Chapter 3 #2
“Langley Capital,” I say to Alice. “I’ve seen his photo on billboards all over the island.”
Christopher Langley’s company has been building and selling oceanfront villas up and down the coast for as long as I can remember.
I have to admit, I’ve always found his billboards a little intriguing, and not just because Christopher is rumored to be one of the richest men in New Jersey.
In the photo, he’s leaning slightly to the left, his weight propped on an elbow and eyes shifted to the right.
He stares past the camera as if he’s too important to sit through the shoot but agreed to humor whatever marketing manager insisted that his photo would sell houses.
And it probably does sell houses, lots of them.
Somehow, the cool detachment of his posture and thinly veiled disinterest in his eyes give him the aura of a classic movie star.
It’s hard not to be drawn in, and as I take in the man in person, I get the sense that he has a similar effect on people in real life.
His companion is leaning in, tilting her head, giving her hair a subtle twirl, and it’s almost as if the more Christopher remains aloof, the harder she works to get him to react to her.
She tries a smile that slowly fades as Christopher’s head remains bent over a leather-bound folder, oblivious to the woman vying for his attention. Or maybe he doesn’t care.
“Is he a regular, too?” I turn to Alice, and even she looks a little starstruck.
“He’s here most days doing business lunches, and his family comes in sometimes, too.” Alice shoots me a significant look. “His wife is—” She holds her hand up and tips her head back, miming someone taking a drink.
The woman only has a crystal goblet of what looks like water in front of her. “Maybe she’s having a dry June?” I suggest.
“Oh.” Alice waves a hand. “That’s not his wife. That woman is probably a client buying a zillion-dollar beach house.” She takes my arm and tugs me to a door that leads out to a covered patio.
Just before I exit the dining room, I take one last peek at Christopher, and I’m met with an intense blue-eyed stare in return. Christopher Langley is looking directly at me. A shiver runs up my spine, and I quickly hurry out the door behind Alice.
The décor is much more casual outside, with white-painted wooden tables and chairs set out on a stone patio, and a long bar at one end.
I check behind the bar in the hopes to catch a glimpse of the dark-haired guy I ran into in the parking lot, but the only person I see is a young woman in a button-up shirt that matches my uniform.
Beyond the patio, the dock stretches out across the water, a wide wooden walkway with all manner of sailing vessels tied to its pilings.
And past that is the ocean peppered with boats skimming across the water propelled by the breeze.
My fingers itch to grab my sketchbook from my bag and capture the sun slanting on the whitecaps and the wind whipping through the sails.
“Out here is where the younger people hang out.” Alice’s voice cuts into my thoughts.
Her face scrunches up as if the patio is far inferior to indoors.
Or maybe it’s the younger people who are inferior.
Most of them look to be about my age, high school kids or college students home for break.
I don’t recognize any of them, though, and it’s probably because we don’t exactly run in the same circles.
My mom is a nurse practitioner at the island’s one medical center, while their parents are probably in the dining room making million-dollar business deals.
“Private school kids,” Alice confirms with another face. “A lot of them compete on the club’s sailing team, and they come here for food and drinks after practice.”
I notice a group of boys at a table near the edge of the patio where a perfectly manicured green strip of grass separates the restaurant from the dock and water. They’re all wearing matching white windbreakers with a blue and red stripe running across the chest and an anchor logo on the shoulder.
Alice sighs. “Unfortunately, we’re assigned to work out here today.” She tugs my arm again. “Come on, let’s go get you set up on the computer so we can get started.”
I follow her back inside the restaurant, and as we cross the dining room, I spot another flash of white windbreaker standing out in the sea of muted navy and khaki.
A dark-haired boy sits with Christopher Langley and his business associate now.
I can’t see his face from this angle, but I study his posture—back resting against the leather seat, arms crossed over his chest, almost as if he’s unimpressed with the conversation—and I wonder if he’d be much happier outside with the other kids.
As I pass the table, his gaze raises to meet mine.
It’s him. The guy from the parking lot. I was in such a hurry that I didn’t notice his sailing uniform.
He doesn’t work here, he’s a guest after all.
And he’s sitting with the magnetic Christopher Langley.
I stare at him, trying to work out what that means.
Are they related? I take in the boy’s features, and now that I’m not rushing to get to work on time, I can see a resemblance.
The boy blinks up at me, a similar awareness dawning.
He must recognize me too. A slow smile spreads across his face, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.
“Come on,” Alice whispers, just as something crashes into my midsection.
With a gasp I tear my eyes from the boy and look for whatever or whoever assaulted me.
It’s a chair. My face heats up, and I’m sure it’s turning the same shade of maroon as the carpet.
Nothing assaulted me. I ran into a chair because I was dumbstruck by a private school boy in a sailing team uniform.
The one with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
He must think I’m ridiculously clumsy. At least this time, it wasn’t him I was crashing into.
Alice takes my arm. “Josie,” she hisses.
I glance around the table and realize that not only is the boy staring at me but so is Christopher Langley and his companion. “Sorry.” My voice is too loud, and I can hear the slight tremor of nerves. I quickly lower it. “I didn’t see that there.”
“Obviously,” the woman at the table says with a smirk.
My face flushing again, I expect to see the boy in the windbreaker mocking me too. But he tilts his head to meet my gaze. “Are you okay?” he asks gently, and the low timbre of his voice and concern on his face calms my racing heart.
I take a slow breath. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Across the table, Christopher clears his throat.
I swing my gaze to the older man, studying him to gauge his reaction.
Is he annoyed with me for this spectacle?
I wouldn’t blame him one bit. But though his eyes sweep over me, his face doesn’t shift from that indifferent expression he’s held this whole time.
“Your friend said your name is Josie?” he asks.
I freeze. “Yes, sir.”
Christopher nods impassively. “Josie, while you’re here, would you mind bringing us another round?” He waves at their nearly empty glasses on the table.
“Dad,” the windbreaker boy whispers. “She’s not our server.”
I focus on one word. Dad. He’s Christopher’s son.
Alice steps forward. “We’d be happy to bring you more drinks, Mr. Langley,” she says buoyantly, with a sucking-up smile on her face. “We’ll be right with you.” She yanks me away, and the minute we’re out of the dining room, I press my hands to my face.
“I’m so sorry. That was so humiliating.”
She takes me by the shoulders. “Don’t be sorry. That was great.”
“Great? How?”
“Christopher Langley has never even looked at me. And now he knows your name.”
“And that’s a good thing?” How could it be? I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.
“What part of richest man on the island didn’t you understand?” Alice gives my shoulders a shake. “What part of big tips and Ibiza… here I come don’t you understand? Come on. Let’s go get him those drinks.”
When we return with glasses for Christopher’s table, I deflate slightly when I notice the boy in the windbreaker is gone.
But I don’t have time to think about it because Christopher pulls a small roll of bills from his pocket.
“Thank you,” he says to Alice, holding up a twenty but keeping his eyes trained on the document in front of him.
Over his head, Alice shoots me a grin and tucks the cash in her pocket.
He unrolls another bill. “And you too, Josie.” This time, his gaze flits to mine and stops there for a beat. I stare into his eyes, overcome with the strangest feeling that I’m being quietly measured.
He clears his throat, and I stand up straighter and take the bill.
“Of course, sir,” I say, trying not to squirm under his scrutiny.
Is it possible his son felt that same spark in the parking lot that I did, and he mentioned me to his dad?
I shake my head to clear the thought. Teenage guys don’t tell their parents about girls they’re interested in.
If anything, he told his dad how clumsy I am, and now Christopher is watching to see if he needs to take cover.
I tuck the twenty in my pocket and quickly follow Alice to the patio door to start our shift.
When I peek back at Christopher one last time before I step outside, he’s focusing that intense stare at the document on the table, quietly pointing out something to the woman in front of him, and I’m pretty sure I imagined the whole thing.