26. Daisy
Chapter 26
Daisy
T he question was still there the next day as I rode up to the resort with Gray and the design team. It was like a toothache, a dull throb at the base of my brain that never quite disappeared.
Was Mac my biological father?
The possibility was like a catastrophic earthquake at the core of my identity: maybe I wasn’t a Hammond after all.
I knew Charles Hammond was listed as my father on my birth certificate, but that didn’t mean anything. If it was a lie, everything I thought I’d known about myself — about my history — was a lie.
I felt prickly and anxious when I thought about it, my head buzzing, face flushed, pulse racing like I was on the verge of a panic attack.
I pushed it aside to think about later and tried to concentrate on the drive up the mountain, the symphony of color on the other side of the window. Olivia was driving the Mercedes, chatting with Lauren, one of the junior designers, about a new carpenter she’d found farther upstate, while Gray texted next to me in the back seat.
We hadn’t had a confrontation since the one we‘d had in the break room when he’d mentioned Ruth, and I was relieved that his interest in my sister seemed to have waned, at least for the time being.
Twenty minutes after leaving town we arrived at the building site and piled out of the car. At the top of the site, the main building was under construction, a crew of workers guiding a crane holding a large metal beam onto the fourth floor. I was shocked by the progress they’d made since the last time I’d visited the site. The main building was designed to be only four stories high, more expansive than tall, an attempt to make it look like it belonged in the surrounding mountains rather than like it was competing with them. That meant they were almost done with the framing of the whole building.
When Piers had first slated the resort to open in the spring, I hadn’t believed it was possible, but I also hadn’t counted on Piers having three crews working around the clock to make it happen.
“Let’s see how they’re doing on the villas,” Olivia said, handing me and Gray a hard hat that matched the ones carried by her and Lauren.
We started down a sun-dappled path leading into the woods. The villas were intentionally nestled in the surrounding forest on a series of sites handpicked for their views and far enough away from the main building that the rich people buying them wouldn’t have to interact with the plebeians at the main resort.
Once the resort was complete, the path leading to the private villas would be quiet and serene, but right now the sound of multiple construction sites — the ones at the main resort and the ones at the villas — echoed through the trees. Somewhere in the distance hammers hit wood and men called to one another.
It made me a little sad to know that the pristine woods surrounding Blackwell Falls would be marred with the new resort. There were still thousands of acres of woods in the Blackwell Preserve, but now that the construction crews were at work, I didn’t love the idea of the resort taking up space on the mountain.
Maybe it was living in the old house at the top of the falls instead of in the climate-controlled mansion where I’d grown up, but I felt more connected to the land now. I’d watched the snow melt around the house, had seen the icicles that hung from the falls in winter disappear as spring took hold. I’d watched the trees bud and then bloom, had heard the crickets return in summer, watched the long grass at the back of the house sparkle with summer fireflies.
I’d lain on the ground in the cemetery and looked through the changing leaves while I’d thought about Jace.
The fucker.
The first villa was a good half mile from the main resort, but I didn’t mind the walk. It felt good to be outside instead of in the office. Up ahead, Olivia led the way while Gray made small talk with Lauren.
Fine with me. As far as I was concerned, the less interaction I had with Gray the better.
We were almost to the first villa when we passed a construction worker carrying a bucket loaded with stone. He gave us a nod and kept walking toward the main site while we continued down the recently made path.
“Hats on,” Olivia said. “It’s for the insurance.”
I put my hard hat on just in time to break through the trees and onto one of the villa sites. As with the main building, I was shocked by how quickly it was coming together. These were one-story dwellings, much smaller than the main resort, and the framing on this one was complete, the roof already on.
“Wow,” I said. “They got this up fast.”
“Right?” Olivia said as we walked toward the building. “It’s always nice to work on a project where there’s enough money to keep things moving, although it does present other issues. I’m still worried about getting the tile from Italy in time.”
“Pay them a fee to expedite it,” Gray said. “My father won’t care.”
“Unfortunately it’s not just the money.” Did I detect a note of annoyance in Olivia’s voice? It wouldn’t be surprising. It must suck to have to treat a nepo baby like your boss. Not that I had any room to talk. I wasn’t Olivia’s boss but I’d only gotten the job at Cantwell because of my dad. “They make them by hand. The tiles have to dry, to set.”
“Morning,” one of the construction workers said, walking over to join us. His hair was covered by a hard hat, his face lined by hours of sun. He wore a yellow construction vest over a stained T-shirt and jeans, plus the heavy work boots that were de rigueur at the building site.
“Good morning,” Olivia said. “We’re with Cantwell. Are you the site foreman?”
He gave a slow nod. “That’s me.”
“Great. Is it safe to go inside?” Olivia asked.
He looked at our feet. Olivia and Lauren were wearing sneakers, Gray was in dress shoes, and I was in heels.
He sighed.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know I’d be coming today.”
It was the truth. As the resident intern, I didn’t know from one minute to the next what I’d be working on at Cantwell. This was only the second time I’d been invited to the building site with the design team and I’d just gotten the invitation that morning. I’d have to start bringing sensible shoes to the office just in case.
“Watch where you step,” the foreman said. “Probably a lot of loose boards and stray nails.”
“You got it,” Olivia said. “Thanks.”
He left us to talk to a guy carrying a long wooden beam and we started for the villa.
“Sorry about the shoes,” I said to Olivia.
She smiled, which made her even prettier. “Don’t be.” She was young for a partner at Davis Weiss, her blonde hair glossy and pulled back into a chic ponytail, her makeup polished but not overdone. “It was my fault for not giving you a warning. I’ll shoot you an email next time to give you a heads-up.”
I returned her smile. “Thanks.”
I liked her, hoped that someday I’d be as professional and accomplished, that I’d get my shit together.
Olivia waved to a couple construction workers attaching the weatherproof membrane to the exterior framing while we walked up the steps of the wide front porch and into the villa.
“Oh wow,” I said, looking upward. “This is going to be gorgeous.”
It was a long way from being done, but the ceilings were high, the main living area expansive, with a wall of glass that opened and recessed into the walls to provide a stunning open view of the mountains.
“Let’s start with the primary bedroom,” Olivia said, leading the way deeper into the villa. “Daisy, who’s the owner on this one?”
I dug in my bag as we walked and removed my notebook. I had my laptop too, but I’d learned that sometimes it just wasn’t feasible to pull out your laptop, and this was one of those times. “This is number one, right?”
I could see the site plans in my mind, the teakwood model in the secure room Gray had shown me before I knew he was a psycho rapist. The villas fanned out from the main resort on the path we’d walked from the car, starting with number one and ending with number ten, which was situated on the other side of the resort.
“Yep,” she said.
I flipped open my notebook and looked at the name next to each villa. They’d sold almost immediately in spite of their multimillion-dollar price tag.
“This one belongs to Torsten Albrecht,” I said. “He’s German, fifty-five, and is one of the heirs to the Bosch family. Now he’s in EVs. He’s married — the wife is his age — with three children in their twenties. His preferred vacation spots are Thailand and Indonesia, although he’s also fond of Greece. His biggest hobby is sailing. He actually competed in the America’s Cup when he was younger. He likes to ski, and the Albrechts have houses in Berlin, the Alps, Aspen, and Majorca.”
“Wow,” Olivia said, “really thorough. Well done.”
“Thanks,” I said. I’d been tasked with writing mini-summaries of each VIP to aid in the design of their villas. The idea was to marry the style of the main resort with personal details that appealed to each villa owner while making it all look and feel cohesive, which wasn’t going to be easy.
It had taken weeks to compile the information, combing through biographies and interviews with the villa owners, looking for details we could use to design a place that felt both like home and like a luxury vacation spot.
“Let’s get started,” Olivia looked at Gray and me. “You don’t mind if we record, do you? It’ll be easier than pulling out a laptop on the site.”
I shook my head.
“All good,” Gray said.
Lauren pulled out her phone and pressed record as Olivia started talking.
“I’m thinking a wallpaper on this wall… maybe something vibrant with foliage…”