8. Chapter Eight Joe
Chapter Eight: Joe
W hen Mr. Fancy Pants leaves, it takes Poppy a moment to defrost.
Upstairs, the guys, who were not-so-subtly eavesdropping after I decided to come down here and figure out what all the fuss was about, start working again.
I clear my throat, casually stepping away from her as she finally releases her iron-tight grip on my arm. I’m pretty sure the gemstone-encrusted ring on her middle finger left a permanent indent.
At the same time, however, it was kind of nice to pretend at being her anchor.
“I’m so sorry,” Poppy says, turning away to run her fingers through her cornsilk hair. “That was so inappropriate. Thank you for playing along. I’m so embarrassed.”
Joe is also my boyfriend . I would’ve laughed if I hadn’t been so shocked. In the reality that I know, a woman like Poppy would never end up with a man like me. Pretty Boy bought it, though.
“Who was that?” I ask.
With a groan, she sinks against the wall, offering me a look full of guilt, shame, and exhaustion.
“Percy Barclay. My ex-boyfriend.”
“Ah.”
Of course. Right. Because, in the reality that I know, a woman like Poppy definitely would end up with a man like that. That makes sense. They’re both prim and pretty, tan and blond. Their outfits likely cost more than my mortgage.
“I’m really sorry,” she says again.
I shrug. “There’s no need to apologize.”
“I made you lie, though. About the boyfriend thing.”
There’s a strange swooping sensation in the pit of my stomach when her cheeks turn pink.
“I’ll survive,” I insist. “It seemed like it was a necessary lie. He’s not very pleasant, huh?”
Poppy massages her temples. “He’s embarrassing is what he is. I seriously can’t even believe that I was ever into him.”
“How long were you together?” Really, I should be getting back upstairs to continue working, but I’m also hesitant to leave Poppy alone at the moment. She looks distressed.
“A couple years.”
“Oh.”
“But I dumped him over a year ago.”
“Ah.”
“He was just so controlling. Like, psychotically so. I mean, at first, he was completely normal. He was sweet, actually. Maybe too sweet.” Poppy chews on her bottom lip for a moment. “For the first couple months, he would overwhelm me with gifts and flowers and surprise trips. Like, he flew me to Paris for our one-month anniversary and arranged for us to have a private meal at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”
“Wow.”
“It was ridiculous. And windy.” She sighs. “Anyway, soon enough, he started acting weird. He would get annoyed when I wanted to go do something without him. He’d become obsessed with my friends and constantly be talking to them about me. Like, what was I doing when he wasn’t around? What was I talking about? Was I saying anything weird about him? Things like that.”
“Yikes.”
She snorts, shaking her head in disbelief. “I know, right? And he was convinced that we’re soulmates. Or, I guess he’s still convinced of that. It’s been a year, and he hasn’t accepted that I don’t want to be with him.”
There are so many glaring red flags in everything she’s saying, but I don’t need to tell her that. Clearly, she understands that this Percy guy is a problem.
Did he really fly all the way here just to confront her? Who has the time for that? Who has the money for that?
I can’t even begin to fathom how the other half lives, even after working for them all these years.
“Have you thought about getting a restraining order?” I suggest lightly.
Poppy picks at an invisible piece of lint on the hem of her shiny running top.
“That’s the problem,” she mutters. “It’s not like that. Like, if I went to the police, I wouldn’t really have any actual reasons to file a document like that. He’s not violent. He’s never hurt me. He’s never committed a crime. Everyone else in our circle of mutual acquaintances thinks that he’s great and I’m crazy for not wanting him. Percy is just really insistent and completely delusional. A judge isn’t going to care enough about that to order him to stay away from me.”
I shift slightly, resisting the urge to move closer and offer her some form of physical comfort. Clearly, this is something she’s given a lot of thought to already. Which means that this isn’t the first time her ex has made her so uncomfortable that she’s considered going to the police.
Part of me wants to hop in my truck right now and chase that guy out of town. I bet I could get enough hard-edged New Englanders with harsh, impatient attitudes to scare him away from the Cape. Locals here can be rough at the best of times, even if that roughness is only on the surface.
Forming an angry mob probably isn’t going to help all that much, though.
“He’ll go back to California eventually, won’t he?” I ask.
Poppy shrugs. She looks so dejected. I’m used to seeing her bright-eyed and chipper, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she’s ready to launch off into space at a moment’s notice.
I don’t like that someone has the power to dull her shine like this.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “It’s not like he has a real job. His dad is an executive at Paramount and, technically, he’s being trained to take over eventually, but it’s not like nepotism requires a nine-to-five.”
I stare at her. It’s like she’s speaking another language.
She shakes her head again. “For all I know, he’s going to stay right here on the Cape indefinitely. He’ll haunt me until I lose my mind and let him drag me back to LA.”
“You wouldn’t actually go back there with him, would you?”
“No, but who knows what I’d do if he actually drove me insane?” She glares down at her shoes. “I really didn’t think he’d follow me out here. I thought that leaving California meant that I’d never have to see him again. I mean, coastal Massachusetts is so not his scene.”
“Then maybe he’ll get bored and leave on his own.”
“You underestimate his determination to get what he wants.”
I bristle at that. “Well, you’re not a toy, Poppy Minton. He can’t just have you.”
“I know that. He doesn’t, though.”
“Then what do we do?”
Poppy blinks at me. “We?”
I shove my hands in my pockets, hoping that I look more nonchalant than I feel. “I helped get rid of him just now, didn’t I? Maybe I can do it again, but more permanently.”
She cringes, her cheeks going rosy again. “I think the fact that we told him we’re together helped a lot, actually.”
“He respects another man before he’ll ever respect you.” It’s more of a furious statement than a question, but Poppy nods.
“Plus, you’re bigger than him. Stronger, too, I’m sure. He talks a big game, but he’s sheltered and cowardly. He’s not going to pick a fight that he knows he won’t win.”
Basically, it sounds like this ex-boyfriend of hers is a misogynistic loser and, dare I say it, a waste of space. He doesn’t seem to contribute much to society, if it’s true that he doesn’t even have a career or real ambitions besides possessing Poppy.
“Can he swim?”
Poppy quirks an eyebrow. “Huh?”
“My buddy Derek is a lobsterman. I could borrow his boat and dump that pretty boy out in the middle of the Atlantic, if you’d like.”
She bursts out laughing. “Don’t worry, Joe. I don’t need you to kill anyone for me.”
I find myself grinning, despite how angry I feel.
“Let me help you with this, Poppy. If you need someone to scare the guy off once and for all, you’ve got me and a staff of fourteen hardened laborers at your beck and call. I don’t like the idea that he’d barge into your home like this just because he can’t take no for an answer. He might not be violent, but people like that are dangerous. Nobody should have to deal with that on their own.”
With an unreadable expression, Poppy simply stares at me for a long minute. It’s like she’s trying to decode something, but I’d hardly classify myself as a puzzle.
Then, as if a new thought has occurred to her, she quickly looks away.
“There is one way that I think might work to get rid of him…”
“I’m listening.”
That delicate blush returns. My fingertips itch to touch her smooth skin, but I can’t be feeling things like that about a client, so I quickly shove those thoughts away into the furthest corner of my mind.
“If Percy genuinely believes that I have moved on with someone else—that I’m not available anymore—he might give up. He’s greedy and possessive, but he’s not the sort of person who is interested in taking what somebody else already has. He’d rather have something shinier and newer.”
“We’re talking about human beings here, yes?”
Poppy gives me an apologetic smile. “Unfortunately. I know that’s how he thinks.”
White-hot annoyance flares up my spine. Not at her, but at that monstrous imbecile who thinks he has any right to own her.
“So, if you convince your ex-boyfriend that you’re—for lack of a better term here—used goods, he’ll lose interest?”
“Most likely, yes.” She glances toward the stairs, as if suddenly remembering that we’re not completely alone, but the guys are thankfully back to making plenty of noise. In fact, I’m almost certain that they’re being extra noisy on purpose. “It happened with his ex-girlfriend before me. I didn’t know until later, of course, but, yeah…”
“Alright, then. We’ll convince him you’ve moved on.”
Poppy gulps. “With you?”
“Yep.”
She lets out an incredulous laugh. “Joe, you don’t have to do that. I mean, not only will it require actively lying to someone, but you’re already doing enough for me.”
“It’s really not a problem, Poppy. I want to help.” I mean it, too. “I have no respect for guys like Percy. That’s not how real men behave.”
It’s a shame, honestly, that people like him are allowed to run free all over the place, ruining everyone else’s day and leaving nothing but misery in their wake. If I was that sort of man—obsessive, possessive, and toxic—I’d be horrified. I don’t even know how I’d sleep at night.
And goodness knows that I’d rather die than raise my sons to be like that.
So, I can’t just stand here and let Poppy deal with this on her own. She’s new in town and hasn’t had the chance to build a large community of friends yet. She doesn’t have any siblings. Her father is gone, and her mother doesn’t seem to be present in her life, either.
Poppy Minton might be the human embodiment of a ray of sunshine, but I also get the feeling that she’s secretly very lonely.
I know, because I feel the same way. I put on a brave face and I convince myself that I have everything I need. I have my boys and Flo and the company.
But there’s something missing. I can’t deny it. I live with it every day.
And if there’s something missing in Poppy’s life, maybe I could help fill that void. Temporarily, at least.
At the same time, I also know that I really shouldn’t get myself involved in something like this. It’s a private issue in Poppy’s life that has nothing to do with me, and even though we’ve had some deeply personal conversations over the past couple weeks, she’s still little more than a stranger to me. I’m here on Atlantic Lane for professional reasons, and I’ve never blurred that line before.
For some reason, though, this feels different. I feel like there’s some invisible force drawing me closer to Poppy, urging me to offer my assistance to her beyond renovating her cottage.
“Are you sure, Joe?”
For first time since we met, Poppy looks nervous. Almost sheepish. This woman, who answered the door on that first morning wearing a pink satin robe and diamonds, has been reduced to a fidgeting creature with uncertainty in her eyes. Nobody should ever be made to feel that way, to be reduced to something smaller than what they really are because of someone else’s intimidation.
And it’s not that I don’t believe Poppy can’t handle this herself. Obviously, she’s been handling it on her own for the past year.
But if I can help—if I can end it once and for all—I know that I want to do what I can.
“I’m sure,” I tell her. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, I’m no actor, but it can’t be that difficult to convince that idiot we’re together.”
Poppy laughs softly. “Have you ever been someone’s fake boyfriend before?”
“Have you ever been someone’s fake girlfriend before?”
“Nope. But, like you said, how hard can it be?”
I shrug. “I guess we’ll find out.”
She takes a step toward me, that blush still making a pretty home for itself on her lovely cheeks. “There’s just one thing…”
“What?”
“If you were really my boyfriend, I definitely would have posted something on my Instagram about it already.”
“Oh. Right.” I’d almost forgotten social media exists. I don’t touch it. Not because I’m against it; I just don’t have much interest in it.
“Nothing tacky,” Poppy clarifies. “Just something subtle to, I don’t know, like, signal I’m taken. In a classy way.”
She slips her phone out of a pocket on the side of her leggings that I hadn’t even noticed was there.
I guess we’re really doing this. Right now. I glance over my shoulder, up toward the second floor, but the guys are still preoccupied with their duties. Or, at least, they’re doing a really good job of pretending they are.
“Okay,” I say to Poppy. “Whatever you need. I’m not exactly photogenic, though.”
She playfully rolls her eyes, as if I’m telling a joke. “No, don’t worry. Your face won’t be in it. In fact, it’s best if we try to protect your identity as much as possible.”
Because she’s not just any beautiful young woman with a bunch of adoring and curious internet followers.
She’s Poppy Minton. A rock-and-roll princess. A legend’s daughter.
“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” I answer.
“Follow me,” she says, leading the way across the foyer and down the wide hall that ends with the wide glass doors leading out toward the beach.
I step outside with her, the salty breeze ruffling my hair. She has her phone in one hand and is holding out her other toward me, palm up.
It takes me a second to realize she wants me to hold her hand. Swallowing hard, I place my palm on top of hers and entwine our fingers. I almost feel like I should apologize for how rough my callused skin must feel against hers, but she simply smiles and lets our clasped hands dangle between us.
I stand there, watching in silence as she angles her phone to snap a photo of our hands, the grassy sand dunes whispering in the breeze behind us. When she’s satisfied with the picture, she slips her hand out of mine and starts tapping away on the screen.
I wait. I’m not really sure what to do with my hands now, so I shove them back in my pockets. I seriously hope none of the guys are peering down at us from the second-floor windows.
“Okay, perfect!” Poppy exclaims.
She turns her phone toward me.
A jolt of surprise strikes me hard. The photo looks so… romantic . It’s something about the artistic angle of the lens, the filter she used, and the simple white heart emoji she arranged in the corner.
One thing is for certain, she’s definitely Jack Minton’s daughter, because she knows how to put on a performance. Even I would believe that I’m the new love of her life if I happened to see this photo.
“I’m going to post it to my Story,” she informs me.
“I don’t know what that means.”
She laughs, but doesn’t explain. After a few more taps, she grins and slips her phone back into her pocket.
“All set?” I ask.
“All set. For now, I guess.”
“Great.”Then, with a flutter of movement, Poppy leans in and wraps her arms around my waist. She squeezes tightly, the contact brief but firm, and then pulls away again half a second later.
A hug. She just hugged me.
“Thank you, Joe. Really.”
When I regain the ability to form complete sentences, I give her a smile.
“Don’t worry about it, Poppy. I’m just glad I can help.”