Chapter 13
thirteen
EDEN
“Oat milk cappucino, one shot of cinnamon,” West murmurs, passing me an insulated cup with ‘Brewed Awakenings’ embossed on the side.
He’s not in his suit today, I guess because of the dust on the construction site.
Instead, he’s in jeans and a plain black t-shirt that is so perfectly cut for his body I know it isn’t from Old Navy.
“How did you remember that?” I ask him. I swear I’ve only ordered coffee in front of him once – the morning after our sham wedding. But when I lift the cup to my lips and take a sip it’s absolutely perfect.
“I’m here to please,” he says, lifting a brow. And for a second all I can think of is last night. Him in the shower. Pleasing himself.
The way his palm wrapped around his erection. And god, what a gorgeous specimen it was. Just the right length and girth – not so big it looks like a damn can of beer – but enough that I know I’d feel it hard inside me.
It’s not going to be inside of you, doofus. He has another woman’s picture on his dresser.
“Nice coffee,” I squeak as I almost spit it out.
He gives me a strange look.
He knocked on my bedroom door this morning, telling me he was planning to leave at eight.
Which I’m assuming is late for him, but he’s obviously trying not to drag me out of the house at the crack of dawn.
I avoided him at breakfast. And during our ride to the resort site I scrolled through my phone, trying to hide the embarrassment from my cheeks after last night.
I’m pretty sure I failed.
And for the last hour, I’ve been on a site induction. I’ve watched videos, had a safety talk from the team’s head of site, and then I even had to answer a quiz about everything I learned before they gave me a hard hat and the go-ahead to roam the land with West.
They take things seriously here, I’m discovering. And I don’t know why, but I like it.
West emerged from meetings about five minutes ago, right as the order he’d sent to Mylene arrived, brought by Simon, Liberty’s elusive taxi driver who is harder to track down than a unicorn.
Though apparently not when it comes to bringing West a hundred cups of coffee.
The whole place is a hive of activity. There are teams everywhere – some working on the accommodation buildings, others welding metal frames or leveling pathways.
A bunch of guys in safety vests are arguing good-naturedly about the best kind of decking while another crew preps a landscaped garden area with native shrubs and giant rolls of irrigation tubing.
In the distance, I spot a crane swinging a massive steel beam into place, like it’s no big deal. It should feel chaotic, but somehow it doesn’t. There’s a rhythm to it. A purpose. Like everyone here actually wants to be part of building something amazing.
The first thing West does is gesture for me to follow him. “Come on. I want to show you the splash zone.”
“Is that a euphemism?” I ask, then immediately regret it, because apparently I’m physically incapable of not being an idiot around him. But he just glances at me and smiles softly.
We start walking down a narrow gravel path between two half-built buildings. The sun’s already heating up the air, but West looks completely unbothered, gesturing to the steel supports and curved walkways like he’s presenting the crown jewels.
“This is where the shallow pools will go,” he says, pointing to a large dug-out area surrounded with temporary fencing.
“We’re using a smart irrigation and recirculation system to minimize water waste.
It’s designed to be low splash, but high fun.
Less about volume, more about sensory. Kids can activate the jets themselves. Make them feel like superheroes.”
That’s stupidly sweet. I run the tip of my tongue over my dry lips. He’s staring at the mess of a site in front of us like he can see the finished product. Like the bulldozers and scaffolding and piles of gravel have melted away, and what’s left is a living, breathing dream.
“There’ll be a whole oasis of trees here,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Kids running barefoot to the pool. A bar in that corner with couples sitting under the trees at night with a drink, listening to music.”
I glance at him. His jaw’s tight, but his eyes are shining. He looks like the West I remember. Excited yet relaxed, and completely in control. He lifts an arm to run his hand through his hair, and I try not to watch as his biceps flex deliciously.
“So,” he says, tipping his head to look at me.
“So?” I frown, trying to figure out what he means.
His eyes crinkle. “Where’s your critique? Aren’t you going to lecture me about a world water shortage? That kids shouldn’t have fun when half the planet’s drying out?”
I snort. “Is that what you want? For me to rain on your parade? To be some kind of fun-stealer?”
He shakes his head slowly, still looking at me. “No, I really want your input. If we can pitch this right, show that we have real commitment to sustainability, then I’m all for it. So go on, let me have it.”
I take a breath. This is why I’m here after all. And yeah, my family teases me constantly about wanting to save the world, but that’s not it. I can’t save it, I know that.
But I can at least point out where we can stop making things worse.
“What water system are you going to use?” I ask him.
The corner of his lip quirks. “I’m not completely sure but I can check. It’s gray water though. I can get the designer to send you the specs.”
I nod. “That would be good.” I’m not stupid, I know this isn’t a real job. And I’m pretty sure that any impact I make will be minimal. But something about him asking – about him listening – makes me want to try anyway.
“If it’s gray water, you’ll want to make sure they’re filtering it with natural biofiltration too,” I tell him.
“Reeds, gravel, UV light. I saw a similar system at an eco-hotel in South America. They managed to reduce their output by forty percent without compromising guest experience. And if you tie that in with the landscaping, use some native species that don’t guzzle water, maybe add some kid-friendly signage that explains how it all works, then it’s not only about making it sustainable. It’s making it cool.”
My words tumble out faster than I expect, hands gesturing as I talk. I’m not even thinking anymore, I’m just word vomiting.
When I glance at him, he’s watching me.
“What?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. “Did I say something wrong?”
His expression softens, and for a second I think he might smile. But instead, he shakes his head.
“No,” he murmurs. “That was interesting.”
“Was it?” I frown. “Okay. Let me tell you all about my composting obsession next.” I wiggle my brows. “And black water recycling.”
He huffs a soft laugh, his eyes still locked on mine. “Black water? As in...”
“Sewage,” I say gleefully. “You filter it, treat it, reuse it. It’s a total game-changer.”
“Great,” he says. “I can see the billboards now. ‘Come swim in your own shit’.”
“Recycled shit,” I correct him. “And okay, I can see you’ll need some persuading. But if we can pitch it right…” I fade off, a smile pulling at my lips. “It’s not just any shit, it’s luxury grade, eco-certified shit…” I say in a deep, advertising-like tone.
His lips twitch, and he parts them to respond, but a voice calls out from behind us.
“Hey, boss.”
One of the site workers – a tall man with a deep sun-tan, maybe in his mid-forties – hurries toward us, a grin on his face.
“Hey Matt.” West sounds genuinely pleased to see him.
Matt looks at us, and I realize we’re standing too close. I step back from West, welcoming the space.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Matt says. “I just wanted to thank you. My kid he’s…” he shakes his head. “He’s buzzing. Or as buzzing as you can be in a hospital bed.”
“How’s he doing?” West asks.
“Much better now that he has an iPad to watch Youtube on.” He looks at me again. “My son’s just had surgery. Dropped his old tablet on the floor and smashed it. And this guy sent a new one to his hospital room.”
“Oh,” I say softly. “I hope he’s feeling better soon.”
“Getting there.” Matt grins. “I should head back. We’re about to start pouring the concrete for the support columns and I got to make sure it’s done right.” He slaps West on the arm like they’re old friends. “I just heard you were here and wanted to stop by. Thanks again. I owe you a beer.”
He walks away, adjusting his yellow hat, and I turn to look at West. “Do you buy iPads for all your employees’ kids?” I ask him.
He shakes his head, looking almost embarrassed. “Matt’s a good guy. He shows up early, stays late. Talks about his kid nonstop.” West shrugs like it’s no big deal. “It seemed like the least I could do.”
My chest squeezes, and I look away before I melt into a puddle of feelings. Because it’s one thing to have a boss who hands out paychecks. It’s another to have one who notices when your kid’s sick and does something about it.
“You did a nice thing,” I tell him. “A really, really nice thing.”
“Yeah, well I’m still not installing a black water recycling system,” he tells me.
“That’s okay,” I say, still smiling. “I’ll wear you down eventually. Just wait until I break out my powerpoint presentation.”
He groans, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. And for a second the weight he’s been carrying ever since Vegas – maybe even before – seems to lift. Like I finally said something right.
He’s still looking at me when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He glances down and lets out an almost inaudible sigh.
“I have to take this,” he tells me.
“Sure.” I think I need a minute anyway. He swipes the screen, but not before I see the name on it. Vin Marchetti.
His investor. The man who sent the newlywed gifts.
“Hello,” he says, lifting the phone to his ear with one hand. He walks over to an earthy incline, the smile slipping from his face as he replies to whatever Vin is saying to him. He’s too far away for me to hear him.
But I see the way his shoulders square as he listens. The pinch of his fingers along the bridge of his nose. The slight shake of his head. All those soft edges from a moment ago are hardening again as he turns into CEO mode.
I sip my coffee slowly, giving him space. But I can’t stop watching.
He says something short and sharp, then pulls the phone away from his ear and ends the call with a swipe.
And when he walks back, the lines between his brows are deeper. But there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes, too.
“Is everything okay?” I ask carefully, because whatever Vin said obviously got him out of sorts.
He lets out a long breath. “It’s fine. Vin’s just got this idea that we have to install a casino at the resort. He’s kind of stuck on it and I’m trying to get him unstuck.”
I blink. “Gambling on Liberty?”
“Don’t worry about it. The whole point of this place is about family. About being together, away from screens and distractions and having fun. He just likes money too much to back off.”
I study him for a second. The determined set of his jaw. The way his brows are pulled together like he’s already planning the next ten arguments he’ll need to win with the man.
“You know,” I say, softly, “for a guy who acts like he doesn’t care, you really do.”
That gets me a glance. And something else flickering behind his eyes.
“I mean it,” I continue. “Most people would take the money, throw up some slot machines, and call it a day. But you’re building something that actually matters.”
“Yeah, well I’ve spent years fixing other people’s messes. This is the first thing that’s mine.”
Our eyes lock and it feels like the air shifts. Or maybe it’s me that’s shifting, changing my perspective.
Because it doesn’t feel like we’re just two people walking a construction site anymore.
We’re something else. Something different.
Whatever it is, I like it way too much. Which is exactly why I need to be careful.