Chapter 32
Garrett
Angela’s flight is sold out, so I buy a ticket for a plane leaving a few hours after hers.
With time to kill, I grab a coffee and sit at the airport, my thoughts growing darker with each minute that passes.
I committed the cardinal sin of connection, of vulnerability, of sharing parts of myself best left in the dark.
I can’t shake the feeling I’ll pay for it sooner or later. The deal is in jeopardy. My reputation is in jeopardy. My heart is in jeopardy.
I scoff. This is why I told Charlie work’s my priority. Making money is a straight give and take. You get out what you put in. But people? They’re fickle. Unpredictable.
While Angela feels like she’s different from anyone I’ve known before, I can’t forget this is a brand-new friendship. Relationship. Whatever this is. There are parts of her I haven’t met yet, just like she’s yet to meet the worst of me.
Uncomfortable, I distract myself by watching people come and go, making up stories for them as they pass.
That guy with the strange limp and the goofy grin? He spent a week with his mistress, suffered a sex-related injury, and is going home to tell his wife all about his golf trip where he mysteriously pulled a muscle in his groin.
That woman glaring at her phone as she cuts off an elderly couple? She’s running from authorities after embezzling millions of dollars into an offshore account. She’s one flight away from pulling it off.
I amuse myself with the stories, making them more and more outlandish until I’m surrounded by double agents, murderers, and super spies.
Anything to distract myself from what I told Angel.
The only people who know the whole story about Elizabeth are my therapist, my family, and Jordan Clement…
and that bastard only knows because he was there.
It’s the single worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but I almost told Angela everything.
All of it.
The whole filthy debacle almost spilled right out of my mouth.
Thank fuck I stopped myself before I told her what really happened that night.
What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t. That’s the problem. My Angel does something to me. Something that disarms my defenses. Something that makes me fly to Florida on a whim…for an indeterminate amount of time…knowing this will only end in disaster.
A call yanks my attention to reality. Shit. Branson Masters.
My boss.
He’s going to want an update on the deal and the only one I have is that I slept with Angela instead of finalizing things.
Grimacing, I accept the call and put the phone to my ear.
“Cooper,” he barks. “What the fuck is going on down there?”
“Things are good.” I rub a hand over my face and sit back. “Locked, loaded, and ready to go.”
“As in you’ve signed contracts and we just took on a solid long-term investment? Or more like you’re blowing smoke up my ass and I need to send Clement down there to clean up?”
My fist tightens around my coffee, obliterating the cup. Hot liquid sloshes onto my hand. I swallow a curse.
Jordan fucking Clement.
That asshole can stay right where he is.
He doesn’t belong within a thousand miles of this deal and if he so much as whispers my Angel’s name, I’ll murder him in his sleep.
I’ll button this whole thing up as soon as I land in the Keys, and I’ll make sure the deal is fair for everyone involved.
Clement will screw the Huttons without thinking twice.
It’s kind of his thing. He’d excel at the type of company that took advantage of Angela the first time.
It’s all about the money for him, and he doesn’t care the slightest about who gets hurt in the crossfire.
Friends. Colleagues…
They’re all collateral damage as far as that asshole is concerned.
“Everything’s on track.” I pinch the phone between my ear and shoulder, wiping coffee off my hand with a napkin that disintegrates before the mess is clean. “This deal’s lookin’ good. Yeah. Very good.”
“It’ll look very good once signatures have happened and your ass is back home. I’ve got a potential client who’s looking for a line of credit. This could be a good deal for us, and I want you on it.”
“Put Jordan on that one. I’ve got the hotel under control.”
“These people requested you specifically. They heard about your work with Wayfair Resorts and have made it clear you’re their guy.”
“Then I’ll be their guy after I’m done here.” My jaw clenches so tight my teeth ache. The idea of Jordan’s smarmy ass down here, his greasy smile aimed at Angela…
“I want to know why this is taking so long. What’s getting in the way of the deal, Cooper?”
My Angel’s body, stretched out on the bed beneath me. Her hair fanned on the pillows. Lips parted. Chest heaving. Moaning in ecstasy as I bury myself inside—
“We, uh…” I rake a hand through my hair.
Get it together, fucker! “I went through their projections and actuals with a fine-tooth comb, then flew to South Carolina to poke around the new site and make sure they’re not hiding a time bomb in the details.
They’re not. Everything about this deal looks solid. ”
Everything except for me sleeping with Angela Hutton. There’s nothing solid about that.
“Ms. Hutton has verbally confirmed and I’m flying back to the Keys to get the signatures of everyone involved.”
“Good.” Masters clears his throat. “Because I will send Clement down there.”
“Jordan Clement will ruin everything that’s good about The Hutton Hotel.”
“He’ll also close the deal.”
“I’ll close the damn deal!” I lean forward and scrub a hand over my face. “I don’t want him anywhere near this. Give me forty-eight hours and this thing is done. I’m on it.”
“You better be. Because if you’re not? Jordan is. Forty-eight hours, Garrett.”
The line goes dead. I put my phone on the table and glare at the screen. My brows furrow. Anger twists and bites, an angry dog straining against his chain.
Jordan fucking Clement is a dirty move and Branson knows it. I don’t want him so much as whispering Angela’s name, let alone shaking her hand. Sitting across from her. Leering. Plotting.
I can’t sit still. I’m up and moving. No destination. My fists clench and I push past a group of twenty-somethings clogging the walkway.
“Watch it, dick weasel!” squawks a douchebag in a neon tank top, his floofy hair screaming, “Daddy never gives me attention, so I’ll steal it from you!”
Every cell in my body wants to channel my anger into his face. That would give him the attention he’s looking for. But I keep walking because I’m not that guy. Not anymore.
Your anger isn’t proportionate to the situation.
I repeat the mantra over and over but it’s not helping. It only makes me madder because it’s not fucking true. My anger is proportionate. It’s so damn proportionate I find myself growling as I detour into the restroom.
I pace the space.
Trapped.
I fucking…opened up to Angela. I lay in bed with her, feeding her strawberries while I shared my sad little story. And now she has that part of me, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
I like her, and I don’t know how to feel about that either.
And the thought of Jordan coming anywhere near her?
I grip a sink and glare into the mirror.
Our signatures need to hit the bottom line of a contract that skews in favor of Vision Enterprise. But I don’t want to fuck her over. Am I really going to put my job at risk for someone I barely know? For someone who doesn’t even live in the same state as me?
I don’t know.
I don’t know what to do on this one.
Angela’s smile. Her laugh. The way she tosses her hair. She listened to me. She listened to me and didn’t judge, and I’m not supposed to like the way that feels.
But I do.
Fuck.
I slap a hand against the porcelain and push off, wandering the airport until they board my flight.
Standing at baggage claim after a tense couple hours, I shoot a text to my family.
Hey. In case you’re worried, I’m alive. Back in the Keys, finishing up this deal.
Charlie
Was just thinking about you. Things good?
Things are…complicated. But good. I think.
Charlie
This wouldn’t have anything to do with that woman, would it?
Mom
I had a feeling good things were happening for you, Gare. You just open yourself up to it and enjoy the ride.
I laugh, shaking my head. Mom and Charlie’s perpetual optimism never ceases to amaze me. Even if I explained all the ways this ride is doomed to fail, they’d point out the one way that might lead to success. They are amazing women.
So is Angela.
I refocus on the baggage carousel. The last time I was here, my phone met its untimely end, squashed by a precocious toddler.
What if I hadn’t seen him climbing on that suitcase?
He would have fallen. Maybe smashed his head on the tile.
His mother never would have forgiven herself.
My phone wouldn’t have been broken and I wouldn’t have met Angela Hutton until I walked into the meeting the next day.
I’d have closed the deal and been back in Wildrose Landing days ago.
Would things be easier that way?
That version of me would have missed out on all of this. He wouldn’t have remembered how it felt to look down at a woman and want to protect her. To claim her. To open to her.
Fear tightens my lips.
I have no fucking clue what to do. I’m not equipped to deal with emotions like this.
“You’re overthinking,” I murmur to myself as I study the baggage carousel.
“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” A young man pauses as he passes.
I meet his confused eyes with a self-deprecating laugh. “Just muttering to myself.”
“I do that all the time,” he says with a grin. “Hope you figure everything out.” He lifts a hand as he heads off on his way again. “You have a good one.”
Huh. Whadaya know. Decency still exists in this world after all.