Chapter 38
Garrett
Catherine Hutton might be the most business savvy human being on the planet.
Maybe she suggested I spend a day relaxing at her hotel out of the goodness of her heart, but she knew my experience would affect my view of the place.
After a day of enjoying locally sourced, nutritionally balanced meals, followed by a Reiki massage on the beach watching a storm gather over the water, I’m more determined than ever to ensure their success.
I’m feeling good. Easy. Relaxed. More like myself than I have since I found Elizabeth with—
I rake a hand through my hair, staring down at the ridiculous rubber ducky trunks I bought with Angela. A laugh chases away the terrible memories. Fucking rubber duckies.
Charlie would fall over if she saw me like this.
She’d fall over just knowing I allowed myself to be seen like this.
But here? For some reason it doesn’t matter.
Everyone at the hotel seems nice. Genuine.
Little carbon copies of my Angel. The guests.
The employees. No one cares how much money I have or how big a tip I might give them.
They seem sincerely interested in my wellbeing.
Am I enjoying the food? The massage? The fresh air?
They laugh with me about my rubber ducky trunks instead of judging me because they’re cheap and tacky.
For the first time in a long time, I have hope for the world at large.
Just a sliver.
A glimmer.
But it’s there.
That means something. Shit, five hours at the Hutton Hotel has done more for me than how many years of therapy? Though maybe, Angela started the process that led to me feeling like the real Garrett Cooper and not the cold and uncaring jerk who’s been occupying my body.
She’s good for me. I’m better with her. And I can’t believe I haven’t so much as spoken to her today, let alone seen her, touched her.
“Excuse me.” I hold up a hand to catch the attention of a passing employee. “What time is it? I left my phone in my room.”
“It’s three o’clock, sir.” The man clasps his hands behind his back as a gust of wind sends wispy hair dancing. “Is there anything I can bring you? Refresh your drink, perhaps?”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Two hours. Just two measly hours until I’m supposed to meet the Huttons.
We’ll do our thing, eat some dinner, and then I’ll have Angela to myself.
I’ll have to leave the Keys soon, and it’ll suck, but we’re only a flight away from seeing each other again.
When your bank accounts look like mine, who the fuck cares?
I shake my head.
I care. I don’t want to be states away from Angela. I don’t want to hop a plane in order to see her. I want her in my bed. My arms. All the time.
Look at that. I’ve lost my Zen.
A low roll of thunder confirms what I already know. It’s time to get inside before the storm breaks.
I’m up and moving before I know where I’m going, my flip flops in one hand while my feet slip and slide through the beach. I brush off the sand as I climb onto the back patio of the hotel, then pull on my sandals and step inside.
A familiar laugh sets my teeth on edge. My fists clench. Lightning ignites the sky the way adrenaline lights up my body. A jagged flash. A surge of energy.
I round the corner and there he is.
Jordan fucking Clement. Standing too close to Angela.
His hand on her arm. Her smile is sweet while his is criminal and I can’t stand the way he looks at her.
She’s wearing the red heels, the lipstick.
I know they’re for me, but he’s the one enjoying them.
Her hair is wild and her eyes light up when she sees me, only to falter when she processes my expression.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I growl at the asshole who won’t stop ogling my Angel.
Jordan turns with a smirk, his retort dying on his lips as he scans down my body and back to my face.
“What in the world are you wearing?” He snorts a laugh.
“This is a side of Garrett Cooper I didn’t know existed.
That’s…” He shakes his head, still laughing, as he turns to Angela like she’s in on the joke. “This is priceless, isn’t it?”
Jordan’s dressed impeccably, as usual. His shirt is crisp, expensive.
His pants pressed, the hem sitting at just the right height to show off shoes that cost my dad’s monthly income.
His blond hair falls into his eyes, and he gives it a shake.
Fucker spends a fortune on products and stylists and swears it’s his secret weapon with women.
They never see you coming when you’ve got great hair.
I used to laugh when he said it.
Angela’s gaze flicks from Jordan’s to mine. “I like his shorts. The duckies are fun.”
Her voice is sweet. Placating. Like she can get us back on track with little more than a smile and polite words.
If only she knew.
“Why are you here, Jordan?”
“Same reason you are.” His gaze flickers to Angela’s breasts and back again.
It’s like he knows. It’s like he knows and he’s doing it on purpose and—
I step between them. “Branson gave me forty-eight hours and last I checked there’s twenty-four to go.”
Jordan grimaces. “Aww. See. That’s where you’re wrong. After you two had your little chat, he and I put our heads together, looked at the contract drafts and you know—” he turns to Angela, his grin sliding into the predatory range “—things seem a little…off.”
“Off.” My jaw crunches the word. Thunder rolls.
“Yeah. Off.” His eyes meet mine. A challenge. “He sent me here to check things out. Of course, I assured him Garrett Cooper would have everything under control, but—” a deep sigh and light shrug “—he insisted.”
I arch a suspicious brow as Jordan continues.
“I didn’t think it was possible, but Branson was right. What do I find but you lounging at the pool, in the middle of a tropical storm, in cheap swim trunks.” His gaze drops to the floor, and he rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Look, I know you’ve been off your game since Elizabeth—”
“Don’t.”
Jordan’s not allowed to look like he misses her. He’s not allowed to pretend he cares. He hasn’t earned the right to look at me like he’s sorry.
He lifts his gaze, his dark eyes cool. Emotionless. “You’ve been off your game since Elizabeth passed,” he finishes without a hint of remorse. “And I’m broken hearted about it too—”
“Not another fucking syllable about her comes out of your mouth.” I clench my fists, my jaw, my entire body. “Ever.” I growl the word. A threat.
No.
A promise.
Angela steps forward, putting herself between us with a nervous smile. “Why don’t we move this conversation into the office?” She puts one hand on my arm and another on his. “Where things are more private.”
Jordan’s gaze starts at her face and caresses her body before a casual smile says he’s being perfectly reasonable.
That’s it.
That’s fucking it. All the anger I’ve been burying and mantra-ing and letting eat me up boils out of my stomach and into my fists. I need to hit the guy.
He deserves to be hit.
He was supposed to be my best fucking friend and now he’s just an evil asshole and if he looks at Angela like a piece of meat one more time…
“I can’t be here.” I pace the lobby, staring down a couple after they gave up pretending not to eavesdrop. I stalk back to Angela and stab an angry finger at Jordan’s chest. “Not with him. Not without making a scene.”
“Garrett.” He says my name like he’s sorry for me. “Don’t you think it’s time we moved past this?” His gaze darts to Angela and I’m in his face. Nose to fucking nose. His breath huffs out. His eyes dilate. He’s had this coming, and he knows it.
He knows it.
“Garrett!” Angela puts her hand on my arm, and I shake it off.
She gasps. Steps back.
I suck my teeth and shake my head.
“I gotta go…I can’t…”
Her heels click after me as I head for the exit. I step outside. Humidity blasts me in the face. The sky is black and boiling. I pause, growling as Angela catches up to me.
“Garrett. Talk to me. Please. What’s going on?”
I can’t. I’m seconds away from losing my mind and she can’t see me like that. I need to get out of here. Now. Ten minutes ago. Two weeks ago.
“I don’t have a car,” I growl. “And I’m wearing these stupid trunks and flipflops.”
Her eyes hit mine and I brace for the barrage of questions I don’t want to answer. Instead, she nods. “Get some clothes. I’ll drive you to my house.”