Chapter 25
POPPY
Ifeel sick.
As I lie here in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the morning sun reflecting off the ocean outside and painting the white canvas with a kaleidoscope of colors, I feel physically sick to my stomach.
I feel like death might be less painful than the mortification that is currently searing through my veins, cooking me from the inside out.
God, even the waves sound like they’re laughing at me.
No matter how hard I try to forget, the ocean will always remember that, last night, I stripped down to my thong in some pathetic attempt to try and seduce Brookes Devereaux, only for him to turn me down. God, I probably scared the shit out of him.
I don’t know what came over me. I thought I felt something shift between us. I thought he felt it he too. I’ve never done anything as bold as what I did last night. And I was actually proud of myself for taking that step. But then it failed spectacularly.
Maybe I should move to the desert; there are no waves in the desert to laugh at me.
Grabbing a pillow, I hold it over my face and scream until I have no air left in my lungs.
Thank God I haven’t touched my first fake girlfriend payment yet; Brookes is probably going to claw it back when he fires me.
As soon as I’m showered and dressed, I grab my laptop and my sketch book, and I force myself to get a start on my day because, despite my shame and embarrassment and the heavy weight of rejection that has settled over my head like a big, dark storm cloud, I can’t hide out in my room forever.
As I walk through to the kitchen, I’m relieved to find the house Brookes-free.
I set my things up on the island and help myself to Brookes’ top-of-the-line coffee machine. Because if I have to look that man in the face today, you can bet I am not about to do it without caffeine.
Grabbing a cup from the overhead cabinet, I place it under the machine, looking closer at the contraption to try to figure it out.
It’s one of those monstrosities that costs more than some cars and requires an engineering degree to operate it, but it makes the best espresso, like a nectar from the heavens.
God, my mouth waters just thinking about it.
But, of course, the moment I press the button, the machine just beeps at me.
Rude. I huff, pressing the button again.
The machine starts to whir, but then it sputters, and the piercing beep, beep, beep rings through the kitchen again. I could cry.
When I try again, the machine beeps in response. Violently this time. Like it’s about to alert the security company that monitors the gated community; the cops will be here any second, I’m sure.
I throw my head back on a groan but then suddenly, something warm and hard presses up against me from behind, a familiar spicy scent curling around me.
With a gasp, I snap my head up, looking down to see a big hand land on the countertop next to my hip, a ropey tattooed forearm reaching over my shoulder, lifting the lid off one of the coffee machine compartments and fiddling with something inside before securing it again.
A thick finger presses the button, and like magic, the machine starts whirring happily, doing its thing.
Seconds later, my nostrils are hit with the delicious aroma of full-bodied Columbian coffee as it fills my cup, a soft, warm breath fanning against the crook of my neck.
“I’ve been meaning to get someone in to take a look at it.”
Snapping out of my lust-filled daze, I spin around to find Brookes looking in the fridge, his back to me as he rifles through the contents like he wasn’t just pressed up against me and breathing hard against my neck.
But then my brows knit together as I try to make sense of what just happened.
Did I imagine it? Oh my God, am I going crazy?
The machine beeps softly, and I look at it to see my coffee is ready, and with a slightly foggy mind, I shake my head to try and clear the haze, grabbing my cup and moving around the other side of the island to my laptop, as far from Brookes as the kitchen will allow.
Focusing on my laptop, I ignore Brookes as he moves about the kitchen and heats up one of the special ready-made meals his team of nutritionists have delivered to the house every day.
From my periphery, I can see he’s dressed for the day in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and I’m just thankful that he’s obviously going out, so that I can lose my shit in peace.
As the microwave hums, I allow my gaze to lift, taking in Brookes’ form from behind.
The black athletic shorts he wears tug tight around his ass and thighs.
The dark gray t-shirt stretches over his broad back and wide shoulders.
And don’t even get me started on the navy backwards ball cap. I swear, the gods are against me.
“So, I think we need to talk about last night.”
Brookes turns around and I almost fall right off my stool, snapping my head down so fast like I was looking at my laptop this whole time and not at his perfectly round, firm bubble butt.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” I say the words so fast that they’re nothing but a mess of syllables strung together coming out of my lips.
“Last night,” he says, leaning over and resting his forearms on the island opposite me.
Heat creeps up my chest, my neck, and onto my cheeks, my face flaming. “Can we just pretend it never happened…” I bury my face in my hands with a groan.
“Pops,” Brookes says, his voice suddenly gentle. “That man attacked you.”
“Oh,” I say, my shoulders sagging, finally meeting his gaze. He’s not talking about the beach. Hopefully I imagined that, too.
“If I didn’t come back there when I did…” Brookes trails off, and I see a contradicting darkness flash in his bright blue eyes.
I shudder at the memory of last night, but then I sit up a little straighter, squaring my shoulders, my chin held defiantly high. “Brookes, he was just… drunk.” I shake my head, not wanting to dredge it up.
“Poppy, I—”
“Please, Brookes.” I steady him with a slightly warning look.
His eyes bore into mine like he’s searching for something, but I avert my gaze, looking down at my laptop.
“Let’s just forget about last night,” I say with a nonchalant shrug, lifting my eyes once more and meeting his. “All of it.”
Scrubbing a hand over his stubbled chin, Brookes looks at me long and hard, his gaze dipping downwards and lingering momentarily on the white tank top I’m wearing before he quickly looks away.
And, with a curt nod, he rises again and turns back to the microwave right as it chimes, signaling that his spinach, egg white, and turkey bacon breakfast burrito is ready.
Placing the burrito into a paper napkin, Brookes tosses the cardboard into the trash compactor and turns, walking out of the kitchen with a muttered, “I’ve gotta go.”
When I hear the front door open and close, I heave a racking sigh, burying my face in my hands with another stifled groan. I need a new job.
I knock on the door, waiting nervously, twisting the fob to Brookes’ Range Rover between my fingers.
“Hey, hon!”
At the sound of Lori’s voice, I search, my eyebrows dipping because where is she?
“Come on in, baby. Door’s open.”
I realize then, it’s the doorbell talking to me, a small camera lens flashing, and pushing on the big brass handle, the huge door nudges open.
Inside, the house is beautiful, precisely the kind of place I’d expect a woman like Lori to live.
All whites and creams, airy, with bright colors splashed about, and Spanish accents.
I continue through the sprawling foyer, through a big archway and into the living area, stopping in my tracks when I find Lori lying on a big white leather sectional, dressed in a sexy negligee and a feathered robe, a cocktail balancing precariously in her hand while a beautiful man dressed in bright pink scrubs sticks a needle in her face.
“Hi, baby!” Lori says, careful not to move her face too much.
“Um, hi.” I wave awkwardly, my gaze scanning the space.
“You go on out into the lanai and I’ll be there in just a sec, honey bun.”
Hesitating, I do as I’m told, crossing the big open room and walking out through the pocket doors, into a massive lanai that looks out over the canal, the water glistening beneath the afternoon sun. I take a seat on the super plush patio sofa and release a heavy sigh, feeling my shoulders sag.
When I realized I had no one to talk to, I texted Lori to ask if she was free for some advice, and she told me to come straight over. I feel bad for interrupting her two p.m. Botox appointment, but she’s really the only person I have.
“Hi, baby.”
I startle from my thoughts, turning to see Lori swan out of the house, cocktail in hand, face slightly blotchy, feathered robe fluttering in the breeze.
She leans in and air kisses each of my cheeks before taking a load off next to me, kicking her perfectly manicured feet up onto the patio coffee table.
“Thank you so much for seeing me.”
“Always, baby, you know that.” She waves a dismissive hand, her gaze scrupulous as she looks at me. “What’s wrong?”
I swallow hard.
“You have that pesky crease again,” she says, pointing between my eyebrows. “I can get Stuart to pop a few units in there before he packs up his needles, if you like.”
“No, it’s okay. Thanks.” I huff a laugh.
“What is it, baby?” Lori asks, her face turning serious.
And, sure, I’d hoped to ease into my indiscretions, maybe shoot the shit for a few minutes at least, but these emotions have been roiling inside me all morning, and the way Lori looks at me, like she genuinely cares, I cover my face with my hands as a sob bubbles out of me.
“I made a total fool of myself last night.”
“Oh, honey!” Lori coos, and soon enough I’m wrapped in her arms, feeling nothing but safe, even more tears spill out of me.
I’m blubbering like a giant baby, but I can’t find it in me to stop.
Lori rubs her hand over my heaving back. “Oh, you let it out, and then you tell me everything, sweetie pie.”
Once I finally manage to stop crying, I do tell Lori everything.
And I mean everything. Not just about last night and how I made a complete ass of myself, but I tell her about what happened in Oklahoma, I tell her about my ex, Simon, I even tell her about what happened back in Missouri when I was fifteen.
Lori never once pities me. She never judges me. She just listens, holding my hand the entire time. And I always thought I might regret telling someone all my deepest, darkest secrets. But I don’t. And I feel lighter, like a big weight has been lifted off my chest. Like I can finally breathe.
Lori shifts, crossing one long, slender leg over the other while never once letting go of my hand, her face contemplative as she gazes out over the water.
“You like him, don’t you, baby?”
I wince. “I mean…” Huffing a sigh, I shrug.
“I don’t know. I think so. It’s been so long, I…
maybe. But I can’t. I’m not allowed. This…
. This is a job. I’m getting paid, Lori.
And Brookes said it himself. The reason he chose me was because there was no risk of him falling for me.
But… he didn’t stop to think that maybe I might fall for him. ”
Lori purses her cherry-red lips, making a thoughtful sound. “Do you want to know what I think?”
I nod, although with the way she’s looking at me I’m not so sure.
“The way he took care of you in Oklahoma, even Jonesy noticed the way he was smiling at you when we watched him play on the TV. And how he protected you last night, risked everything and stood up to those Royale fools and Blake… it sounds to me like that man might have caught feelings that he doesn’t know what to do with. ”
I quirk a brow, not buying that for one second.
“Trust me, baby, if there is one thing I know, it’s men.” She flashes me a cocky grin.
I can’t help but laugh, not doubting that in the slightest.
“I have an idea,” Lori says, her smile scheming. “But it’s going to require another shopping spree.”
“Oh, great…” I mutter, jokingly.
She playfully smacks my thigh. And, with a giggle, I listen to exactly what she says. Because frankly, I think I need all the help I can get.