Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Blaire
I jerk the curtains back and swing the sliding glass door open, filling my lungs with wonderful, salty air. The sea a few stories below sparkles in the sunlight. The sandy beach is spattered with sunbathers and kids building castles.
Standing at the window, I watch the activities below.
I’m reminded of summers at Lake Michigan with my parents and brothers years ago.
My middle brother would be reading a book, my oldest brother creating a track for various toy cars he’d made my mom pack, and the youngest holding a drink in one hand and chasing girls or birds, depending on his age.
No matter how much I really don’t want to be here, I can’t help but appreciate that they at least picked a beach. It was undoubtedly Sienna’s decision. Walker, my eldest brother’s girlfriend grew up here, and as I take in the sunshine and palm trees, I have no idea why she ever left.
With another deep breath, I head back into the little condo that my three infuriating, difficult, ornery brothers rented.
I flop on the sofa and take in my new digs for the next few days.
The walls are painted white. Decorations in soft pink and seafoam green, most of them seashells and sand dollars, are everywhere.
I suppose it’s relaxing to most people, but it makes me want to start stripping wallpaper.
In lieu of that, I eye my briefcase sitting by the bedroom door across the living room and wonder if it’s too early in this little getaway to start working.
As if he knew I was about to grab my client files, my phone rings. Walker’s name appears on the screen. I pick it up. “Hello?”
“Did ya make it?” His voice is gruff on the other side.
“Yes. A couple of hours ago.”
“I told ya to call when ya landed, Blaire.”
“This is not the first time I’ve taken a trip by myself, you know.”
“Of course not. Just the first time in, what, a decade?”
“Why do you really care how often I take a vacation?” I ask for the millionth time, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’m just going to sit here and dwell on how far behind I’m falling at work.”
“I care because I heard you go batshit crazy on a man through the phone the other day. And because you were telling me you were afraid your assistant was going to quit over your workload.” He sighs.
“I know you feel all fancy and shit in that corner office in the city, but fuck, Blaire. You can’t live to work. ”
He’s right. Of course, he’s right. But that doesn’t mean he’s … right.
“You’re wrong.” I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. “I absolutely can live to work. I find it fulfilling.”
“Whatever. How’s Georgia? Sienna said it’s nice there this time of year.”
I turn my head and peer out the window. Palm trees sway in the sea breeze, and birds loop lazily through the air, highlighted by the cloudless blue skies.
“I can’t imagine it ever not being nice here,” I say. “I’ll never understand why she moved to Illinois.”
“You have met me, you know.”
“My point remains.” Pulling my legs up under me, I rest my head against the pillows. “Sienna made you a sap.”
“I’m not a fucking sap,” he cuts back. “I’m just saying. Been thinking a lot lately …”
The way his voice trails off hits me right in the heart.
My face falls, and I fight the urge to lecture him or mother him in some way.
This happens every summer. I think all my siblings start to think of our parents and their accident.
It’s the time of year Walker is a bit less cantankerous.
Lance drinks a little more. Machlan calls in the middle of the night with philosophical questions that I never can answer.
Before I can figure out what to say, Walker changes the subject.
“Can I ask you for a favor? Well, not for me, but for Sienna?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“Can you meet up with one of her brothers and pick up some paperwork or some shit?” The sound of metal crashing onto a hard surface ricochets through the line. “Fuck!”
I laugh. “What are you doing?”
“Come finish this before I stick a fucking wrench in it!” The line gets muffled before he comes back.
“I was trying to take an oil filter off a tractor, but it’s stuck.
God knows I’m not gonna get any help with it either.
I just shouted for someone to come finish it, but it’ll be there a day from now if I don’t circle back to it. ”
“Hey, it’s job security,” I say through a laugh.
He chuckles as the sound of water in the background trickles through the phone. “Anyway, can you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Meet with one of Sienna’s brothers?”
Something about the way he says “brothers” takes me back to the man at the airport today. He was devilishly handsome in his business suit with a Rolex strapped around a thick, muscled wrist. He spoke well and seemed educated, which were bonus points to his light-colored hair and jade eyes.
The problem? I see men like him every day. My office is full of them. That controlled, alpha vibe stops being attractive when you peel off the suit. They’re just like other men—overgrown children who want a woman to fight for them.
And fight for herself.
Because if she doesn’t fight for herself, no one is going to fight for her.
“I’m not sure what my schedule looks like,” I say for the second time today.
“You don’t have a fucking schedule. I made your schedule.”
“I’ll happily refund your money and come home.”
“The hell you will.” He sighs. “It won’t kill you to do her this one favor.”
“For what? So, you can get laid?”
“I’ll get laid regardless …”
“Ew!” I say, getting to my feet. “How did we get here? I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I’ll text you the address, okay?” Walker asks.
Moseying across the sage-colored carpeting, I gaze across the water. Families are holding hands, letting the waves rock against them. I wish I could do that—just throw all caution to the wind and let my guard down. But I can’t. Or if I was like that, I’m not anymore.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But tell Sienna she owes me blueberry muffins when you pick me up from the airport.”
“Will do. Talk to you soon, Blaire.”
“Bye.”
The line goes dead as he shouts at our cousin again.
Tossing the phone to the sofa, I stretch my arms overhead. For once, I don’t feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, don’t have to look over my shoulder for a colleague or client. It’s an odd sensation that somehow makes me feel more guilty about this little getaway.
I glance at my briefcase. There are only two files situated inside the leather case. My boss plucked the rest out of my hands before I left and shoved me out the door.
Two files. I can have them worked over in forty-eight hours. Tops.
My phone dings with Walker’s text, and I wonder how I, Blaire Gibson, got relegated to running my brother’s girlfriend’s errands.
I sink on the couch next to my phone and sigh.
This might be the longest three days of my life.