Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Dove
My neck hurt from craning it at the frescoed ceilings of the Holloway Estate. “I can’t believe he’s staying in this creepy place,” I murmured to myself. Floating through the giant space, my limbs felt too light. I shuddered as the hairs at the back of my neck lifted. “This place is giving serious Saltburn vibes.”
The decor looked like something more akin to the Vatican than the nautical Prickle Island style I was used to. I’d never seen so many cherubs and gilded filigree in my life. I swore somewhere in the place was a sliding bookshelf that led to a secret dungeon.
Luca appeared through one of the many side doors down the long hallway. “Ms. Lachlan,” he said with a smile.
“Just Dove,” I corrected him.
Luca nodded and gestured for me to follow. “Deacon is just finishing his workout. He’ll be with you shortly. Can I get you a coffee or tea?”
“I’m good, thanks,” I said tightly.
I side-eyed the portrait on the wall to my right. The painted old lady’s eyes followed me as I moved. If she stared any longer, it felt like I might stumble into an alternate dimension. I wiped my clammy hands on my shorts and hurried after Luca.
This was the sort of place Deacon and I had joked about living in as kids, but I’d never thought either of us meant it. Even if it was just a rental, it was like a walking fever dream.
Why did we want to live in this eerie place again?
Luca waved me into an ornate sitting room and left to go find Deacon, I presumed. My only company was two giant marble greyhounds sitting on either side of the fireplace like horror movie sentinels.
To avoid the stares of their hollow white eyes, I took my notebook out of my bag and started jotting down more notes for the Lucky Role Conservation Trust. We needed to get some of the high-level stuff out of the way before we could get into the minutia: mission statements, goals, commitments, branding, etc.
I spent twenty minutes writing detailed notes before I checked my watch and realized how much time had passed.
“Seriously,” I muttered aloud. I still had so much work to do, and sitting around in a random fancy—and frightening—sitting room was a complete waste of my time.
Having had enough, I shoved my notebook back in my bag and made a beeline for the stairs, finding loud pop music blaring from down the stairwell. I couldn’t believe he was still working out.
“Deacon!” I shouted, stomping up the creaking, old steps. “We have a meeting now.” I rushed down the oil-painting lined hallway and to the open door at the end of the hall. “You seriously need to hurry up because I haven’t got all the time in the world to sit around and wait for you to do sit-ups or whatever the hell it is?—”
My words ended on a choked gag as I turned the corner to find Deacon panting and glistening, a towel slung over the back of his neck, a tight black tank top revealing chiseled arms and the sides of his cut obliques. His face was ruddy with exertion as he tousled his wet hair off his face.
“Sorry,” he said, blotting his forehead with a towel. “Ricardo made me do a super set today.”
“I . . . uh . . .” Quickly, Dove, put some freaking words together! I held up a hand, covering Deacon’s torso so my brain could think. “Where are your clothes?”
“I’m wearing them?” He let out a hoarse laugh that was so ungodly sexy, and I hated him even more for it. “Am I distracting you?” Deacon asked tauntingly. How dare he look and sound so hot.
“You are annoying me, is what you’re doing,” I grumbled.
“Sure,” he said, grabbing another towel off the seat of the rowing machine and blotting his face. My eyes trailed the ever-present leather necklace that dipped into the low neckline of his tank, the outline of some round talisman underneath. He’d probably gotten it on some LA yoga retreat or some other pseudo-spiritual bullshit.
My eyes roved his body as if they were magnetized to him. This man was the definition of bulging muscles. His arms were so defined that it looked like his personal trainer had sculpted each one from stone.
If anyone deserves a fruit basket, it’s Ricardo . . ..
I cleared my throat and looked up to the ceiling.
“We were supposed to have a meeting now,” I said. “The trust? The new leaf you’ve apparently turned over, remember?”
“I remember,” he said, giving his skin one more sweep of the towel before tossing it in the hamper in the corner. This was the bougiest gym I’d ever seen in my whole life. Who worked out in a room with sconces and floral wallpaper?
“This is how you come dressed to a meeting?” I asked, waving at his soaked tank top clinging to his eight-pack abs.
“And that is how you come dressed to a meeting?” Deacon countered, waving at my khaki uniform.
“This is part of my job!” I seethed.
“And working out is part of mine,” he said with a dimpled smile, as if he knew just how much of a rise he was getting out of me.
“Fine! Look, I only have ten more minutes before I have to be back,” I said. “Here is some paperwork for you to look over.” I dropped it on the rack of dumbbells. “I expect you to have answers to the questions on page three by tomorrow.”
“I trust you to answer those questions without me,” he said.
“Nuh-uh. No. We are not doing this.” I folded my arms tightly across my chest.
“Doing what?”
“You’ve dragged me into this charity now, and I won’t be attached to some fluffy, ineffectual nonsense with your face on it,” I snapped. “You want me? You got me. Now I expect you to actively participate in this charity, so help me God. You will pay attention, and you will care because I care, understood?”
He stared at me for several seconds before saying, “Understood.” He shook his head. “And I thought it was just going to be Ricardo kicking my ass today.”
I maintained eye contact with Deacon like my life depended on it. Do not check him out again, Dove. You are a stronger woman than that. Think of the skinks!
A woman walked in carrying a giant glass of grass-green liquid. “Your smoothie, Mr. Harrow.”
“Thank you, Divya,” Deacon said, taking the drink.
“Can I get anything for your friend ?” she asked, looking between us as if trying to ascertain who I was. I wondered how many “friends” Deacon invited round. That doesn’t matter, Dove. Stop thinking about his love life and his abs, his sweet, sweet, glorious abs.
“I’m not his friend,” I said tightly, my voice thick as I struggled with the hot, sweaty presence of one of the sexiest men in the world. Apparently, my hormones didn’t care that he was a pompous asshole. Still, I managed to keep a steely tone as I said, “I’m the interim director of what is going to be a very successful charity.”
Deacon’s cheeks dimpled again. “Divya, could you please make Ms. Lachlan one of your famous lavender matcha lattes?”
“Of course,” Divya said, giving a little bob of her head before leaving.
I glared at Deacon. “I?—”
“It’s purple. You’ll love it,” he said with a wink. Before I could rage at him some more, he added, “Cody wants us to get some footage of us with an animal to use for the trust announcement. Do you have any ideas?”
“Oh, so you want to be a part of this if it involves your face on a screen?”
He sighed. “It will bring positive attention to the charity, which will mean more donations and awareness, which will mean a more successful organization, which is something you and I both want, so yes.” He waved me up and down. “I thought you’d understand how this goes. It’s part of the deal. Look at the Madigans.”
“You did not just bring up the Madigans to me.”
Deacon retreated a step, which was wise because I was ready to go full ape shit on him. “You still have beef with them after all these years?”
“They are our family’s sworn enemies,” I snarled. “And forgive me if I don’t want to slap my face on yoga pants and toilet brushes to raise money for conservation and pretend to be a reality TV celebrity.”
I balled my hands into fists. It was really low bringing up the Madigan family to me. Madigan Mountain was a hit reality TV show set at their family’s zoo in Australia. They were like the trashy knockoff brand of the Irwin family.
“Why exactly do you hate them again? I could never really remember,” Deacon said with a chuckle, as if our family feud were just some joke. “Your dad was best friends with their dad or something and they had a falling out before any of you were born, right?”
“Besides the fact they stole all of Dad’s ideas and then went on to have eight kids all named after animals just to fuck with us?” I could feel the blush burning across my cheeks. “Or when after Dad died, they tried to make our family into a spin-off reality show but keep all the money and rights for themselves? Or when they tried buy the zoo out from under us, including hiring Hannah under false pretenses as a spy?”
“They did what?”
“That’s a story for another time,” I said, folding my arms tightly.
“No Madigan talk, got it, sorry.” Deacon took another sip of his juice and set it down on the table by the window. “I didn’t mean to compare you to them. We just need something filmable for the announcement.”
“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll have a think about it. Eddie might be good for that.”
“Eddie?”
“The toucan,” I said. “He’s currently at the vet hospital, and you could release him back into his enclosure tomorrow. Get a slo-mo of him flying off from your hands and all that. Very inspirational.”
Deacon’s cheeks dimpled. “Great, I’m free tomorrow at 11 if that works for you?”
“It does.” I took a step back. “I’ll see you then.” I took another step without looking, my foot colliding with the corner of the treadmill, and Deacon shot forward, grabbing my elbow to steady me.
“Whoa there,” he said with a laugh, his face a hair’s breadth from my own.
I wrenched my elbow away like it was on fire. I absolutely could not have him touching me right now. Despite my feelings toward him, I was only human, and seeing his obliques made me want to run my fingers over them like playing a guiro.
“Tomorrow,” I said, unable to meet his gaze. I turned just as Divya walked back in carrying a purple-and-green concoction. I accepted it with thanks and took a sip, the flavors exploding on my tongue. I tried to contain an indecent groan. “Damn you.”
Deacon laughed. “Delicious, right?”
I refused to acknowledge his smugness. “Tomorrow at 11,” I said again. “Be on time for once.” I eyed him up and down one last time, unable to contain myself. “And wear a shirt.”