Chapter 20
Cal
I walk through the lobby, and it doesn’t take long to spot him. I knew he’d be staying at the Five-Star Grand Palm of Coconut Beach. It’s where the rich come to play and stay. And it’s exactly what you’d expect. High-end and beautiful, and nothing ever looks out of place.
I don’t mind The Grand Palm. In fact, I worked here in high school on their maintenance crew, and I’m still good friends with a lot of the staff.
This is where my mother worked when she met my father.
And growing up, knowing she worked here, and he was a guest who treated her poorly, never landed well for me.
It’s not that I don’t like people who have money.
It’s that I don’t like people who treat others badly just because they have money.
When Wilby said he could find out who my father was, part of me was curious.
But part of me doesn’t want to know. What would it change?
I’ve had good people in my life like Jonah, and I don’t need someone who doesn’t care about my mother or me.
Knowing who that man is changes nothing. He did what he did. He left.
So, people who have money don’t bother me. Never have. I know who I am and how I show up for the people that I love.
Charles Montclair sits alone at the bar, jacket draped over the stool behind him. He has one elbow planted on the immaculate bar and another wrapped around a glass of bourbon. His jaw is tight, and he looks pissed as hell.
I know a little bit about Charles. I Googled him before I came over here because, unlike him, I show up for meetings with knowledge of who I’m dealing with.
The bar sits just off to the right, dark wood and soft lighting, leather stools, and a long mirrored back wall that makes the whole place feel bigger than it already is. A muted golf tournament plays on the TVs, sound low, applause polite.
I take the stool next to him and sit.
The bartender looks at me curiously, and I order a bourbon too. Neat.
Charles doesn’t look over, not at first. He’s locked in on staring at his bourbon and probably contemplating how he’s lost control of everything in his life.
The bartender slides my drink across. I take a slow sip and let the silence stretch between us. I have no idea whether Charles knows who I am, but judging by his silence, probably not.
“Terrible swing,” I say casually, nodding to the TV.
Charles scoffs under his breath. “That’s because he isn’t adjusting his grip.”
I glance over at him and sip my bourbon. “Exactly.”
That earns me a look, and he assesses me. Then sips his bourbon again.
We drink in silence for another minute, and I wait.
“Are you a golfer?” he finally asks.
I chuckle and shake my head. “No. I hate golf.”
He sighs with relief. “I do, too. Stupid sport.”
“You know enough about it, though,” I joke.
He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I like it. Sometimes you have to play the game, you know? Play golf with other people and show up.”
We drink in silence for a few more minutes. He has no idea how accurate what he just said is.
“Vacation?” I ask finally. “Or business?”
He exhales sharply. “Business.”
I smile slightly and sip my drink. “Not a bad place for business.”
He chuckles, and it’s humorless. “I have no idea. It’s my first time here.”
We order another round. Then food. I order the steak sliders and truffle fries. He orders the same. I forgot how good the food was here, and I made a mental note to bring Silvie here for a date.
Conversation comes easily after that between us, as I figured it would. I have experience talking to people at a bar and getting them to open up. We talk about the stock market and finances that run at the bottom of the screen. He even laughs and jokes with me.
Charles eats his food and checks his phone every so often. Probably hoping Silvie will text him. And maybe she will.
“You with a firm back in New York City?” he asks as he looks over at me. I realize I finally earned his respect. He still has no idea who I am. And this couldn’t be going more to plan.
“Nah. I’m a local. Born and raised in Coconut Beach,” I say as I take a sip of my bourbon. I ask the bartender for a glass of water and keep eating.
“Really?” he glances over in surprise. “I would’ve pegged you for a trader or an analyst back in New York.”
I don’t answer. Just take a few bites and drink my water.
He takes a slow sip of his bourbon, jaw tight. “My wife hates it here. But my daughter has visited here often. She has a ...friend here.”
I nod and take a sip of my bourbon. Still waiting for Charles to catch up. But I wanted him to meet me first before he judged me. And it worked. He still hasn’t the faintest idea who he’s sitting next to.
We finish eating and set our plates aside. I order two more bourbons neat for us.
Charles looks over and nods with thanks.
Then he clears his throat and says, “I’ve come here to meet with my daughter.”
I nod and take a sip of my bourbon. “I know.”
He frowns and turns to face me. “You know?”
He looks confused, as if he’s trying to figure out who I am. His eyes narrow, and he’s processing this.
I set my glass down and meet his eyes. “Yeah.”
The silence is loud between us, and Charles goes still as he studies my face like he’s reconciling this. The bartender clears our dishes, and the TV crowd cheers at something on the screen.
“I’m her husband,” I say calmly.
Charles glares at me with narrowed eyes and says, “You.”
“Me.” I nod.
He leans back in his stool, lips pressed together, gaze sharp. “I want to hate you for marrying her like this.”
I nod in agreement. “I don’t think I’d be pleased either if I were a father and my daughter did that.”
His eyes narrow in suspicion. “Then why did you do it? What’s in it for you?”
I let out a deep sigh. “That is for you and Silvie to discuss. I’m here for other matters.”
He huffs. “Figures.”
“Figures what?” I challenge.
“You have an angle here. Nobody gets married to a billionaire heiress they just met. And a bartender, at that.”
I don’t flinch. “You seem to think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you? You sat here with me for over an hour and had no idea that I was a bartender.”
“But,” I continue, my voice steady, still composed. “Just know that if you ever come to my house and speak to my wife the way you did this morning, we’re going to have problems, Charles.”
That gets his attention.
“So, I don’t care what you think of me, what preconceived notions you seem to have. Have them. I don’t care. But what I do care about is Silvie. And I will never tolerate someone speaking to her the way you did this morning.”
My words land heavy and deliberate. I’m still calm and steady.
And Charles, even though he’s been upset, seems to be thinking about this. He knows I’m right.
He stares at me for a long moment as if he’s gauging me. Then he purses his lips and takes a sip of his drink.
A few minutes later, he says quietly, “Fine.”
He stands, reaches for his wallet, and lays down a big bill on the counter. He slips on his jacket and looks over at me one last time. He shakes his head, turns, and walks away into the hotel lobby as if nothing happened.
I finish my drink and let the warmth settle in. Yeah, he’s not a bad man. But he’s been warned. I’m a good man until I’m not.
I protect what’s mine.
And that’s my wife.
I didn’t head home right away. I sat there thinking about what he said.
He questioned why I was marrying his billionaire heiress daughter.
And hearing that reminds me just how different the worlds we live in are.
And the family we come from. I don’t know how Silvie and I could make this work if this were really real.
And it’s feeling pretty damn real for both of us.
We have to figure this out before it goes further.
What this would look like and how we keep it together.
Because family is important to me. My mom is everything to me.
And I want Silvie to have that, too. She deserves that.
I don’t give a shit about her money. Money doesn’t motivate me.
When I walk home, the lights are on low, and the house feels like a home. For once, I’m not coming home to a dark and quiet house. I get to come home to Silvie.
Silvie is propped up in bed, laptop open, glasses on. The hot ones that make her look like a badass CEO. She’s got on those tiny shorts and a tank top that looks like it might actually be mine. She’s tucked one leg under herself, focused and biting her lip like she’s pondering something important.
Fuck me. She’s so beautiful. And she’s mine. Well, almost mine.
I pause in the doorway and watch her. I just spent time putting her father on notice, and now I’m supposed to lie down next to her and sleep like my heart isn’t hers.
Earlier, we were so close to having sex.
She felt so good. We have to talk before we have sex, though.
We have to be on the same page before we take it further.
“Hey,” I say.
She looks up and smiles. “Hey. Where have you been?”
I cross the room, then lean down and kiss her. She melts into it, soft, familiar, and then pulls back and grins. “You taste like bourbon.”
“Guilty.”
She closes her laptop and sets it aside. “I was just getting some work done.”
“When are you going back to New York?” I ask.
She shifts, making space for me, and says, “I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“Yeah?”
She clears her throat. “I have a favor.”
“Sure,” I say. “What?”
She hesitates. “I know it’s last minute, but I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”
I mentally go through what I’d need to do to get things done here to go with her, and she’s watching me, waiting for my reaction.
“I can make that happen.”
“Wait. Really?” She studies me. “You want to go?”
“Yeah,” I say easily. “Whatever you need.”
Truth be told, I’m not keen on the idea of being apart from her. Things are smoldering between us, and I want to keep burning with her.
Her shoulders relax, like she didn’t think I’d say yes. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I say as I trace her wrists with my fingers.
“We can go after my book club tomorrow. Does that work for you?”
I grin. Her book club is with my mom. But I know they both look forward to it. I love that she’s making my mom a priority. I lean in and kiss her neck. “Sure, we can go after book club.”
She adds casually, “We’re flying back with my dad. But don’t worry...I’ll talk to him before we go. He won’t be giving you any trouble.”
I shrug. “Okay.”
She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Why are you so chill about all of this?”
I sit up on the edge of the bed and say, “Your dad’s not that bad.”
She looks at me as if I just said something wild. “What do you mean, not that bad?”
I glance at her, take her hand, bring it to my mouth, and kiss it. “I talked to him today. That’s where I was.”
She pulls her hand back and sits up straighter. “What?”
“I went to his hotel,” I say. “We had lunch.”
She stares at me as if I just told her I wrestled sharks for fun.
Her mouth opens. Closes. “And?”
“We came to an understanding,” I tell her.
“You went to my father’s hotel,” she repeats slowly. “Sat next to him at the bar and had lunch.”
“Yes,” I confirm.
Her eyes drag over me, assessing, and something that looks like heat flickers there. “That is...unexpectedly so freaking hot.”
I laugh softly. “That wasn’t the goal, but I guess that’s a good perk.”
“Was he nice to you?” she asks.
My eyes soften. “Silvie, it doesn’t matter if he’s nice to me. It matters that he’s nice to you.”
Her expression softens. “Cal...”
I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “He’s complicated. But he loves you. I get that now. This whole thing is just messy and stressful to everyone. I’m not here to add to that. I’m here for you.”
She sighs. “Complicated is one way of putting it.”
I meet her gaze. “He knows to never speak to you like that again.”
“He said that?” she asks quietly.
I nod. “He agreed.”
She looks at me and says, “I’m glad you’re coming with me. I can fight my own battles. But it sure is better fighting them with you.”
I smile. And that means more to me than she’ll ever know. I don’t want to be needed. I want to be wanted.
Silvie says, “Oh, and Wilby says he wants you to come to New York, too. He said you can be his emotional support animal with my dad. Apparently, he likes fighting battles with you, too.”
I grin, and silence settles between us. “I’d be honored.”
She yawns, and I suddenly feel tired, the heaviness of the last few days hitting us. Feelings are still tangled, and there’s still so much unsaid between us. But this has been enough for tonight.