That One Summer: A Collection of Steamy Contemporary Romance

Chapter 2

Our team dinner isscheduled for seven, so I”m meeting Sally in the lobby at ten past seven. We”ll be a tad late, but I can”t arrive on time and seem eager.

I changed my dress. Like five times. I”ve no clue why, but I”ve worked through every dress and mix of attire I brought with. In the end, I settled for a very forgiving silk tunic, in a soft blue that matches my eyes. Heels aren”t practical here, but tonight I can”t forgo the few inches they give me.

Florian and his associate—which I now know is Graeme—will meet us in the bar, as per previous emails, so I have a last moment to calm my clattering nerves.

As I amble into the lobby, I scan the space for Sally, but instead of meeting with my personal assistant, I stare right at Graeme where he”s waiting at the reception desk like all those summers ago.

I falter, want turn and run, but he sees me, and I have no choice but to soldier on. My heart hammers harder with each step I take toward my past, and I clutch my purse like a lifeline. Time freezes as Graeme takes me in, possibly eats me with his eyes as his gaze rests on my face, then follows the soft flow of the silk to dip to my breasts and lower. He has a thing for high heels, and for a moment his gaze pauses on my manicured feet, adorned by the Louboutins he bought me on a whim a few years back. I should have left the bloody shoes at home.

A smile tugs at his lips as I come closer.

”Graeme. This is a surprise.”

”You think?” he says with that wicked sexy grin of his, but the smile doesn”t reach his eyes. He steps up to me and his sandalwood scent hits me first, then the warmth of his hand on my arm as he leans in and presses a soft kiss on my cheek.

This sweet and unexpected connection buzzes a trail through my veins as he just stares at me. ”I hope it”s a good surprise, in some ways.”

To feel the tingle that ambles down my cheek, then lower...to have my breath hitch at his touch? It”s a surprise, all right, and none of this can be good. Not in any way or form.

”It”s been too long, Tess,” he murmurs then and gets an arm length between us. His words pluck at the nerves strung tight between my breasts and my core. So many things have been too long. And yet can he still do this to me.

”You look well,” I manage after an awkward second. Too well. No more New York pale from too little sun and too much work, instead he sports a golden tan, complemented by a scratchy stubble that left an itch on my cheek.

”Living the life, just living the life,” he says and looks closer at me. ”You”re good?”

I bet I look like a freshly laundered tissue, a sickly gray pale and shredded, but I pull tall and meet his gaze from where he towers over me. ”Never better.”

”Florian and Sally—she”s your PA, right?—are already at the bar. Shall we?”

I nod and fall into step next to him, unnerved. It might be a first, but leaving your employer high and dry to meet her husband all on her lonesome might be a firing offense going forward.

All the way to the bar we’re quiet. We should have things to say to each other—it”s been two years, after all—but it seems we”re both clogged up as we take the familiar path to the bar and restaurant, as we did many times when we were here on honeymoon. Except that then Graeme held my hand and randomly stole kisses all along the way.

On entering the bar, I see Sally, dressed in a scanty piece in white with elaborate pink hibiscus blooms printed on it, flirting—flirting!—with Florian Paul. Since when does my PA color-coordinate her clothes with the interior of the room she”ll be spending time in? Oh yes, she learned that from yours truly. I tossed that one to the wind tonight. Hiding the ten kilos I gained since my Instagram divorce took precedence over everything else.

I swallow a semi-sour pebble in my throat. Sally looks so sexy, young, and fresh. Irresistible in her slick blonde bob and loop earrings that dangles and whispers kisses over her neck as she moves her head this way and that. She”s entranced with whatever Florian is telling her, shyly smiling at him, and giggling. God help me. Sally better keep her panties on these two days, if she”s wearing any. The last thing I need is a messed-up project and a teary PA, brokenhearted with the compliments of a man three times her age.

”Here”s the rest of the team,” says Graeme, his gaze on me and not budging.

”Ah,” says Florian, his tone gentle, laced with a French accent. He is strikingly good-looking for a man in his sixties, ripened to bite-worthy deliciousness with smooth olive skin and gray-streaked hair combed back.

”Tessa Brooke?” He holds out his hand and I take his with a smile.

We don”t shake hands, but he lets go to pull me closer for a double-sided kiss in the French way which leaves me cold. For a moment his hand rests on my shoulder, and he smiles at me. ”So good to finally meet you. I look forward to working with you.”

”Likewise,” I say, my voice strained. Where Graeme”s sweet kiss was trapped on my skin, I now have a double dose of Florian Paul on my cheeks. So good to finally meet me? The way he greeted me makes it seem that he knows me already. More intimately than expected. I glanced at Graeme and back to Florian. What did he know? Nothing? Or everything?

Sally”s smile wavers as she looks at me, and the sparkle in Florian”s eyes dulls as his gaze jogs between us.

Ugh. I bet they sense the impenetrable wall of strain between Graeme and me and predict that I”m going to be the party pooper tonight.

Not again.

”Drinks?” I prompt. I”ve needed one since spotting Graeme earlier, now the need has multiplied tenfold. ”Sally, what are you having?”

”I wanted some Champagne and Florian ordered a bottle for us.”

Good girl. Stick around and see how much more you can learn from me over the next few days.

Behind me, a cork pops, and we all turn in unison to the barman, who with care, pours four glasses of French Champagne. I quietly salute Anderson for his generosity and blind eye to expense reports, as evidenced by Florian”s flamboyant raising of his Champagne flute.

There it is. A worn golden band that fits perfectly on Florian”s finger. Wedding Ring Alert! Sally better toe the line.

”To this amazing opportunity to work together,” Florian toasts, ”And to the magnificent ladies.”

I clink my glass with everybody else”s and drink deeply. Graeme watches me with a raised eyebrow. He knows I don”t carry my booze well. It”s a spoiler to be with a man who knows everything about you. Bar the ten kilos, I haven”t changed much in two years, notably not in the drinking department.

All I want is to enjoy myself and be free.

Free from the past, free from him.

Then why haven”t I signed those divorce papers? I blink as Graeme raises his glass to his lips, his golden wedding band catching the light. I’ve replaced mine with some placeholder accessory and I ditched the double-barrel surname which has been a fussy thing from the start.

Graeme clears his throat, in that way of his that signals disapproval. ”Our table is this way.” He leads us to a four-seater on the edge of the deck which is decorated with mini orchids and menus. String lights spin magic around the trunks of the palm trees gracing the gardens and reflect on the pool in soft glimmers. Other guests occupy the surrounding tables and the murmur of voices travels over the subtle push-pull of the baby Bahama waves coming from the beach.

As I sit down, Graeme takes the seat across from me, Florian to my left, and Sally, with abundant joy and expectation on her face, to my right. I am cornered, full-frontal with Graeme. For two days it”s us at close quarters, under the supervision of Florian and the idolization of Sally, who waits for me to make the perfect move every time. Life has become so exhausting.

A waiter stands closer to pour us water and to explain the three-course meal that has several choices we need to make. After a discussion of who wants what, we order and the sommelier tops up our Champagne.

With a delicate sip, I push my negative thoughts away and smile at Florian. ”How do you know Anderson? Is this the first project you”re involved with for him?” Itisn”t, but I have to start the conversation somewhere.

”Ah, Richard...” Florian sighs. ”I think he sees me, as...eh, a kind of hobby?” At this, he chuckles. ”Richard is a friend, and I”ve done several projects for him. But this one is going to be different.”

I raise my eyebrows. ”In which way?”

”We’re going back to basics. Back to the wild.” Florian gives a fake shudder and takes a fortifying sip of Champagne. ”No electricity except solar, running freshwater only what nature supplies and that”s sustainable. A few other things which Graeme will take care of.”

Sally laughs. ”Why on earth would you go without proper power supply and water? When you”re so rich!”

Florian shoots her an indulgent smile. ”Well, that”s just it, isn”t it? If you have everything, going back to nothing is a challenge on its own.”

”A challenge we accepted,” Graeme says.

He”s been quiet, toying with his wedding ring and not drinking. Challenges, Graeme, and skills are often mentioned in the same sentence. But this is the first I hear of a deserted island getaway... It”s too late—the budget might be sky-high, but I”ve never designed the interior for a bush shack before and I”m in it now. How did I win this gig again?

”Don”t worry, ladies,” Florian gives us a lopsided smile. ”If it all goes pear-shaped Richard can paddle to his yacht which stays harbored in the Atlantis Marina.

”He won”t need to,” Graeme says. ”It”s going to be a perfect hideaway, the perfect escape for Anderson, which is the fundamental brief.”

”Is this the first time you two work together?” Sally asks the question that’s burning on my tongue, but I don’t have the guts to ask.

”We”ve been involved in so many projects now, I”ve stopped counting,” answers Graeme.

So this is what he”s been up to. No wonder he disappeared into the folds of the architectural world. Once Graeme left for the West Coast, I tried my hardest to wean myself off following him obsessively on social media. By the end of his third month in San Francisco, he ditched both Facebook and Twitter. Instagram was next to go and a few other minor apps. He didn”t go cold turkey on social media, but to wean my own addiction took much longer.

I supposed the contacts he built over the years were enough to keep him in regular work. All this time he”s been rubbing shoulders with some of the richest people in the States, who do this type of thing by word of mouth. Once I divorced my Instagram account and dropped my married name, being simple Tessa Brooke and not Brooke-Carlyle, or BC Designs, things slowed down for some time.

Maybe what I needed at the time was slow.

Maybe the universe looked out for me.

The rest of the dinner follows in the same tone, Florian and Graeme delighting Sally with descriptions of some of their more peculiar clients—no names mentioned—and the projects they”ve been involved in. I”m riled, as my experience, skills, and obvious track record doesn”t get mentioned once. By the end of dinner, I”m fatigued and sprung tight with tension from the glances Graeme pins me down with, sometimes staring way longer than what”s deemed polite.

I”m relieved when, after dessert, Florian calls it a night with the excuse of jet lag from a recent trip to Singapore.

We stroll together to the lobby, where I hope we”ll split into the four corners of the hotel. Sally and Florian say their goodnights and keep chatting as they head off to the north wing. I want to urge her to keep her thong on when I hear Florian”s voice drift over. ”You remind me of my daughter. She”s about your age and works at an industrial design company in San Francisco.”

Sally tinges a deep red that clashes with her curated outfit. I suppress a tight laugh. To be compared to a daughter must be the ultimate snub to an idolizing, sexually compulsive young woman. Maybe she had that one coming.

But more serious matters are at hand. I haven”t made eye contact with Graeme since leaving the dinner table and I sense his presence, where he waits for me two steps away.

I turn to face him and the same mirth for Sally”s conundrum plays around his mouth, where old laughter lines have hardened into two cynical brackets. ”To be that age again.”

”Yes.” It wasn”t so long ago for us, but life has catapulted us too many curveballs. Now I’m a skeptic marching on my way to my forties, with no idea how to get out of my self-loathing pit.

”Have a drink with me?” Graeme murmurs. ”For old time”s sake?”

His gaze doesn”t drop, instead, it steals deeper into my own to reflect a longing I didn”t know I had, having suppressed it for ages. A longing to talk to Graeme, like we used to talk in the old days. He was my best friend, my anchor, my everything—until I cut him loose. ”Sure. Back to the bar?”

”It”s a good place to start.”