Chapter 17 Carter
Chapter seventeen
Carter
“Did you just make a pot joke?” I ask my mom as she giggles on my phone’s screen.
“Well, isn’t that what Amsterdam is known for?”
“Yep. That’s it,” I say, hoping my mother doesn’t know anything about their red-light district. There is only so much I can discuss with my mother, even if she’d be open to the conversation.
“Did you watch the Ted Lasso episode that takes place here yet?”
Watching the show together had been a fun part of our routine back home, and we decided to keep watching it independently while I was gone. Neither of us has enough going on in our lives to fill a whole conversation without the help of current events or a shared TV show.
“There’s an episode in Tokyo?” Mom asks, making my heart clench, even as I force a smile onto my face.
“I’m still in Amsterdam,” I say, trying to walk the fine line between correcting her and just letting it go.
“Oh, right. Of course you are. We were just talking about that!”
I can tell my mom’s smile is forced, nothing like the broad smile she usually gives away so freely. As terrible as it is for me to watch my mom go through the stages of dementia, I know it is so much worse for her.
“Anyway, enough about Amsterdam. Tell me about your dinner with Kelsey tonight!” My mom’s smile turns genuine as she asks.
This she remembers. I casually mentioned in a text that I needed to chat as early as possible tonight because Kelsey and I have plans to visit one of her restaurants, and my mom won’t let it go. I even got a text from Bill about it.
Knowing I’m leading on my mom—and possibly my own heart—but unwilling to put a damper on my mom’s joy, I tell her our plans, not bothering to correct her when she calls it a date and tells me to wear something nice.
I don’t tell her that since I am living out of a carry-on suitcase, I only have one option.
Since Kelsey’s been in the same black outfit the other times we went to dinner, my guess is she’s in the same boat.
Not that I’m complaining. There’s something about the contrast between the sleek, almost casual cut to her clothes and the wave of blonde hair that captures her entirety so well.
It’s like she’s effortlessly put together, but there’s this undeniable wildness behind those calm eyes—like she could take over the world—or tear it all down—on a whim.
Any denial I’d been living in about my crush on Kelsey fading with time has long since been debunked.
That woman fully and completely has my attention, and it’s the most confusing thing I’ve ever felt.
Because even when I remind myself that she’s my competition, that I have to win this contract instead of her, my heart doesn’t seem to care.
Every time I think I’ve got a handle on my feelings, that I’ve shoved them back down inside of me where they need to stay—at least until after this whole Jaxon Steele business is done with—she does something that throws me back on a collision course.
A smile, an intelligent suggestion, something so small, yet it’s like she holds the power to unravel every single plan I’ve made.
I’ve woken up every single night this week sweaty and breathing hard from dreams of her. Dreams I most certainly should not be thinking about while on the phone with my mom.
“Well,” my mom says with a knowing smirk as I force my attention back to our conversation, “I’ll let you go. Tell Kelsey hi for me.”
“Love you, Mom,” I say.
“Have so much fun out in Tokyo tonight, love. You deserve it.”
***
“So, I had a weird conversation with Izzy today,” Kelsey says as she sits across the small wooden table from me.
We’re at a farm-to-table restaurant that is in one side of a functional greenhouse.
The tables are small and placed closely together, my large frame never feeling as out of place as it does now, sitting in a wicker chair that was made for men one hundred years ago, not giants like me.
Thankfully, Kelsey offered to be the one to squeeze between our table and the one next to it to get to the bench seat.
She’s not wearing the same black jumpsuit I had prepared myself for, and when she took off her coat to reveal a form-fitting navy-blue dress that ends midway down her thigh, I swear I almost swallowed my tongue. I’m pretty sure she didn’t catch me staring, but I can’t be sure.
“Oh yeah? How’s Izzy doing?” I respond.
“I’m not sure. We didn’t really talk about that.”
Well, that’s confusing, although I’m the first to admit I don’t understand sibling relationships.
I may work with Trent now, but we’ve never acted like brothers.
We could barely tolerate each other growing up, and even now that I work for him, I don’t really consider Trent to be anything but my boss I happen to share some DNA with.
So I’m not sure how you have an entire conversation with someone and not know how they are doing.
Kelsey waves away my slight frown. “She’s fine. I see now that the correct answer was ‘she’s fine.’ Though, for the record, I never asked ‘how are you doing?’”
The light is catching Kelsey’s lip gloss, and I can’t stop staring. Kelsey is naturally beautiful and rarely wears makeup, so I’m sure that’s the reason I can’t stop staring at her lips.
“Glad she’s…fine,” I say, pulling my gaze away from Kelsey’s mouth.
Not that looking at her eyes is any better.
They’re what I’ve heard my mom call gunmetal blue, but it’s hard to say because there are so many colors when you start looking into them.
A dark ring of sapphire lines the iris with streaks of a grayish green flowing into the moss-green color that circles her pupil.
They’re an ocean on a stormy day, and I feel like my boat just disappeared from under me, dropping me directly into their depths.
Kelsey tilts her head to the side, squishing her eyebrows together, but with a quick shake of her head, she continues. “Yeah, me too. Anyway, she told me she was in the dealership getting her car looked at, and Trent came in. He was asking how much he could get if he sold back Julie’s car.”
“Why’s that strange?” I ask. Since Trent started dating his trophy wife—his words, not mine—I’ve had the displeasure of hearing about the hot tub, car, and new kitchen he’s bought her.
It makes sense that he’d be upgrading her to a new model vehicle already.
I’m sure he has the funds just lying around to buy whatever she wants, not that I’m bitter about it or anything.
The left corner of Kelsey’s nose pulls up slightly as she looks at me with disbelief, and fuck if it isn’t one of the cutest things I’ve seen in a long time.
My cheeks heat, and despite my best efforts, a smile crosses my face.
Kelsey returns it with one of her own, and it takes all of my willpower not to reach across the table and trace her grin with my thumb.
We do not caress our rivals. We do not caress our rivals. We do not—
“Do you not pay any attention to the town gossip?” Kelsey asks.
“No. I only see my mom and Bill, and they know I couldn’t care less about what’s going on in town.”
“Hmm,” she says, and there’s something about her tone that suggests she disagrees with my decision not to know what’s going on. Or maybe she’s disappointed in it. I can’t really tell.
“Are you going to tell me why anything about Trent is interesting?”
“You know,” Kelsey says, “I would normally agree with you, and I still can’t stand to be in the same room as the guy, but he’s a lot smarter than I give him credit for. Or at least his emails make him sound interesting. Does he have an assistant who handles his emails?”
Of course Kelsey would be smart enough to figure out that Trent’s IQ jumps about fifteen, maybe twenty, points in his written communication. Needing to avoid that conversation, I offer a noncommittal grunt before trying to pivot.
“Could be. But why is it interesting?” I ask.
“He just bought her the car. It was a whole thing because it’s the second vehicle he’s purchased for her since they’ve been married.
The first one was a pale pink Mini Cooper, and then he bought this new electric one because she’s worried about saving the Earth.
To be clear, she kept the Mini, she just only drives it to the city—the men at coffee have had a field day with that one. ”
“So maybe she decided she doesn’t actually care about the Earth,” I say with a shrug. I’ve spent very little time around my brother’s wife, and after what I witnessed at her wedding, I think I’d prefer to keep it that way.
“Yeah, maybe. Iz just said that Trent seemed weird about it. She used the term shifty.”
“Well, Trent is shifty. He comes by it naturally. Have you met my sperm donor?”
“I suppose. Izzy just has a strangely good sense for other people’s emotions, so I thought I’d mention it.”
There’s not much I can do about it from the Netherlands, and the last thing I want to do on our date—at our dinner—is talk about Trent.
I don’t really care why Julie doesn’t want her car anymore.
Maybe she’s giving up driving or only taking gold-plated bikes from now on.
Maybe they’re getting a divorce—shit, I hope Trent has a prenup and the company isn’t going to go down with their marriage.
I add that to my mental list of things I should ask Trent about.
Whatever it is, though, it’s definitely not as interesting as the woman sitting across from me—nothing is.
Our conversation flows along with the red wine, which I’ve learned is Kelsey’s favorite. She prefers drier ones but will drink just about any that’s poured for her. My mom doesn’t drink, and since moving home, I’ve limited myself to one a night, too depressed by the idea of drinking alone.
Kelsey has become more animated, her arms moving in larger arcs since we started in on our dessert.
I’m not sure if it’s the wine, the atmosphere, or the company, but my cheeks are physically hurting from smiling so much.
It’s the most fun I’ve had in…maybe forever, but definitely since I moved back home.
I’m transfixed by the woman across from me, and it might be the wine talking, but there seems to be something between us.
Something more than just the friendship we’ve casually fallen into.
As the waiter clears our dessert plates, I find myself reluctant for the evening to end. The restaurant has emptied around us, the other diners trickling out into the night, leaving behind a soft hush punctuated only by the clink of glasses and the muted conversations of the staff.
Kelsey’s eyes sparkle in the flickering candlelight as she regales me with stories from her days in the Marines.
Her hand gestures paint pictures in the air, and I’m captivated by the graceful dance of her fingers.
The way she tucks a stray lock of her wild hair behind her ear, the curve of her smile, the natural cadence of her voice—every detail etches itself into my memory.
As she reaches the punchline of her tale, she leans forward, her hand falling on top of mine on the table, and every single nerve ending in my body fires at once. It’s a heady rush of sensation, and it makes me want to lean across the table and press my mouth to hers.
She offers me a hopeful smile, one I’ve never seen on her face before, and as I stand, I grab her hand, fully intent on pulling her into me and taking what I’ve wanted since high school. The want that almost got me suspended all those years ago.
The ringing of her phone draws her attention from me, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the name of her number two, Lila Walker, flashing across her screen. Glancing at me once, she considers the phone again before reluctantly pulling her hand away from mine to answer.
Moving quickly, she walks toward the door, telling Lila to give her a minute until she can get outside. I trail after her, cursing myself for not kissing her when I had the chance.
“Hold on, Carter’s right here,” she says as I exit the door.
She waves me over, tapping the button on her screen to put Lila on speakerphone.
“What’s up?” I ask as I move closer to Kelsey, our arms pressing together.
“An image from the hotel lobby just pinged. We think it might be Bennie and another woman.”
My mind starts racing. A sighting of Jaxon’s stalker in our hotel in Amsterdam is surprising, considering she was last thought to be living on the streets. I run through the schedule for the day in my head.
“Weston should be heading up—” I’m cut off by Lila.
“We’ve already contacted Weston. He confirmed Jaxon is safe in his room for the night. He sent a team to investigate, but the woman had already left by the time they arrived.”
“Was it a positive identification?” Kelsey asks.
“Do we know where they went?” I ask at the same time.
“Nothing definitive. They arrived by taxi, ordered one drink, paid with cash, and left, also by taxi. We could expend the resources to try to track them, but between coordinating with the government and local businesses in the Netherlands, it feels like too large of an expenditure of resources without a positive identification. That said, it’s why I’m calling.
I want an official decision from Kelsey. ”
“Send through the images and security footage. We’ll be back at the hotel in”—Kelsey pulls up a rideshare app on her phone—“ten minutes. We’ll review the footage and make a final decision.”
“Everything will be in your inbox when you get there.”