Chapter Five
JAKE
Natalie seemed steady on her feet as we walked out of the small airport. A local driver in a black Lexus was already waiting for us, standing in front of the car.
"Take the front seat, Natalie," I told her. "It’ll make it easier for you. And try to look forward."
She nodded, but her eyes were more alert than before. She was going to be back on her feet in no time. I’d planned to do some work on the plane, but it had been impossible with her sick. I hadn't seen anyone have such a violent reaction to a flight before. I had half a mind to call a doctor.
We arrived at the house ten minutes later.
The double gates opened as soon as the car approached.
I had a great security system in place, but it was cumbersome to get through.
Before I arrived, my housekeeper deactivated all the alarms. Natalie was suspiciously silent when the car stopped in the driveway by the pool.
July was my favorite month here on the island.
The weather was perfect for swimming, and I started every morning doing multiple laps.
It invigorated me, prepped me for the day.
This was the first time I was bringing anyone who wasn't part of the family here. It had always been my sanctuary. I didn’t conduct business on vacation, and women I’d dated had never seen this estate.
After taking out Natalie’s small carry-on and mine, I opened the car door for her.
She immediately got out, and the driver left afterward.
Morton was familiar with my routine, as my assistant hired him often for my stay on the island.
He was on call, but he didn't spend the night on the property. Neither did my housekeeper.
"Wow," Natalie murmured, "Jeannie was right. This is an amazing place. It's huge. And this is your vacation home?" she asked, as if it couldn't possibly be true.
"Yes. It was the only acceptable one on the market when I was looking for a home, so I bought it even though it's a little too big. My family enjoys it too when I’m not at the house."
"You bought a small hotel because it was the only thing available?"
"Am I about to be judged on how I spend my money?"
She winced.
Fuck, I didn't want to make her uncomfortable, but the woman was very prone to turning from sassy to pushing my buttons in a split second.
"It was just an observation. I can totally see why Jeannie wants to have her party in your home."
I opened the door, holding my breath as another wave of vomit odor reached me. She’d taken a swig of water in the airport, but she still had it on her breath.
We stepped inside, and she gasped again, looking around.
"Jake, this is amazing." She paused, then corrected herself quickly. "Mr. Whitley, I'm sorry. We are still on Mr. and Ms. terms, right?"
And there it was again, rearing its head, the fighting gene. "Anything wrong with pleasantries?" I asked, but I had to fight a smile.
"No, I'm just wondering why you insist on them.
It's not like there's a huge age difference between us, and your grandmother asked me to call her Jeannie.
I should really take everything she said at face value, including the fact that you're a very difficult person.
" She said the last bit under her breath.
"My grandmother told you that?" I asked. Jesus, it was true, but I didn't know Grandmother went around saying that to people.
Natalie shrugged. Even though her hair was disheveled and she reeked of vomit, I couldn't deny that she was absolutely fucking sexy. If it weren’t for her puking on the plane, I would’ve stared at her legs like a damn teenager.
"She wasn’t wrong," Natalie said, "but I'll focus on the good things."
"Oh, I have redeeming qualities?"
"No, not you. The house, I meant."
Once again, I barely held back laughter. I'd only met this woman couple hours ago, yet she was amusing me more than anyone I’d met in a long time.
"But first things first. I desperately need a shower to wash off the smell. Where am I sleeping?"
"I'll show you to the guest bedroom."
She looked around curiously as we walked through the house. From the foyer, we crossed into the open-plan kitchen. On the left side was an enormous living room, on the right one, a dining room. Both had floor-to-ceiling windows that looked into the yard and doors that opened onto terraces.
Natalie seemed to catalog every detail about the place. The staircase leading to the first floor was impressive.
“Wow, I’ve only seen this kind of staircase in the movies, where you can take pictures of an entire bridal party.”
At the top of the stairs, we turned to the left.
"This is your room," I informed her.
She stepped inside, glancing around. "Oh my goodness, are you sure this is a guest room? It’s a super king-size master bedroom."
“I'm positive I know where the master bedroom is.”
It was on the other end of the corridor, overlooking the ocean. I'd broken down the walls of three different rooms to create it. I liked having my space.
"When do you want dinner to be ready?"
"Oh, don't tell me Mr. Whitley is going to roll up those sleeves and make dinner," she said sarcastically.
"No, but my private chef will. I only have to call him."
"Wait, you're serious?"
"Yes."
"I mean, I can whip us up dinner if you have any ingredients. You don't have to call anyone."
Her reaction caught me off guard.
Natalie Summers was definitely unlike any other woman I’d met. Her childlike surprise and enthusiasm were contagious. She was naive, in a wholesome way. The women I dated in New York were thrilled with the idea of a private chef.
You’re not dating her, Jake.
"He's already on call," I told her.
"All right, I guess, if you insist."
“Any requests?”
“I eat everything. Literally. I tasted a million things in the airport lounge. It’s probably why I got so sick.”
“I’ll tell him to prep something tasty.”
“Thank you.”
She closed the door, and I headed straight to the living room to catch up on the work I’d put off on the plane.