I to say no? And as for the other details, you know how she and Brie are.”

Garrett chuckles. “Two peas in a veryorganized pod. They probably had the entire thing planned years ago.” He glances at me. “What about you? Ready to give your little girl away?”

I sigh, running a hand down my stomach. “I always knew the day was coming. Her and Brie have been together for a long time, and Brie’s great—always been like another daughter to me.” I look around, not realizing it until now that I even felt this way. “Although, I won’t deny I miss the phase you’re in, when they rely on you and seek out your advice.”

Garrett’s brows waggle. “You know, it’s not too late to have another one. Even if you are an old geezer.”

I snort. “Yeah, an old geezer who just bench pressed your entire weight.”

“Touché.” Garrett runs a napkin over his lips. “But seriously, you haven’t dated anyone since Kenna, right?” His face sours at my ex-girlfriend’s name. “Any prospects you care to talk about?”

I lean back in my chair, running my thumb over my bottom lip as an image of the woman I sometimes wish I’d never met flashes across my vision.

For no fucking reason but to annoy me.

Her peach ass in those sleep shorts, so fucking divine, it should be outlawed. And those smooth, bare legs; those thick thighs I’ve imagined my face in between way more than I should.

The way her nipples protruded through her shirt . . .

Who the fuck wears Christmas pajamas in the middle of June?

“Oh, fuck!” Garrett leans forward, eyes gleaming like a cat spotting a bowl of cream. “There is someone!”

“What!?” My head swings from left to right. “Nah, there’s definitely not someone. What there is . . . is a complication. A pain in my ass.”

Elbows on the table, Garrett’s smile stretches across his face. For reasons beyond my comprehension, he and his brothers—and their respective wives—have been relentless about getting me to date again.

And while I’m not opposed to the idea of dating, my track record leaves something to be desired, namely honesty, loyalty, and trust. Oh, and I’d love it if she didn’t sleep with my brother because I was out of town and she happened to be lonely.

But clearly, my requirements are hard to meet.

“Sounds like an interesting complication,” Garrett states.

“I haven’t even told you anything yet.”

Garrett turns his hands in my direction, in a ‘go on’ movement. “Which is why I’m waiting. I’m good at managing complications.”

“As proven by your drunken marriage to the woman you pined after for four years.” I scoff. “Only for her to cry when she woke up in bed with you the next morning.”

“Hey,” Garrett lifts his head, “I convinced her to stay, didn’t I? And that’s what matters. Anyway, this isn’t about me. I guarantee, whatever the cause of this complication, it’s your fault. Now, hurry up, I don’t have all day. Bella’s supposed to be going to lunch with Rani and Mala this afternoon,” he refers to Darian and Dean’s wives, “and needs me to take care of our girls.”

I almost argue with his accusation—it’s certainly not my fault—but shake my head and move forward. “Maddy referred a friend of hers to temporarily take Belinda’s job through the summer.”

Garrett’s eyes bounce between mine, trying to glean some sort of meaning behind my words. “Okay . . .” He drags out the word. “That’s good, right? You’ve been stalling on hiring someone because you’re so damn hard to please.”

I sigh. “Well, this someone also happened to be a woman I fired at Carl’s Catch,” I clarify, referring to mine and Jett’s restaurant, named after our dad. “But I didn”t know that until she was already hired, since I was out of town.”

Garrett runs a hand over his chin like he’s struggling with a tough math problem. “I’m not following. So you don’t think she’s competent? Then why not just fire her?”

I take a long breath. If only it were that simple.

“Because it’s not that she’s not competent; she is. She’s sharp as a whip. Plus, she’s Maddy’s friend, and . . .” Fuck, I don’t really know what I’m even saying. It all sounds like a bunch of random thoughts.

“Holy shit!” Garrett’s eyes widen, as if everything just became crystal-fucking-clear to him. Wish he’d enlighten me, because I feel like I’m trying to see through mud. “You like her!”

“What?” I reel back, speaking louder than I intended. “No, I fucking don’t! She’s . . . she’s irritating and exasperating. Wears fucking fruit paraphernalia and shit. And way too much orange.” I lean in. “Like these hideous orange combat boots.” I shake my head. “She came in late to work yesterday, wearing—”

I stop myself from elaborating, recalling her swinging breasts and how I imagine painting them with my fucking cum. Jesus Christ, I can feel the flush rising over my neck. The woman needs to be put away and locked up for good.

“—a tattered T-shirt and fucking demanded I apologize to her for calling her out for it in front of our team!” I gawk at him like he should be seeing exactly what I am, that the woman’s unhinged.

“And did you?”

I blink. Clearly, my best friend isn’t following my line of reasoning, given how calm he seems while I feel like I’m about to burst a coronary.

“Yes, but that’s not the point, G. The point is . . .” My mouth sets in a firm line, but my next words don’t sound convincing, even inside my head. “She’s not my type.”

Garrett”s smile widens, pissing me off. “Then what’s the problem? Why are your fucking knickers in a twist at just the thought of her?”

I exhale, frustrated, my breakfast unsettled in my stomach. I was going to finish the bacon and potatoes I’d ordered, but now they don’t even look appetizing. I silently curse the raven-haired vixen. “The problem is, our biggest clients like the work she did on some slides and want to meet her.”

“So you can’t fire her,” Garrett concludes, taking a sip of his orange juice.

I nod. “Bingo.” Then I wipe my hand over my mouth and murmur, hoping to bury enough of the next bit so he doesn’t hear, and later I can point out that I did, indeed, tell him. “And I asked her to move in with me.”

Garrett splutters, quickly bringing his napkin to his mouth, then coughs. The man really ought to take up theater with all his dramatics. “I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “I could have sworn I heard you say she’s movingin with you.”

I glower at him while his mouth hangs open. “It’s not what you think.”

“I honestly don’t know what to think. You just went from telling me how she infuriates you to she’s moving in with you. Help me bridge the gap here.”

I run my hand through my hair, not quite knowing how I’ll bridge the gap myself. “She lives on the other side of the Bay and doesn’t have a functioning car, or much of a bank account from what I know. She’d need to take a couple of different subways to get to work. And given how much I demand, and the fact that she might need to be on-site at a large project here in the city, sometimes at odd times of the day, it just made sense.” I shrug, feeling less nonchalant than I’m going for. “It’s just a temporary business arrangement. Plus, it’s not like I don’t have enough rooms.”

Garrett presses his fingers against his mouth, seemingly holding back another smile. “Seems to me that you’ve got it all figured out.”

I squint at him, catching the flicker of sarcasm in his tone. “But . . .?” I prompt.

He shrugs. “No buts. I’m just wondering . . .” He pauses with his smile now in plain view. “For a man who has the means of renting any nearby apartment, or even buying her a new car, it’s interesting that you chose to move her in with you. Like it was your only option.”

I slide a hand over my scruff, not giving him a response. The bastard’s all too perceptive, but right now, as it stands, I don’t need his perceptions added to the confusion in my head.

“And you know what else I wonder?” I want to say I don’t give a shit what he wonders, but he continues, teeth flashing, “When you’ll see it as clearly as I do.”

My fingers tapa steady beat on my desk, the end of my pen pressing into my bottom lip as I eavesdrop on my sales team’s morning meeting. My physical presence isn’t always conducive or welcome in candid employee discussions, so I liked to stay in my office and listen to various department meetings to gain insight into their hurdles and understand their perspectives.

A knock sounds at my door and though I don’t spare her a glance, the faint scent of vanilla and lemon permeates my workspace. Even in my peripheral vision, flashes of red, blue, and orange signal yet another of her strange outfits.

Unable to resist the temptation of the proverbial red flag, I turn to her.

Carrying a tall glass of my morning smoothie and what looks to be some sort of muffin, her honeyed eyes skate over me, like sunshine over cold terrain.

She places the items on the corner of my desk, and I take in the soft waves of her dark hair spilling over her shoulders onto a weathered orange shirt that says “Tropic Fever” on it. Her shirt is tucked into faded jeans, with an ugly red and blue flannel around her waist.

She’s just about to turn on her heel when I finally speak, averting my eyes to look at some papers on my desk as the voices coming through my speaker carry on about our quarter earnings. “Please take the smoothie with you, Ms. Jain. I’ve already had my breakfast.”

Her eyes linger on the glow of the red mute button on my speaker before she says, “Oh . . . but Belinda said—”

I lift a brow, pinning her with my glare. “Belinda has the morning off for her appointment, which is why she missed the email I copied you both on, saying I wouldn’t be needing my smoothie. What’s your excuse?”

Her mouth sets stubbornly, the tiny diamond over her lip stealing my attention momentarily. “I didn’t have a signal on the—”

I wave my hand, dismissing her. “That’ll be all, Ms. Jain. I don’t need to hear your sob story.”

Nostrils flaring, she reaches to lift the items off my desk when I notice the large scar running down her forearm in a rugged path.

I hadn’t seen it before, but then again, I wasn’t looking.

She’s about to turn back again when, for reasons only God can explain, I stop her once more, my molars grinding. “How’s your brother this morning?”

She glares at me. “Recovering. Thank you.”

She’s turning once more when I throw the pen in my grasp onto the desk. “And that scar on your arm . . .? What’s that from?”

Her mouth pulls into a frown, and if she had her hands free, I guarantee she’d try to cover her arm somehow. “Please. Don’t concern yourself with me or my sob story, Mr. Case. I wouldn’t want to take up your precious time.”

She’s almost at my door when I speak again. Why? I have no fucking idea. It’s like a part of me wants her so far on the other side of the earth, I’ll never find her, while the other can’t seem to get her close enough. “I said take the smoothie, not the muffin.”

Lips pursed, she turns yet again, and I swear, if she could incinerate me with her glower, she would. Taking long strides, in those ridiculous shoes of hers of course, she places the muffin back on the corner of my desk.

I run my tongue over my teeth, feeling a strange sense of . . . excitement buzzing through my veins. “What kind of muffin is this?”

She tilts her head, amber eyes glowing. “Are you sure you want to eat it? I could have laced it with rat poison.”

My lips twitch, my eyes taking a leisurely stroll down her frame, my pants feeling tighter. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Apple cinnamon,” she announces in a somewhat bored tone, but I get the feeling she’s pleased I wanted it back.

I bring the plate forward, waving the back of my hand to her in a sendoff. “That’ll be all.”

She wraps her arms around her, my smoothie in one hand, before tilting her head. “Are you sure? Because you’re quite the chatty-Cathy today.”

I hear my name on the speaker, but it’s not anything I need to worry about, so I address her with my business tone again. “Please book our flights and hotel for tomorrow night—”

“I already did it after I got back inside last night.”

Oh. How late was she up?

“And what about your . . .” I trail her attire, “wardrobe? You can leave early to shop, if you need.”

“I know you’re probably running close to the upper edge of Gen X there, Mr. Case, but we no longer have to shop in-store, browse physical catalogs, or use carrier pigeons for our shopping needs. It can all be done on what’s called, the internet.”

My lips twitch but I don’t release the smile trying to work its way out. “Please close my door on your way out, Ms. Jain.”