Chapter Twenty-Three
Phoebe
“The old, old-money folks won’t even talk to you other than to request things,” Chelsea told me on my second day. “They’ll just treat you like wallpaper. Sometimes that’s even better.”
Her words are felt full force today during snack service at the pool. Lounge Chair 15 has not even bothered to learn my name (it’s on the fancy little golden name badge). No, he just calls me skunk. A fact that Katherine said is town tradition.
I return to the outdoor pool bar with a scowl, which grows even fiercer when I see who’s behind the bar. Jake Waterford has his sleeves rolled up like a pleb. And he’s adding ice into the cooler. I’d say I was hallucinating, but after a month, I’ve learned that Jake isn’t just a Koning.
He’s his family’s gopher boy. The third son.
Not in line to take over the billion-dollar business.
Not the spare heir in case the first son bites it.
He’s the one they call on for all their secondary priorities. The country club. The real estate. If he had any aspirations, they were squashed early on.
And now he’s here, filling up a cooler.
“Where’s Erik?” I ask, looking around for the usual bartender and clutching the serving tray under my armpit.
“On the patio getting the bars ready for tonight,” Jake says. “We need all hands on deck for the clambake.”
“Interesting,” I say. “I don’t see your brothers here. Did they lose their hands?”
He shoots me a look. I haven’t met Trent or Jordan yet. They’ve never stopped by the country club. At least, not while I’ve been serving. Even his parents have been MIA, but it’d be impossible not to notice their phone calls. Jake has ruthless ringtones for each of his family members.
“And your brothers?” Jake asks me. “Are they coming?”
“Two mai tais for lounge fifteen,” I say, avoiding. I figure Jake will phone a mixologist friend to help, but he pulls out a glass from beneath the bar.
My brows rise. “You sure we don’t need Erik?”
“I can make a drink,” he says, like I’m being silly. He procures the rum next, and I hear the squawk of a seagull flying overhead. Once the noise dies and the sun drifts behind a fluffy cloud, Jake turns his head to me. “I assume your ex-husband will be in attendance.”
“I don’t keep tabs on Rocky.” Lie. My stomach sours. It’s hard to know what’s a normal white lie versus a bad one constructed for personal gain. They’re all the same in my head. Every lie is a building block to the next.
Changing topics quickly, I say, “When will they stop calling me a skunk?”
Jake laughs. “You?” He looks up at my blue hair tied in a slightly unkempt pony. “Never, most likely.”
I grimace. “Well, what about Hailey?”
Jake’s face sobers. “They’re still calling her a skunk?”
“Yeah,” I say, like it’s mean. Because it is.
He shakes his head, skin pleating between his brows. “I don’t know. Maybe a year? When it looks like she’s a local. The ladies who attend Tuesday book club seem to be warming up to her already.”
My brows shoot up again. “Are you keeping tabs on Hailey?”
He glares at me while plopping tiny umbrellas in the drinks. “No.”
Okay, fine. He slides over the drinks, but before I take them, I ask, “Your brothers really aren’t coming?” I’m serious this time. I can’t imagine my brothers bailing on something super important to me, and this clambake charity auction has been a big deal to Jake.
It’s the annual event, Katherine has reminded me twenty times. It’s supposed to mark the end of summer as the warm days of September begin to turn cool.
Maybe Jake doesn’t run Koning, but he’s in charge here, and I can see there is a part of him that wants to prove he’s capable to his parents. That feeling—I know it so well.
“I don’t know.” His voice is tight, and he wipes off the bar with a rag. “They might show up. They might not. I don’t have brothers like yours.”
“Like mine?” What is that supposed to mean?
He chucks the dirty rag under the bar. “They seem to have your best interest at heart, and they’re cool.”
He’s been making friends with Nova and bonding over their mutual dislike of Rocky.
It’s unsettling.
Jake sets his blue eyes on me. “Maybe it’s a triplet thing.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, then I straighten up from a slight slouch. “Well... if I ever do meet Trent or Jordan, I’m going to have words with them.”
Jake gives me his usual no you’re not look. “I will make sure that meet and greet never happens.”
“You’ll have to shadow me around for eternity, then.” I place the drinks on my tray. “Which might be your own personal hell.”
“You’re not that bad.”
I glance up at him, a little shocked by the compliment. “Joke?” I ask.
He winces. “Why do you always think I’m joking?”
“I didn’t think you liked me.” I shrug. “And you’re Jake Koning Waterford. People treat you like you’re flesh-and-blood aristocracy around here. I’m not bowing at your feet, so why would you like me?”
His jaw sets for a second, then his eyes dart to my hair. “I envy you. How’s that?”
My stomach tosses for a second. “Now that is a joke.”
He groans. “Just accept the compliment, Phoebe.”
“Explain the compliment, Jake.”
He takes a deeper breath, like this isn’t easy for him to say. “I don’t know exactly what you did to lose your trust fund, but you had the nerve to risk it.” He stares past me like he’s thinking of something else. “Some days I wish I could...” His voice trails off, his gaze darkening with an invasive thought.
“You wish you could piss off your family?” I finish for him.
He lifts a shoulder in a shrug, then he shakes his head. His eyes flit around me again. “I can’t.”
“You could,” I urge, and I don’t know why I’m tempting him toward the dirty pools of rebellion. Drama. Destruction. Danger. Am I Jake’s little devil on his shoulder?
His uncertain gaze meets mine. Possibly he sees I’m bad for him because he says, “I have more to lose than you probably did.”
Ouch.
Burn?
But valid.
Even with my new backstory, I don’t hail from a generations-old family legacy. That’s all him.
Before I can reply, he’s distracted by a guest in a red bikini, coming over to place some drink orders.
I’m about to take the drinks to lounge fifteen when a darker storm cloud shields the sun. A clap of aggressive thunder follows.
Red Bikini lets out a gasp of surprise. She reroutes her attention to the sky. “You don’t think it’ll rain, do you?”
As soon as she says it, a raindrop plops on my nose.
“Shit,” Jake curses and takes out his phone. “It wasn’t supposed to rain until tomorrow...” He groans at his screen. Not good news.
The clambake is supposed to happen on the patio and lawn. Fairy lights are strung between the pop-up tents, and circular high-top tables have already been carried and placed systematically on the grass. “Isn’t it partially covered?” I ask, referring to the tents.
Lightning cracks the sky.
“Koning!” Katherine’s shrill voice is worse than the thunder. She stampedes over in her usual pencil skirt getup. I’d be impressed by the speed at which she can move in that thing, but I can’t summon that feeling when it comes to her. “Did you see the lightning?”
“Hard to miss,” Jake says into a deep sigh. “We’re going to have to move everything inside.”
Her lips purse. “We don’t have time. The event starts in less than an hour.”
The wind grows wilder, and one of the umbrellas to the lounges starts flapping madly. Jake and I move in unison, running over to grab the umbrella before the fabric breaks from the pole.
I grip the base. He seizes the top.
And just like that, the skies tear open, and it starts absolutely pouring.
“I have it!” Jake yells over the thundering wind and rain. My wet hair sticks to my chin, and I’m squinting through the sheets of rain that assault us. I let go of the pole so he can tug it out of its base.
“Get the others!” he shouts.
I scan the patio and spot four more umbrellas, plus cushions on every lounge chair that look ready to take flight like we’re in Tornado Alley. Everyone else has vacated the pool area, even Katherine.
Kicking into gear, I hustle around the pool, my heeled boots sinking in soggy grass, and I take care of another umbrella and start collecting cushions under my armpits. I throw everything inside the sunroom that’s closed to guests during pre-clambake prep, and staff help stack my heap neatly against the wall.
Chelsea slips me a worrisome look, eyeing my drenched hair.
I don’t blame anyone for choosing not to brave the elements. I mean—we have to work tonight, and I now look like a drowned cat. Maybe Katherine even told them not to go outside.
At least I’m not alone.
Jake’s clothes are soaked, his button-down suctioning to the ridges of his eight-pack. Yep, I can clearly count each defined muscle that would likely rival Rocky’s Adonis physique.
No more Rocky.
My brain has been slow to process the memo.
Jake Waterford surprisingly doesn’t resemble a stray caught in a squall like me. No... he might as well have returned from a sailboat photo shoot with a sexy stormy theme.
Sexy stormy—I didn’t even think that could be a thing until now.
On my fourth trip inside, I notice how the staff that organizes the cushions and umbrellas are all women, and they’re glued to the big windows. I don’t think they’re storm watching.
I follow their rabid attention and see Jake has peeled off his button-down. Rainwater drips along the sculpted tracks of his chest. I wonder if he knows he’s in a one-man Magic Mike show right now.
Veering back around, I drop the cushions on the floor and catch Chelsea’s eyes. “Where’s Hailey?” I haven’t seen her.
“Katherine has her plating hors d’oeuvres.”
I return to the pool. It takes two more trips before all the flyaway items are safely secured. Jake braces the door open for me, his hand above my head, and I could cheer at finally being inside for good. But my waterlogged clothes feel like fifty pounds, and the air-conditioning is on full force.
Goosebumps immediately form on my arms, and I can’t stop trembling. The staff are all gone now. Katherine must have corralled them into the dining room.
Jake’s leather shoes sound squishy as he turns to me. His eyes flit from my head to my feet, his concern apparent as I keep shivering. “Do you have a change of clothes?”
“No, I didn’t pencil in getting soaked on my to-do list today.”
He nods slowly. “All right. I think there might be a spare uniform in the locker room. Follow me.” He walks briskly, and with his long, tall legs, I have to almost jog to keep up.
My phone buzzes, and I see it’s Hailey. I answer quickly. “Hey.” I’m almost out of breath from Jake’s pace.
“Hey,” she says. “Katherine wants to know where you are. She’s freaking out.” Of course she is.
“I’m changing in the locker room,” I say. “I’ll be there when I don’t look like I swam across the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Got it,” Hailey replies. Then adds under her breath, “She’s on a tear. Take your time. I’ll stall.”
I smile and calm my shaking limbs. “Thanks, Hails.”
She says a quick goodbye and hangs up.
In the locker room, Jake opens a cardboard box. “There are some standard blouses and pants in here. You can see if any of them are your size.”
I touch the edge of the box, but my eyes are on him. I try not to stare too hard at the firm valleys and planes of his body. Or the way his slacks sit perfectly low on his masculine waist. He’s gorgeous. I can very clearly see that, and maybe I should kindle little embers of lust that must be lying dormant in me.
He’s not Rocky.
That should be a good thing—the best thing. I push down the strange flip of my stomach.
“What about you?” I ask him. “What are you wearing?”
He leans past my body to unlock a locker. I see a tux inside. “I was going to change anyway,” he tells me.
“That’s lucky.”
He hangs the soaked button-down on the rod. “Preparation isn’t luck.”
“I’ll remember that next time I need to whip out a boarding school motto.” I break my eyes away from his toned biceps to peruse the box. “Let me guess, you were on the row team in college?”
“Polo team.”
Horses. Mallets. Oliver once had to play polo on a job. I’m not as good around animals. I’ve always had a strange feeling that they can sense deception better than humans. And I’m not alone in that theory.
“Thanks for helping with outside, by the way,” Jake says. “I know it wasn’t ideal.”
“Shouldn’t I be thanking you?” I ask, rummaging through the box. “It’s my job. You could have left me out there alone.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
Again, he’s a good guy. And clearly, the opposite of my type.
“Doesn’t it get frustrating doing the right thing all the time?” I ask because I’m genuinely curious. If I’m the devil on his shoulder, then maybe he can be the angel on mine.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we could have said Fuck this clambake and just left all the cushions outside. Forced Katherine to risk her perfect coiled hair.”
“You know, for a split second, it did cross my mind.”
My brows jump. “Jake?”
He laughs. “Settle your excitement, Rebel Without a Cause.”
Okay, I’m smiling. I’m just glad he’s not perfect—the bar to be a good person has lowered in my eyes. It seems more feasible to reach. “I’m just shocked that your polished armor has a chip in it.”
“If you knew me,” Jake says, “you wouldn’t be so surprised.”
If I knew him. Here I thought I had gotten to know him decently well. My mood punctures like a popped balloon.
Then his gaze lingers on me for an extended beat. Tender, almost, and I sense him canvassing the length of me. I can’t tell if he’s checking me out from the outside or the inside, and it puzzles me in a new way.
My cheeks burn while I find a dry blouse in my size, and we both work on undressing. I peek back at him. He slips another glance at me. The silence is weighted and unclear, as if we’re partially shrouded in steam.
Once I fish the buttons of my damp blouse through the fabric slits and Jake begins unzipping his wet slacks, we turn our backs to one another. I can hear him stepping out of his pants, and I toss the blouse on the bench.
Shimmying pants down my hips and thighs, I’m tempted to take another tiny peek at him. Fall into the pool of lust, right? Maybe it’ll heat me up.
I twist my head over my shoulder and see his round ass perfectly molded against damp blue boxer briefs. Rocky has more muscle definition around his waist with a V-line that dives toward his cock, but they’re both classically attractive like one of Michelangelo’s sculptures.
I imagine they’d be competing in the same museum, vying for the most attention. And oh my fucking God, why am I thinking of Rocky again? Especially when I’m looking at Jake.
Ughhhh. It’s like he’s attached himself to my frontal cortex.
Jake casts another glance back at me, and our eyes catch. A warm flush ascends my neck. Instead of breaking the gaze, we allow each other to ogle. To check one another out. It’s a good distraction, one I plummet into with wide open arms.
“Nice ass,” I tell him.
“Likewise.”
I laugh. “So polite.”
He spins around completely to face me and steps closer. “You want me to be rude?” He reaches past my arm to the locker next to me. His skin brushes mine, and I go still.
His eyes fall to me as I cage my breath. He adds, “Pretty sure that’s your ex-husband’s gig.”
Mention of Rocky prolongs my exhale.
“But maybe that’s what turns you on,” Jake says, sliding an arm through his fresh button-down.
In only a bra and panties, my near nakedness doesn’t make me feel exposed. It’s his words that send me through a whirlpool of emotions.
“I have many turn-ons, Koning,” I say sharply. “Politeness is just bottom rung.”
“That says a lot,” he replies, eyes flashing up and down my body like he has me all figured out.
Hardly.
Still, I’m frowning and feeling as if he’s stripped me even more bare. “Why?”
“Just didn’t know why you would have married a guy like him,” Jake says. “He’s the kind of person I would have warned my sister against. Red flag city. But maybe he’s a god in bed—who knows?”
I wouldn’t know.
My throat swells, unable to say that truth.
The entrance to the locker room creaks open. Shitshitshit. Crouching behind the cardboard box, I scramble with my new blouse.
Where are the armholes? Come on.
It’s probably some middle-aged club member, like one of the widowers. Oh God, please don’t let it be Mr. Burke.
Jake, in a half-buttoned shirt and boxer briefs, inches out of our row. “I’m changing in here, man.” That’s what locker rooms are for. To change.
He could’ve chosen a million other lies or a Koning “this is my locker room” power play to deter the person.
Instead, he goes with the truth. Noble, yes. Helpful, I don’t see how. Where’s the bad guy when you need him? It hurts, how much I actually miss being around Rocky.
I don’t hear the door shut.
I only hear footsteps coming closer to this row of lockers.
“Yeah, sorry,” Rocky says, not sounding sorry at all.
Rocky is here?
Did I just manifest him? Relief that it’s not Mr. Burke washes over me. And then I remember I’m in lacy pink panties and a white bra while Jake is half dressed. This is bad.
Very, very bad. I hasten my search for this stupid fucking armhole. I’ve literally turned the blouse inside out.
“I’m just looking for Phoebe,” Rocky says, his gravelly voice speeding up my pulse. “Hailey said she was in the locker rooms.”
I internally groan. It’s not Hailey’s fault. But I also can’t hide from her older brother. This isn’t a secret I want to keep—especially since it’s innocent. So I’m not exactly scampering into the dark depths of the room.
Not that I’d have time anyway.
Just as I straighten up out of a squat, Rocky comes into view. He stops short, his muscles flexed.
I speak fast. “I know how this looks—”
His tightened gaze pings from Jake to me. “Yeah. Like you two fucked in a locker room.”
Jake groans. “Jesus.”
“We were just changing,” I say. “We got soaked in the rain.”
Rocky is at a low simmer. His jaw sets, thinking it over. Would I be just as upset if I caught him with a girl? Highly likely.
It’s hard not to feel possessive. But maybe this is good for us. Maybe we need reasons to just... move on? Then why does it hurt? I blink back a stronger emotion and hurriedly pull on the dry blouse, a knot constricting in my lungs. My panties are still wet, but I can’t do anything about that. Tension amasses in the room the longer the silence extends, but I don’t know how to break it. I don’t know what to do.
I glance at Rocky like Help.
He takes a steadying breath, and his eyes go dark. Blank. I don’t like it. Then he turns to Jake. “She’s all yours, man.”
Jake glowers. “She’s not an object you can gift me. So, no thanks.”
Rocky winces. “That’s not what I meant.” He curses under his breath and casts an apology my way through his eyes. “I meant I’m not interested in her.”
Ow. He’s burying a knife in my chest. But I know we’ve stabbed each other before. We have thousands of blades dug into our sternums. Our backs. We’ve lived our lives walking around, invisibly impaled, and slowly bleeding out.
Jake doesn’t take his eyes off Rocky. “I figured that’s what a divorce means.”
Rocky tries hard to keep his face impassive. He just nods a couple times and leaves.
“Jackass,” Jake breathes out.
My instant reaction is to go comfort Rocky. Protect him. Side with him. But I know what he did was for me. Pushing me away for a moment. Reminding each other this is what has to happen.
My phone buzzes, and I check a text.
Hailey: Can’t stall any longer. Katherine is looking for you.
I take a calming breath, finish getting dressed, and tie my wet hair into a tight ponytail. When I arrive in the kitchen, Katherine beelines for me. An aroma of hairspray immediately invades my senses. I blame that on my queasy stomach.
“Phoebe, where have you been?” She doesn’t give me enough time to answer, pushing me to the nearest counter. “You will serve champagne all night. That’s your only job.” She’s placing the flutes gingerly and perfectly on my tray. “Walk around and when your tray is empty, get it refilled and go back out there.” She inhales a tight breath and drills a warning look on me. “A toddler could do this. Don’t mess it up.”
Low chatter echoes from the main dining hall, and the savory aroma of clams permeates around the bustling kitchen. How long had I been in the locker room?
My head feels like it’s filled with helium, ready to soar off my shoulders. I stumble into the crowded dining hall, squinting through the candlelight.
Hands fly toward my tray, grabbing and taking without a single glance in my direction. I try to be effortless and weave between bodies.
But I’m not all here.
I collide with a fortysomething woman, likely around my mom’s age, who’s in a velvety emerald dress. The five champagne flutes teeter on my tray, and I attempt to right them up, but champagne tips back and spills on my blouse. The next second, every flute just tumbles to the floor with a loud crash.
The room goes eerily quiet, all eyes on me. The heat of the attention combined with my own overturned feelings sends me into a tailspin. The woman casts me a withering glare. “Name?”
My head cycles through a list of aliases:
Piper
Paige
Petunia
Penelope
Patty
Parker
Paisley
Palmer
Hundreds of eyes on me, I can’t breathe. I want to run. I’m about to when I catch Rocky out of the corner of my eye. He takes a step toward me, but he stops suddenly like he’s walked into an invisible barrier.
And then I feel a hand on my shoulder.