Chapter 4 #2
Her shy smile takes me by surprise. “What are you really doing at this resort, Jeremy?” She tilts her head, studying me. “What kind of business deal happens in paradise?”
I should give her the same vague answer I’d give anyone else. But for some reason—maybe because she’s sitting there with bruises on her face and defiance in her eyes—I decide to tell the truth.
“I’m trying to make a connection with the owners of a company I want to partner with. Joel and Mariel Johnson own a healthcare platform called The NorthStar Way. They’re here celebrating their anniversary, and I want time with them.”
Her brows draw low over those blue eyes. “Have you heard of a concept called scheduling a meeting?”
“I have,” I mutter, unwilling to admit that, just like a younger Sloane, they think I’m a soulless prick. One who can’t be trusted with a company that’s built as a tribute to the daughter they lost. “It’s complicated,” I say instead.
She laughs, and the sound is glorious after seeing her so subdued last night. “I understand complicated.”
“Yeah.” I marvel at the way the light catches her hair and the stubborn set of her jaw. “I bet you do.”
“Okay.” She sits up straighter, like she’s making a decision.
“I’ll stay. But only because you have a better beach and a private pool.
” She makes a tsking sound that I stupidly find hot, and waves her hand like she’s shooing away a fly.
“I’m sick of the riffraff at the main resort.
” She can’t quite keep the humor out of her deliberately mocking tone.
“The riffraff,” I repeat, working to hold back a smile. “That would be the guests paying out the nose for a five-star experience?”
Another tsk. “Potato, potahto.”
“That’s not how the expression works.”
“It is now.”
I haven’t been in a serious relationship for…
well…forever, but I date plenty and definitely have a type.
Women who are beautiful but accommodating to my needs and desires without much thought to their own.
Jesus, I’m a prick. And shockingly infatuated with Avah’s attitude and snark.
With everything about her, if I’m being honest.
I remind myself again that, being my sister’s friend, she’s off limits. And beyond that, even though she puts up a good pretense, I know she needs time to heal—and not only physically—from whatever the dirtbag ex did to her.
“Do you want me to go to the bungalow with you to get your stuff?” I phrase the question so it sounds like I’d be doing her a favor, but in reality, I just want to spend more time with her, fool that I am.
She opens her mouth, clearly intending to say no, because Avah Harris doesn’t need anyone’s help, thanks very much. But then she pauses, and something shifts in her expression. It might be surprise, or maybe recognition that she doesn’t have to do this alone.
“Yeah,” she says finally. “That would be good.”
“Okay.”
Damon returns with breakfast—perfectly poached Eggs Benedict for her, and scrambled egg whites plus the protein-heavy green drink I’ve downed on the daily for the past decade for me.
As we move to the dining table under the thatched palapa, she makes fun of my boring, bland meal (she’s not wrong).
Then she proceeds to make the most obscene noises of pleasure as she savors each bite of her food.
I never understood the idea of food porn.
Glamorized aesthetics don’t do it for me, which is probably a waste given how often I’ve been served highly stylized presentations of food in a myriad of exclusive restaurants and clubs.
But the sensory experience of listening to Avah’s soft hums and moans of happiness, and watching the delicate column of her throat as she swallows…
Christ, I’m going to need an ice bath after this.
The sun is climbing higher now, the heat starting to press down with a weight that promises oppressive humidity by afternoon. Stealing glances at her, I can see the faint freckles across her nose that I’m not usually close enough to notice.
My trip to this resort has been an exercise in frustration.
Every attempt I’ve made to “accidentally” run into Joel and Mariel Johnson has been politely shut down by both of them.
They have a complete lack of interest in talking to me, which is not something I’m used to.
Potential business partners typically fall all over themselves to get my attention, but not these two.
I’ve spent four days watching them from a distance and getting exactly nowhere.
Despite my frustration, it’s made me more determined. But now, the only person I actually want to spend time with is Avah.
It should bother me more than it does. I’ve actively avoided Sloane’s friend group for the better part of a year, and Avah in particular.
She sees through my bullshit and isn’t afraid to call it out.
She’s also fresh out of an abusive relationship and in no position to be anything other than a person who needs help, not whatever this feeling in my chest is every time she looks at me with those sharp blue eyes.
But having her in my villa and being the person she considers safe enough to relax with after what she’s been through feels more important than anything I’ve done in months, or maybe years.
It should terrify me, but instead makes me want to keep her close, which is objectively insane.
I don’t do impulse decisions, and I definitely don’t get protective over women who’ve made it clear they think I’m an obnoxious asshole.
But I also built a billion-dollar company by executing plans everyone else said were impossible.
Comparatively, keeping one razor-tongued woman out of harm’s way should be easy enough. I wonder if I’ll be so lucky.