Chapter 2
MILES
This guy is such an asshole.
And I’m allowed to say that because I’ve known him for ten years and I’m also an asshole, so it’s not so much an insult as it is a statement of fact.
Doug is a good buddy of mine. And a really frustrating client.
“Listen, I know you just got the cabinets in there, but Marissa wants them to be white.”
Marissa and Doug have been together longer than Doug and I have known each other, and she’s exactly the woman now that she was when I first met her: high maintenance as hell.
“You guys requested sage, like, twelve times. We picked out a color together, literally, in the store. Two hours looking at paint swatches. I never do that with clients.”
I’d only made an exception because Marissa had already rejected multiple color proposals, and a trip to the store was less work than going back and forth over email.
“I’m sorry, man. The lady gets what the lady wants.”
The client gets what the client wants, I remind myself.
“It’s not a problem; we’ll make it work. Another beer?” He shakes his head.
This exact scenario is why I stopped taking friends as clients.
Things get weird when you mix business and friendship.
When I was starting out in the construction industry, I dreamed of the days I could have my own clients, set my own schedule, stop working as labor on shitty construction jobs.
Things got better when I got promoted to foreman, and things were really good when I quit all of that and started my own contracting company.
Getting out of general labor and into management was a better fit for me.
When I started, I needed all the clients I could get, and most of my clients were my former NHL buddies.
But it’s been a few years now, and I can be pickier with my clients, take on the projects I really want to.
Is this my ideal project? Not really.
But I used to play hockey with him, and it was hard to say no to a former client—or to a project in Cabo. It’s a nice change of pace, almost like a vacation, which I never take.
“Timeline is going to have to extend more for that and for the countertops. I got the marble ordered, but there’s only one guy in the area who cuts marble custom and he’s got a sick kid, so he’s out of commission for a few days,” I say.
Doug waves his hand, dismissing me. He doesn’t seem to care about the timeline, and unfortunately they don’t seem to care that every delay costs them more money. But I guess when you have that kind of money, you don’t have to care about much.
“I appreciate you putting me up at the resort; it’s been really nice,” I say, and I mean it. I don’t use the services to their full capacity, but it’s nice to have options. Not to mention there is plenty of eye candy around this place.
“Safest, most cost-effective option, my friend. Not to mention the food at this resort is nothing to sneeze at. Didn’t want you to have to worry about any of that stuff—cooking, cleaning, yada yada. Have you liked it? Have you been to one of these places before?”
I shake my head, having just taken a huge bite of my burger.
“Marissa and I love a resort. Great environment for some peace and quiet. Easy to relax here.”
I give him my most agreeable reaction. I don’t spend a lot of time relaxing here, so I’m not sure what he wants me to say.
My days start at the gym in the morning, I work all day, and then in the evening, I either swim laps in the pool at the gym or go on a run on the beach, shower, go to sleep, and do it all over again.
I’ll visit the hot tub or main pool sometimes, but I’m not a big into “relaxing.”
“You probably don’t even know what downtime is,” Doug says, proving how well he knows me. “You were like that when we played together, too. Everyone would knock off early, and you’d be there late, doing drills,” he continues, light nostalgia in his tone.
I nod because he’s right, but I don’t want to talk about hockey.
That’s my other problem with working for Doug; it isn’t just that he and his wife have been tough clients, or that he’s my friend and mixing friends and business is its own beast, but he’s also an old hockey buddy, and that means hockey comes up. A lot.
And I don’t like to talk about hockey.
“Have you guys decided on tile for the upstairs bathrooms yet? We’ll be ready for the tile in the next week or so.”
“We’ve got an appointment—” He glances at his watch. “Actually, I gotta get going in a minute here because we’ve got an appointment at a tile shop nearby to pick out what we want. We’ll tell the shop to get in touch as soon as Marissa has picked out what she likes.”
“Just as long as you know that the longer you take to make decisions, the longer it will take for us to get it done. You’re looking at another month, easily.”
This is me informing, not complaining. The only thing I left behind in Pittsburgh was the room I was staying in at my mom’s house and another failed relationship, although that’s a generous word for what it was.
I haven’t had a real relationship in a decade.
The only thing I’m looking forward to on the other side of this project is an old house I bought right after moving here.
I was already in talks with a realtor before I left, but everything got finalized after I settled here.
I’d like to get back to it, but while I’m still waiting on inspection reports, it hasn’t been so bad working in paradise.
“Totally understand. You’ve been so great, man. I really appreciate this.”
Doug wipes his hands and swipes the napkin across his mouth before dropping it on the plate. He gives me a firm handshake and promises to keep me updated on the tile choices.
He’s not even out of my eyesight before my phone rings with a call.
My younger brother.
“Gray, what’s up?”
“You haven’t so much as breathed on the back of my neck for like two weeks. Just checking for a pulse.”
“Just been busy with work,” I say.
“And relaxing. How is resort life?”
“The same as Pittsburgh life with considerably more sand.”
“And gorgeous women in bikinis,” Gray adds.
“Not enough gorgeous women in San Francisco?”
Gray’s been living in San Francisco since he and his roommate dropped out of Stanford after their sophomore year to finish developing the app they’d been working on since they met freshman year.
The app is a travel organizer, like a spreadsheet meets a digital notebook or journal, and from all the early feedback he’s gotten, it’s definitely meeting a need in the market.
“Who has time to date?” Gray says. To my knowledge, he’s never had a girlfriend. I’m certainly not going to pressure him into it.
“I wouldn’t know,” I say.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how the app is going?”
“I was getting there,” I say as I start the walk back to my room. “I figured that’s why you were calling.”
“We secured an investor’s meeting for Saturday morning,” he says, barely able to contain his excitement.
This will be his third investor meeting in the last six months.
So far, I’m the sole investor, but I don’t mind.
Supporting Gray while he pursues his dreams is the least I can do after abandoning him to go to college when our lives blew up after I graduated from high school.
“Who takes meetings on Saturdays?”
“Who cares?” Gray says, barely contained excitement in his voice.
“You guys sure you’re ready for that? The last one was just a month ago. Have you had time to make all the changes you wanted to?” I ask.
“Most of them, but I’m not worried about it.”
“Well, if you’re not worried, I’m not worried. Call me Saturday?”
“Will do. Enjoy paradise, you slacker.”
I try to keep my distance when I can from his app and stay squarely in the financial investor category. If mixing business and friendships is risky, mixing business and family is downright dangerous. Sometimes I get a little overbearing, but Gray tolerates me.
My room is clean when I return, one of the perks of staying here, but as I approach my wardrobe, I knock my knee against the corner of the bed. Doubling over, I clutch at the joint. Pain reverberates from my knee up to my thigh.
“FUCK.”
I grind my teeth together, squeezing my eyes shut so hard that I see stars. That was my bad knee. Which generally feels fine, unless the weather is bad, or I’ve pushed myself too far—or, of course, I bang it against the sharp corner of a bed.
I let gravity take me down to the ground, where I have to breathe through the pain. It takes longer than I want it to, but eventually I’m able to haul myself to standing using just my good leg. I put my foot down carefully, steeling myself with a few quick breaths.
“Come on, Barker, just fucking do it.”
I put the full weight of my body on the foot, taking one step. The pain is sharp, but familiar. It will pass if I walk it off. So I pace the room, one hobbling step at a time, until the pain subsides to a dull throb and I’m barely limping.
If I wasn’t going to get a beer before, I definitely am now.
It’s a quick walk to the main pool, but it takes me longer than normal with my slight limp. I walk right in, letting the cold water soothe my knee. I swim up to the poolside bar and claim one of the stools.
“Knocked off early today, huh?” my favorite bartender, Carlos, asks and hands me a Corona with lime without my having asked for it.
“Yeah, I had a lunch with the boss, so I said fuck it. Slow week anyway.”
“They changed stuff again?”
“Yep.”
I take a pull on the beer. Carlos has heard all the stories over the last two months; he knows I was supposed to go home two weeks ago, and that I’ll probably stay longer than my most recently promised end date, too.
Lately, I’ve been dreaming of even more freedom than client work. When I have clients, I’m at the whims and mercies and decisions of others. While the money is good and it’s not as risky as something like flipping houses, I have less and less patience for…well, people.
“You’ll be stuck with me a little longer,” I say.
“You know you’re my favorite resort resident, Mr. Barker.”
“I’m the only resident as far as I know. And you’ve got to stop calling me that. Mr. Barker is my dad, and, lucky for you, you never met him.”
I don’t have a nice word to say about my father.
After I graduated from high school, my dad announced that he and Mom were getting a divorce.
He’d been having an affair for years with a lady who lived down the street.
She was married with kids, too, and it wasn’t just a huge mess for everyone; it was humiliating for everyone.
Except, apparently, my dad and his new wife. That man has no shame.
I finish the beer too quickly and slide the empty bottle back to Carlos, who already has another one ready to go. The dull ache in my knee is already easing.
I swivel around, observing the same kinds of people that I’ve been seeing for two months.
Young couples who can’t keep their hands off each other, gaggles of girls screaming “woo” at every opportunity, older couples who are making the most of their retirement years.
Fortunately, it’s a kid-free resort, so although it’s noisy, it’s not “screaming child” noisy.
There aren’t a lot of solo travelers at resorts, or not at this one anyway, which is why the gorgeous brunette in a bright red bikini, huge sunglasses, and a floppy sun hat catches my eye.
There’s no ring on the relevant finger, nor do I see a man sitting by her or wandering nearby looking lost. There’s no group of girlfriends or even another towel on the chairs near her.
She’s either actually here alone or taking a moment away from…
family? Friends? It won’t stop me from saying hello either way.
I can’t see her face between her hat and the e-reader she’s buried in, but I bet if it matches those legs, she’s exactly the kind of cold drink I need to put this day behind me.
“Did someone catch your eye, Mr. Barker?”
“What are the chances the girl in the red bikini is single?”
“She arrived at the pool alone, not more than an hour ago.”
“I could kiss you, Carlos.”
“Please don’t, sir.”
“Wish me luck,” I say, and chug the rest of my beer before I slide back into the water. I dive under, needing a moment’s peace to collect myself before approaching her.
I’m a little rusty. I haven’t been with anyone since I moved here. Mostly been too busy to try, but something about this girl is making me think it’s time to get back on the horse. Or just between a nice pair of legs.
I pop out of the water and start toward her, but over halfway there, the mystery woman lowers her book, and I freeze.
I know her.
I’d know her anywhere.
“Abby?”