Chapter 7
SEVEN
Leilani
Is this really happening?
The man I kissed on the deck of a tiki bar — and then immediately erased from my phone — is my mentor?
He's a businessman? I thought he was a fisherman. Over the last couple of days, I've imagined him on the water with a fishing pole. Or on a boat, shirtless. And now he's here, in a white, button-down shirt and jeans.
I sink into my seat and clutch my coffee cup, the announcements of other mentor-mentee pairings continuing. How am I going to get out of this?
Do I want to get out of this?
I sneak a glance at Remy, expecting to meet his gaze or catch him looking at me.
But he's not. Instead, he's leaning in toward a man who looks quite similar.
Are they brothers? Same dark hair, same flashing, amber eyes.
I think that guy had been at the springs the other day with him.
Remy has an energy about him that the other guy doesn't. I can tell from over here.
It's some kind of invisible magnetism that surrounds him, like an aura.
Or maybe that's my insides quivering just by looking at him. Ugh.
I blink, then stare down at the contest packet, reading the rules. None of the words soak into my brain. Oh dear. This could be dangerous, working with him.
After the other teams are announced — there are five teams in all, which means I have a twenty percent chance of winning ten grand, which admittedly would be pretty sweet — the Chamber president announces a break.
The woman sitting next to me leans in. I'd met her earlier.
Her name is Carmen, and she owns a paddleboard-watersports business.
"You are one lucky mermaid."
I muster a smile and stand. "Oh?"
Carmen gets to her feet. "You just got paired with Remy Hastings."
"Apparently so." I glance around nervously, wondering where he is. We're supposed to chat about our first meeting now, and it's why we're on break. I don't see him, anywhere. Odd. "What's so special about Remy Hastings?"
"Other than the fact that he's easy on the eyes, he's also related to the owner of the biggest resort in Cypress Grove.
His family's owned the Magnolia Grand Resort for decades.
First his parents ran it. Now Max, that's the oldest brother, runs the day-to-day, with the rest of the family involved.
You get in with that family, and you'll have every guest at the resort visiting your mermaid bar.
They love to recommend local businesses.
The weekend the Magnolia Grand put a photo of my paddleboards on Instagram…
" she made a little rocket noise while shooting her hand into a diagonal.
My jaw drops. "Really?"
"Really. Two years ago, his brother, Tate, was paired up with Maria Acevedo, the owner of Flamingo Groove.
Her business went through the roof because he set up a partnership with the resort to offer discounts on her beach souvenirs to resort guests.
There's even branded Magnolia Grand merchandise at her shop.
You know, beach towels, potholders, fridge magnets. Super cute."
"Super cute." I nod slowly. So, this is a stroke of luck. "Wow."
Carmen leans in. "Just be careful. You're gorgeous. Remy's quite the flirt and has a reputation. Then again, most women wouldn't mind being under him as a mentee, if you know what I mean."
She winks lasciviously.
I press my hand to my chest and pretend to be scandalized, but all I can think is, of course.
Of course he has a reputation. He probably sleeps with every woman he meets. Which is fine. No judgment. He's single and has every right to do whatever he pleases. I was the one who'd kissed him first, after all.
And I'd been the one to ghost him. Worse. To delete him.
"I didn't notice whether he was handsome or not. I'm single and not interested in him in that way." Lies. All lies.
Carmen clears her throat, then points with her eyes over my shoulder. Uh-oh.
I turn, slowly, to find a grinning Remy. Oh, no, he is handsome. Super cute. Especially in that button-down shirt. He's not in a suit and tie like most of the other men, but the white shirt makes his tanned skin stand out.
"Single and loving it, huh?" he says, his gaze dropping to my black stilettos. "For the record, I like you better with a tail instead of heels."
My face grows instantly hot. "Long time no see," I say in a breezy voice.
"Whose fault is that? I tried texting you a couple of times."
I swallow hard. Should've guessed he'd be miffed that I never replied. It was a little rude, now that I think about it. Maybe I should've left a business card. A note. A clamshell.
I reach for my messenger bag, which is embroidered with a starfish, and muster my most professional smile. "Would you like to chat about the contest?"
"I'd love to. But I just got a call from the mechanic about my boat. So, I gotta run. Or is that your line?" He's grinning, but there's an edge to his words.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out other than stunned laughter. "I can explain," I say lamely.
"Can't wait. Tonight good for you?"
My chest squeezes. His stare is so confident and warm that the backs of my knees perspire.
"Perfect," I say. "Why don't you come to the bar and you can see what it looks like, and I can show you what I've got."
Goodness. That's a double entendre if I've ever heard one. Obviously, he thinks so too, because he chuckles.
"I'd love to see what you've got at your bar. Eight?"
Eight isn't exactly the hour for business meetings, but I'll let it slide. Especially since he's not being too snarky about me ghosting him.
"Eight's good."
"Perfect. I'll bring pizza.” He winks and turns to leave. I watch him as he walks away, that smirk on his face.
He shakes hands with several people in the room and kisses a couple of old ladies on the cheek. They flirt back, unashamed. It seems that every woman is captivated by Remy Hastings, and I'm no exception.
I sink back into my chair, wondering what I've gotten myself into.
Later that day, I shed my black skirt, silk blouse and stilettos, because the outfit seems a little too fussy for a nighttime business meeting.
Instead, I opt for baggy jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt with a cartoon fox on the front.
And Birkenstock sandals — possibly the un-sexiest shoes I own, since they are worn, dung-colored, and make me look like I'm headed to a yoga retreat.
My scarlet painted toenails flash like little red stop signs against the plain leather.
The outfit somehow calms my nerves. I look way less sexy now. It's also far different from my mermaid outfit over the weekend. Tonight, I'm just a normal woman in regular clothes. I'm even wearing cat-eye, black framed glasses because I can't see that well up close, and my hair's in a ponytail.
He won't even be attracted to me. When I'd dressed like this once around Brent, he'd asked me why I was "letting myself go."
I'm sitting on a worn stool at the bar, surrounded by my books of lists, when the front door opens. I keep forgetting to lock it when I'm here alone. Probably because Cypress Grove seems so safe. Sleepy, even. I turn in my seat to see Remy poking his dark head of hair inside.
"Anyone here?" he calls out.
"Over here, at the bar." I give a little wave.
He saunters in, the door banging in back of him.
"We've gotta fix that door," he says, sliding onto the only other seat in the place, which is next to me at the bar.
He's in a worn, grey T-shirt that's stretched and a little tight across his broad shoulders, and olive cargo shorts.
He's also sporting the most tattered pair of flip-flops I've ever seen.
"Okay." I take a deep breath, bracing myself for him to find fault with everything here. He looks around, taking in the emptiness of the space.
"Wow. Love this place. It used to be a joint called The Crab Trap.
Went downhill, though, when some out-of-town investors bought it.
It became known around town as The Crap Trap, and then it turned into the ice bar.
That didn't do so well, either. Too frou-frou.
People who come to Cypress Grove want laid-back and quirky.
Glad you're here now. This'll do so well. You buy the place?"
I shake my head. "Renting."
"You're living in town, I hope. Makes it a lot easier to connect with people."
"I am. I've got a bungalow downtown a few blocks from here." Well, that was more information than I'd intended to tell him.
Nodding, he looks around, his eyes landing on the construction project behind the bar.
"What's that about?" He points to several two-by-fours that look haphazardly nailed together, although they're anything but.
"Oh! That's the focal point of the whole place.
The mermaid tank. It'll be filled with water, of course.
We'll lower the lights and the tank will give off a blue glow.
It's going to be amazing. Work just began this week, so it doesn't look like much of anything at the moment.
It's going to take a while to come together.
See, there will be three large windows." I point with a pen.
"One, two, three. People can watch the mermaids swim. "
His eyes grow wide. "Whoa. So that's what you were talking about at the Chamber meeting. Will there be live fish? Like a real aquarium, like in Weeki Wachee? And are you personally going to swim? I kind of thought you were joking."
Tilting my head, I stare at the skeleton of the tank.
"Not joking. I don't think so, on the fish.
Weeki Wachee is a natural spring so it's way different.
I'd considered the fish, but that would be one more thing to manage.
It's going to be enough to coordinate the mermaid shows and serve drinks and food. "
"It's an ambitious project, I'll give you that. You ever run a bar before?"
Hmm. Is he questioning my ability? For the first time, I notice how I'm on the defensive, probably because Brent always shot down my ideas and opinions. It's funny how time and space away from a bad situation gives you a new perspective.
"No, but I grew up in a restaurant. My dad owned a popular one in Weeki Wachee. I was a waitress there before I became a mermaid at the park."
"Nice. So you have a familiarity with the hospitality industry. Your dad coming to help you out here?"
I shake my head. "He passed several years ago."
Remy raises his chin. "Sorry."
"Don't be. It's in the past." It's part of my previous existence, which I don't want to discuss, so I turn to my stack of papers and notebooks. "Here, let me show you the blueprints for the place."
Sifting through my books, files, and envelopes, I try to ignore Remy's delicious-smelling cologne that's wafting in my direction. Tonight, his scent is a little like salted caramel.
"Here are the plans." I open a red folder and take out a piece of paper. "And here's how the mermaids will access the tank from a platform in the back. There's a changing room, too, alongside the storage area. It's quite a big place."
He leans in, his caramel scent overpowering me. My stomach rumbles.
"I thought you were bringing pizza." I poke his shoulder with my pen.
Without looking at me, he grins, then picks up the paper and studies it. "It'll be delivered in a half hour. Buddy of mine owns the pizza place. This is really cool. Really different. I think it's going to do real well here."
"Thanks." I lick my lips.
He sets the paper down and turns to me. His eyes go to my chest.
"Oh for fox sake?" He points at the words on my T-shirt.
I grin. "I thought it was cute."
He nods. I nod. Uh-oh. There's that electricity crackling between us.
"Um, I guess I owe you an apology for ghosting you the other day," I say softly.
He blinks but doesn't say anything.
"I was overwhelmed. I haven't ever done that, and I'm new here in town. I got out of a relationship a while back and I'm not looking for anything serious. Or permanent." Why am I so nervous around him? I inhale a huge breath.
"You mentioned that. And you know, I don't do relationships either."
I exhale and grin. "Oh. Excellent."
"Though I had hoped we'd talk again. But it's completely cool. I respect that. I'm not the kind of guy to pressure. We can totally be friends."
I'll admit, there's a tiny part of me that's disappointed. That tiny part wants him to grab me like he did the other day and kiss me hard. To pick up where we left off on Kate's deck. But it would be a jerk move to encourage that after ghosting him the way I did.
I smile. "That's really sweet. It's not that I didn't enjoy myself the other day. I did. A lot. But maybe we should just be friends. Especially while we're working together on this contest."
He bites his bottom lip and grins. It's such a sexy, endearing expression that I can't help but giggle. He extends a hand.
"Friends?" he murmurs.
I slip my hand in his. "Friends. For the contest. Let's kick butt and win the ten grand."
We shake for a few seconds. If we're going to just be friends, I sure wish these sparks of desire shooting up my arm and through my body would disappear.
"We're a team. We'll have to spend a lot of time together," he says in that low voice of his.
“No big deal. Friends.” But how am I going to concentrate on opening my business and winning ten thousand dollars with this tempting, caramel-scented man nearby?