10. Remy
If Remy was sure of one thing, it was that Zachary Dwight Potter would never be a spy. Even if he looked like a diminutive, sexy James Bond in the perfectly tailored suit he currently wore, made of a shimmery black fabric that appeared purple in certain light.
“Are you sure about this?” Zach asked for about the hundredth time, eyes darting around as if searching for potential threats. “What if we get caught?”
“You know, for someone who gets into as much mischief as you claim to at the Manor”—Remy nudged the smaller man playfully with his elbow—“I’m surprised you’re such a rule follower.”
Zach rolled his eyes. “Everyone loves me at the Manor. I know I can get away with anything there. This is different.”
“I told you, just stop acting so suspicious and we’ll be fine.” Linking his arm through Zach’s, he pulled him deeper into the hotel’s sprawling garden, toward the French colonial house they noticed from down on the beach.
When they first saw the two-story, white house with its columns, floor-to-ceiling windows, and black shutters, they assumed it was a private residence. But guests in fancy dresses and suits had been arriving all morning, disappearing into the back corner of the garden. After a little snooping, Remy found out the house was the hotel’s ridiculously fancy event space, and a wedding had taken place in the little courtyard overlooking the sea at one o’clock.
Now that the reception was surely well underway, no one would notice if they snuck in and took a look around. Even if they did, he had worked in event planning for the last decade and a half. Who could blame him for giving in to his curiosity? Especially since it was his last full day in Martinique, a fact he and Zach had meticulously avoided discussing.
The plants got bigger and less manicured the deeper they went into the garden, until endless flowers and enormous, leafy shrubs seemed ready to spill over onto the path. It was as if only the tiny lamps lining the crushed stone walkway kept them at bay.
“I bet it’s really creepy out here at night,” Zach said, jumping when some unknown critter rustled around in the garden to their left.
“Don’t worry.” Grinning, Remy draped an arm over Zach’s shoulders. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”
Zach gave him a sly look out of the corner of his eye. “Just so we’re clear, you’re saying that if we’re attacked, I have your permission to run?”
“In the unlikely event that we’re attacked in the gated grounds of a fancy-ass hotel, less than twenty yards from a wedding reception?” He looked down at Zach with arched brows. “Yes,” he drawled. “You have my permission to run.”
Wrapping an arm around Remy’s waist, Zach snuggled contentedly up against his side. “That’s okay then. So long as I don’t have to be a hero.” He glanced sideways as they rounded the final bend in the path, finally bringing the French colonial house into view. “You look fabulous tonight, by the way.”
Remy resisted the urge to strut around like an idiot at the compliment. He’d pulled out the one nice outfit he brought on this trip for the caper, a charcoal gray suit he knew made his shoulders look broader than they actually were. This was one of his favorites to wear to weddings at work.
“I love this song,” Zach murmured as the first strains of a classic Beyonce tune filtered out through the partially open front door.
“Focus on that, then, and stop staring at your feet.” Remy planted a kiss on Zach’s temple and hauled him up the steps onto the big front porch. “Remember, act like we belong here.”
Zach shot him a snarky look. “If we go to jail, you’re paying my legal fees,” he whispered, then threw a smile onto his face, pushing the door open as if he owned the place.
“There’s the imp I know,” Remy whispered back, following him into the house.
The entryway was long and narrow, a staircase pushed up against the wall to one side, an antique brass chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling. The doors on either side and at the far end were all propped open, revealing one enormous, U-shaped event space.
Nearly abandoned banquet tables and chairs filled the spaces on either side, littered with half-empty glasses, dirty napkins, and an assortment of small clutches and handbags. The crowded dance floor spread beyond the larger double doors straight ahead, the far wall lined with high, arched windows overlooking the Caribbean Sea.
“Wow,” Zach said, gaze darting around as he took it all in. “This is gorgeous. We don’t have a big ballroom like this at the Manor.”
“You only have five guests at a time,” Remy said. “Why would you need one?”
To his surprise, something sparked in Zach’s eyes. “The parties I’ve been throwing with the girls have been ridiculously popular. People on our subreddit are obsessed with them. They keep asking for more events. Bigger ones, so more people can attend. Half the applications mention them at this point. Maybe?—”
“Wait, wait, wait. The Manor has a subreddit? Seriously?”
The speculative look left those gorgeous green eyes, replaced by a hint of pride. “Started by yours truly. Do you have any idea how many kinky people are on Reddit? It’s like a treasure trove.”
Remy laughed. “The more you know. Come on, let’s go see what’s upstairs.”
For a second, it looked as though Zach would object. But then his mouth snapped shut, and he gave Remy that impish grin he loved so much. “Lead the way.”
Linking his arm with Zach’s, Remy took them up the narrow stairs at a sedate walk. If someone came out into the entryway, he didn’t want it to look like they were up to anything nefarious.
The upstairs landing opened up into three beautiful sitting rooms. The first was obviously where the bride and her entourage got ready, with clothes and make-up and other detritus strewn across the champagne-silk furniture. The room opposite must have hosted the groom and groomsmen, who aside from the assorted clothes and trash, had left a healthy supply of dirty tumblers lying around the room, along with several partially empty bourbon bottles.
Not wanting to disturb the wedding party’s things, Remy led Zach into the room at the back of the house instead—the one over the dance floor. Tall, arched windows identical to the ones downstairs made up the whole back wall, a single narrow door in the center leading out to a balcony. Music drifted up from below, the bass beat of the current song resonating in Remy’s stomach.
“This room reminds me of the Manor, actually,” Zach said as he ventured farther inside. He gestured toward the white walls, covered in extravagant molding and carvings. “Just more opulent. We even have the antique velvet furniture, but ours is blue.” A fancy old sofa and three matching chairs were among the only furniture in the room, all upholstered in deep purple velvet. “Not gonna lie, I’m kind of obsessed with it.”
Remy smiled. “See? Aren’t you glad we—” His phone buzzed in his pocket, stealing his attention. Pulling it out, he peered at the screen.
Gary Wagner.
Remy’s heart skipped a beat. No way. There was no fucking way Mitch managed to fuck things up this fast.
“I need to take this,” he told Zach, then stepped out onto the second-floor balcony, shutting the door behind him. Sliding the green button to the right, he held the phone up to his ear. “Gary, hi.”
“You win, Remy.” It sounded more like a plea than a surrender. “I know I shouldn’t have given that little shit your promotion, but my brother and my mom were breathing down my fucking neck. I’m sorry. Believe me when I say you have no idea how sorry I am. Mitch is out, and the job is yours.”
Joy washed over Remy, spreading out from his chest in a wave of warmth. “How bad did he fuck up the Masterson-Green wedding?” He tried not to sound smug, but it didn’t work.
“If we manage to avoid being sued, it’ll be a miracle,” Gary answered. “The Song-Novak wedding is even worse. All four parents have been blowing up my phone for the last three days. I need you here first thing tomorrow if there’s any chance of salvaging this.”
It was like he’d been doused in a bucket of ice water. “Tomorrow?” He glanced back into the house. He could see Zach through the windows, sitting on the purple velvet sofa. He had a faraway look on his face as he glanced around the lavishly decorated room.
“Is that a problem?” Gary asked.
“I’m in the Caribbean.”
The phone went utterly silent for a solid ten seconds. Then Gary cleared his throat. “How soon can you get on a plane?” When Remy didn’t answer right away, Gary added, “I’ve always been able to count on you. If we can just get things back to where they were, I’ll never undervalue your commitment to this hotel again. I give you my word.”
Back to where things were. To a time when Remy devoted every waking moment to the hotel. To a time when he’d let every relationship in his life not related to work fall apart.
Back to when everything in my life made sense.
“Let me see if I can get on an earlier flight.”
Gary breathed out a long sigh of relief. “Congratulations, Director. See you tomorrow.”
When the line went dead, Remy let his arm fall to his side. He should be shouting, celebrating, jumping for joy. He should want to run up to Zach and sweep him up in his arms. Hold him close as he told him the glorious news.
But all he felt was...numb. Numb and worried and, just maybe, even a little bit guilty.
It annoyed the ever-loving shit out of him.
This was everything he’d worked for. His dream quite literally coming true. He deserved to be excited, goddamnit. And it somehow felt like Zach was taking that away from him, just by existing.
The wave of shame rushing through him for resenting Zach hit much harder than his guilt about leaving Martinique early. It left him nauseated. And yet, he had his parents’ voices in his head, yelling and berating every time Remy chose work over a family function. As if they didn’t know work was simply an excuse to avoid his grandfather. He didn’t bother being subtle about it.
Over time, though, it stopped being a bullshit excuse. It turned into an actual reason.
Because work was easier. It made sense when nothing else did. Every action had a predictable outcome.
People, on the other hand, were messy as fuck. Part of him mourned as his family and friends and lovers all pulled away from him, though he did his best to bury those feelings. But once the texts and phone calls and knocks on his door stopped once and for all, he could lose himself in his work without the stress of worrying about the rest of it.
All he’d felt then was an overwhelming sense of peace.
Now here he was, riddled with guilt again, peace shattered into a million jagged shards. He didn’t even want to think about how long it would take to put that back together.
Gritting his teeth, he got back on his phone and opened the airline app. Only a few taps on the screen brought up a flight leaving Martinique today, that would bring him back to Baltimore a little after one in the morning.
If he left for the airport in the next hour, he’d make the flight without a problem.
Heart pounding against his ribs, he went through the steps to update his flight. But when it came time to make the change official, his thumb hovered over the button. Shouldn’t he at least discuss this with Zach first? It was a douchey thing to do, just bailing like this.
Though was it honestly that bad? He was leaving tomorrow anyway. They both knew from the start that this little fling, no matter how passionate, had an expiration date.
Forcing himself to swallow the lie, he pushed the button. Then he squared his shoulders and went back into the house, marching up to Zach like a man on death row making his final walk.
The wistful look on Zach’s face disappeared. “Uh...you okay?” he asked, frowning.
“That was Gary,” Remy said, holding up his phone. “He fired Mitch and offered me the director job.”
“Holy shit!” Jumping up, Zach threw his arms around Remy. “That’s amazing! Congratulations!” When Remy didn’t hug him back, Zach pulled away, looking up at Remy’s stony face with trepidation and confusion in his eyes. “What am I missing here?”
Remy swallowed down the surge of bile in his throat. “Gary needs me back first thing tomorrow morning for a wedding. I’m leaving for the airport as soon as I can pack.”
“Okay.” Zach drew the word out, lines that were too deep for his thirty years forming on his forehead. “I understand. I know what this job means to you. Text me when you land, and we can talk tomorrow after the wedding. We’ll figure this out.”
Remy had geared himself up for a fight and had no idea how to respond to Zach’s calm understanding. It made him feel even guiltier that he had misjudged the man so greatly.
“Enough of this,” Zach said as the silence stretched on. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong. Now.”
“Zach, I—” Remy’s voice caught in his throat, and he had to swallow before he could try again. “This has been fun. It really has. But I’ve allowed myself to become distracted this week, and I?—”
“Absolutely not,” Zach interrupted. He shook his head almost violently from side to side. “We’re not doing this. Third act breakups are fucking bullshit.”
“Huh?” Remy frowned as he turned that expression over in his mind. “What does that even mean?”
“It’s a romance novel thing,” Zach said, waving an impatient hand. “Not relevant. My point is, the last six days have been absolutely fucking magical, and I refuse to let it fall apart because of a lack of communication or some other stupid trope that should be burned with fucking fire. Now talk to me like a goddamn adult and let’s figure this out.”
Remy sighed. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“You’re the only one making this hard, you idiot,” Zach spat back. “People manage to work and be in relationships every fucking day. Based on all our talks this week, I thought you were starting to realize that.”
Groaning, Remy ran a hand roughly through his hair. “You don’t understand.”
“Explain it to me,” Zach said, planting his hands on his hips. “I’m willing to learn.”
Jesus, the hurt in his voice. The accusation in his eyes. It was like the breakup with Brandon all over again. Only that time, part of him had been relieved when Brandon finally got fed up with all the broken promises and ended things.
This felt like ripping his fucking heart out of his chest.
“I’m not right for you,” Remy said after a long pause.
“Oh please.” Zach rolled his eyes. “Stop with the copouts already and say something real.”
Remy’s jaw clenched. “Okay, fine. You want something real? You’ve spent the last five years of your life trying to catch the attention of someone who was never going to want you. Do you really want to spend the next five trying to catch the attention of someone who’s too busy to make you a priority?”
Zach reeled back as if Remy had slapped him.
“I’m sorry. I know that’s fucked up. But trust me, that’s what life with me is. There’s a reason everyone else left me. And I can’t just change who I am with the flick of a switch. Not even for you, pretty boy.”
“Don’t call me that.” The words came out as a harsh whisper.
Remy ran a hand dejectedly through his hair. “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I know this is shitty, but it’s how things have to be. Can we at least try to part on good terms?” He held his hand out, immediately regretting the move.
A handshake? Really? A fucking handshake, after everything they shared? If Zach didn’t punch him in the face, it would be a fucking miracle.
Zach stared at his outstretched hand for several miserable seconds. Then he turned and strode from the room without a word, chin tilted up as if daring Remy to try and stop him.