37. Ronan
A female screeches, the sound quickly followed by a splash.
I lean over the railing of the rooftop deck to the pool below, where Connor and four local Wolf staffers lounge. Fucking guy. One shift and they’re flocking to him.
But I don’t know what I’d do without him. I’d be lonely in this giant house, that’s for sure.
“You comin’ down?” Connor hollers, his deep voice carrying through the peaceful neighborhood. Two-thirds of the houses are empty, waiting for summer visitors.
“Enjoying the view.”
“What view? It’s dark!”
I chuckle. The sun may be long gone, but the salty sea air is balmy, and the roar of the nearby ocean is palpable.
“Come on. We’re playing Marco Polo.”
“ Pass .” Connor’s version involves losing articles of clothing, and two of those girls work in administration, which means they inevitably report to me. “Keep the glass away from the pool.”
“Aye-aye, boss,” he mocks .
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I dig it out to check the screen and smile as I answer. “What took you so long?” I texted Abbi twenty minutes ago to tell her I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here.
“She’s busy,” a deep male voice retorts, his voice laced with smugness.
I groan. Henry has her phone. “What do you want?” He never calls me. The only time I hear from him is when he’s chirping in the background while I’m talking to Abbi.
His gulp fills my ear. I can picture the asshole stretched out on his leather couch in their New York high-rise penthouse, sucking back a glass of scotch that only zero-point-one percenters can afford. “How’d your first day go?”
“Belinda didn’t stab me, so I call that a win. But I’m sure you’ve talked to her, so why don’t you tell me how my first day went?”
His dark chuckle tells me Belinda gave him an earful. “She has high hopes for you.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” I smirk. “The managers seem equally pleased.” Belinda introduced me to Chester, Dorian, and Mike. The reception was polite but decidedly unimpressed.
“Pleasing them is not my concern. How’s the house? The car?”
“House is on the small side,” I deadpan, stealing a glance at the pool as a brunette peels off her bikini top and tosses it to a nearby chair.
I move away before I get myself into trouble.
“The car could be nicer.” I haven’t had a vehicle at my disposal since I was living in Indie and booting around in an old Tacoma.
The black BMW waiting for me in the parking lot today dropped my jaw.
“I’ll be there for the media open,” Henry says, smoothly ignoring my gibes. “I hope you know how to golf.”
“Barely.” Mention of golf reminds me of the tour. “Saw your neighbor’s art display. ”
Henry’s responding sigh is laced with irritation. “Ruby Parker and whoever lives in that commune have already lost.”
“And the signs? How are you going to deal with those?”
“Me? I’m not. That’s what my director of operations is there to figure out.”
Of course. He and Belinda are in lockstep. I mutter dryly, “No problem.”
A moment of awkward silence hangs and then Henry says abruptly, “All right, then. Abbi wanted me to check in with you.”
“Don’t say that!” Abbi hisses in the background.
“Hey, Red,” I call out, hoping she’ll hear me.
Henry muffles the receiver, his words incoherent but his tone gentler with her.
“Roh-nan!” Connor’s deep voice bellows from the pool below.
“Tell him to shut up!” Henry snaps in my ear. “I have neighbors.”
Wait . “Is this your house?”
“Of course it is. One of many.” He hisses. “ Fuck, Abbi, teeth …”
It dawns on me then exactly what’s going on over in the Wolf household. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’ll touch base next week.”
“You motherfu?—”
The line goes dead as my hand tightens around my phone, the mental image of Abbi on her knees for him instantly swelling my cock. “Fuck.” Well played, you son of a bitch. He wants to remind me what I can’t have.
And now I’m right back to that night in Alaska.
With that memory fresh in my mind, I head for the shower.
I’ve always hated jogging.
Hated it when I was a pimple-faced thirteen-year-old at Creekside High. Double my age and I still despise it, but the scenery makes it tolerable.
My heart pounds as I jog along the beach, the morning sun hot against my bare chest, the sand packed beneath my runners. Henry was right—it’s like white sugar.
The shoreline seems endless. I wonder how far I could run before I was forced to divert. One day, I’ll find the answer to that.
But I might collapse before I make it to Wolf because I seriously misjudged the distance and how humid it would be this early in the day. I’m gonna have to call Connor to pick my ass up because there is no way I’ll make it to work on time.
“Fuck me,” I curse, my breathing ragged as I slow to scan the buildings along the boardwalk ahead, until I spot a little white one that I instantly recognize.
It’s not anything special from the outside, but the inside has a cozy tropical theme, with teakwood and reed thatching.
Best of all though, it smells like freshly brewed coffee.
An Open sign glows in the window. A quick glance at my watch tells me it’s seven thirty.
Would Sloane be there this early? I’ll bet King Kong is.
That fucking guy makes Connor look like a runt and gives off stay away from her vibes that I probably shouldn’t ignore.
He didn’t seem like her boyfriend though. Who is he to her? Brother? Cousin?
I’m so curious.
And sweaty. Beads roll down my chest and my back. How will Sloane react to my soaked ass strolling into her shop? Plus, if I consume a coffee now, I’m liable to pass out. No … what I need is to cool down first.
I kick off my shoes and peel off my socks, dropping them into a pile along with my empty water bottle.
There are people here and there, watching the sun climb into the sky and the waves roll in, but no one’s in the water yet.
With a sigh of satisfaction, I venture out, the refreshing salt water already soothing against my feet.
Fuck, yeah … I could get used to this life.