Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  “What am I doing?” I ask the empty house.

  It’s almost lunchtime, and I’m just having coffee. There are three missed calls from Yancy on my phone that I intentionally left in the guest bathroom. I haven’t bothered to check my work emails yet.

  It’s irresponsible despite the fact that I know everything at the office is taken care of. Yancy is handling everything because that’s what she does even though I’m usually too anal to let her. But I should be checking in. I need to ensure that all my court dates are extended due to the asbestos and that nothing has fallen through the cracks.

  Instead, I’m standing in Holt’s kitchen drinking coffee.

  Maybe this is what it looks like when someone just throws in the towel.

  Is this how lives begin to spiral out of control?

  I take a tentative sip of my drink and give that a thought.

  Today looks so different than my life did this day a week ago. Then I was sitting at my desk in my business suit, probably lecturing someone about the ins and outs of the law. I’m certain I was irritated and probably ready to have a heart attack—that and wondering why I picked a career that keeps me surrounded by overbearing men.

  Then I took a vacation.

  Now I stand in a business mogul’s luxury kitchen after a night of delicious sex in his multi-million-dollar house near the beach.

  I pace around the kitchen, taking in the insane attention to detail in every element of the house. The handcrafted molding around the doorways. The rounded edges of the marble countertops. The way the windows bring in so much light, yet the sun never shines directly in.

  It’s not surprising, though. That’s Holt, and it’s one of the things I love so much about him.

  My feet stop moving as the last sentence flows through my brain.

  I hold my mug with both hands and smile.

  I do enjoy so many things about him.

  He’s so kind and thoughtful. No detail gets by him. We can talk about anything, and his ideas are so thought-provoking. And he cares.

  I lean against the counter and think back to last night. How he pushed me on the carriage to open up about myself. Even then, it was as if he was prodding me gently for my own good. As though he knew I needed to get that stuff off my chest.

  What’s funny is that I didn’t even know I needed to share all of that. But waking up this morning felt … different. Lighter. Less weighed down by the world.

  It’s probably all the sex.

  I laugh at myself.

  I grab a seat next to the windows that look across the pool and let my mind float back to Holt’s office. My intention wasn’t to spill my life’s story. All I wanted to do was to admit that he was right—that I do hold things in—and acknowledge that I might need to work on it.

  Yet when I experienced the tenderness in his eyes, the attentiveness, my guard slipped.

  For once, talking about Jack and the night I started to lose control didn’t feel like a shameful blemish on my soul.

  I take another sip of coffee and remember how safe I felt in his arms. It was such a relief to tell someone my secrets and not be judged. His arms help put the pieces of me back together.

  I sort back through various men I’ve had semi-relationships with over the years. Never once did I come close to telling any of them.

  Why?

  Why Holt?

  The coffee burns my stomach as the acid sloshes around. I tug the robe even tighter.

  My throat cinches, and I take a deep, calming breath.

  “It’s because you’re leaving,” I tell myself. “It doesn’t matter what he knows about me. He’s safe.”

  He’s safe.

  My heart sinks as I realize the truth in that.

  Holt is safe. He makes me feel protected.

  And it’s a shame I’ll only have this one time in my life.

  I put my cup in the dishwasher and head upstairs to check my emails.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Holt

  “We have four days to figure this out,” Oliver says.

  I sink into my office chair and look at him.

  Wade’s plans are displayed between us. A binder sits open with calculations from the accounting department. A file full of legal paperwork from our attorneys—things to consider, things to incorporate in the final contracts that might affect our negotiations—is bursting at its seams. Next to that mess is a stack of papers Boone dropped off with information regarding potential occupants of the retail space.

  It’s a lot. In every way.

  “This is a nightmare,” I tell him.

  “As if I don’t already know.”

  “What did Landry say in the voicemail again?” I ask.

  “Which one?”

  “About the ballpark offer I threw their way.”

  Oliver snorts. “You are out of your fucking minds. That’s verbatim.”

  “Shit.”

  My brother leans forward. The plans crunch beneath his arms. His face shows signs of sleepless nights and an abundance of stress. It makes me feel guilty.

  Very fucking guilty.

  “Okay,” I say, pointing at a spot on the plans near the beach. “This is wasted area. Could we go higher here? Use this space better? I mean, if we do, we could double, maybe even triple the storefront. I know that’s adding a ton of shit on Wade and on Boone to sell later, but that makes me feel a whole hell of a lot better offering Landry what we’re gonna have to offer.”

  “I keep looking at that space too. It’s the only one with the ability to return more revenue. But if we go higher, are we blocking the view from the tower in the back? That will make it less desirable.”

  I sigh. “I don’t know. That’s why we have Wade. I’ll call him and see what he thinks.”

  Oliver nods. “Yeah. Let’s try it. We’ve spent so much time and money on this thing already. If we wind up not making this deal …”

  We exchange a look.

  I know what he’s thinking. It’s the same thing that I realized might be an actual possibility on my way here this morning.

  The numbers aren’t quite adding up to justify offering what we will have to in order to get Landry to sell. It’s absolutely worth it, though. It will trigger a tourism boon to that part of the city, and we’ll already have our foot in the door. We just need the final puzzle piece to make it all gel. I just have to find it.

  I will. I know I will. I have to.

  I just didn’t expect to be distracted right in the middle of this.

  My mind goes to Blaire—the best distraction I’ve ever had. It occurred to me on the way here that I’m so distracted for the same reason I shouldn’t be: she’s leaving.

  I can’t win.

  Focusing on work should be easy because things with Blaire don’t matter. She’ll be out of here soon. But focusing on anything but her is impossible when I know she’ll be gone in a handful of days. It’s a double-edged sword.

  “Are you okay?” Oliver asks.

  “I’m fine.” I ignore the burn in my throat. “Let’s see what Wade thinks and reconvene this afternoon.”

  Oliver blows out a breath and sits back. He watches me with the skilled eye of a little brother—one whose job is to pick up on bullshit and call you out on it.

  “I can’t decide if I liked you better then or now,” he says, amused.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He smirks. “I just mean that you’re a different guy since Airport Girl came to town.”

  “Blaire,” I say, emphasizing her name, “will be leaving soon. So no worries.”

  Even I can hear the irritation in my voice at having to say that.

  Oliver nods, obviously enjoying my predicament.

  “She’s leaving, huh?” he asks.

  “Didn’t I just say that?”

  “You did. I was just repeating it.”

  I make a show of sighing. I don’t know why. He’s not going to let this go.

  He rocks his chair back o
n two legs and grins. “No. I definitely like you better now.”

  “I don’t really want to do this with ya, Ollie.”

  “Yeah. I bet you don’t.” He laughs. “And it’s for all the reasons I like you better.”

  I get up from the table by the window and head to my desk. His eyes are trained on my back. I can feel them boring into me.

  Whatever he’s talking about, I don’t want to hear. It’s probably just a button he thinks he can push and get a few minutes of amusement at my expense.

  “I’m not a fucking monkey here for your entertainment, you know,” I say, sitting in my chair.

  He laughs. “Nope. You’re a mortal like the rest of us.”

  I don’t respond. Instead, I try to wait him out in hopes he’ll give up and leave.

  He doesn’t.

  “If today was last week, you would’ve already figured out this Landry shit,” he says. “I would’ve been sitting here, twiddling my thumbs, wondering what I’m supposed to do since you do everything.”

  “Are you admitting you’re lazy?”

  “Ha.”

  I look at him and wink. Oliver is the farthest thing from lazy, and we all know it. We also know that I’m ignoring where he’s going with this.

  He taps the end of his pen against the table. “I’m just saying that it’s nice to see you doing something other than work for once.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m still working, and I will until I get it all figured out.”

  He smiles smugly. “Which thing? Blaire or the project?”

  I’m about to tell him that he’s walking a fine line and better watch his step when the door opens. The room fills with the scent of lilies as our mother waltzes in the room.

  Sigourney Mason has the grace of a ballerina and the smile of a queen. My father said he was scared of her the first time he met her. She was so beautiful and quietly powerful that he never dreamed a girl like Siggy would talk to a man like him.

  Her eyes light up as she takes in Oliver and me.

  “Well, I didn’t expect to see you both this morning,” she says. “What a treat!”

  “Hi, Mom,” Oliver says.

  “Hello, Mom.”

  Oliver and I get to our feet. She hugs my brother before making her way to me. She wraps her arms around me and kisses my cheek.

  “Oops, I left a lipstick mark,” she says, wiping the side of my face with her hand. “What are my boys doing today?”

  “Going over this Landry project,” Oliver says.

  “Still?” Mom turns around to face him. “Want me to take his mother out for lunch? I just love Vivian Landry.”

  I laugh. “No, Mother, we don’t need you to take Vivian Landry out to lunch on our behalf.”

  “And why not?” She puts a hand on her hip. “You do know who holds the power, right?”

  Oliver chuckles. I fire him a warning glare.

  If he segues this conversation into something about Blaire …

  “Holt has been demonstrating that point lately,” Oliver cracks.

  “Ollie, I’m gonna kill ya.”

  All he does is laugh.

  My eyes flip to my mother. A knowing look is painted on her face.

  “I actually have a lot of work to do today, you two. So if you don’t mind …” I say, sitting back down in my chair.

  Mom scoffs. “Don’t think you’re going to throw me out of your office because your brother is irritating you.” She looks at Oliver. “Stop annoying Holt. Be nice.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” Oliver says, trying his best to hide his smile. “I forget he’s sensitive now.”

  “Oliver …” I warn.

  “It’s not a bad thing to be sensitive, sweetie,” Mom says. “You don’t have to be hard as nails all the time.”

  Oliver watches me over Mom’s shoulder and taunts me. I can see the words sitting on his lips and the joy he’d get out of projecting them into the world.

  And to my mother’s ears.

  Please don’t.

  “Also,” Mom says, spinning around to face Oliver, “I know what you’re insinuating. I heard all about Blaire.”

  My jaw drops to the floor just as Oliver’s brows rise to the ceiling.

  The clicks of Mom’s heels clamor through my office as I try to figure out what this means. She stops next to my brother and faces me.

  “Boone told me,” she says proudly.

  “What the fuck?”

  She gives me a look. “He and Larissa were talking about it at dinner last night. I gave them a bottle of wine, and the next thing I know, they’re telling me all about her.”

  I rub a hand down my face and wonder how this happened. Why it happened. Why my family thinks my life is fair game.

  Because it’s not.

  They are so ready to love people and bring them into our world that it makes for uncomfortable situations when you aren’t ready for any of that.

  “Were you going to tell me?” Mom asks.

  I drop my hand to my side. “You know what? I wasn’t.”

  “Holton!”

  “Well, I wasn’t. Because it’s just a temporary thing, Mom. I’m not marrying her.”

  Oliver sits up. “You know, if you—”

  “Shut up.” I glare at him before turning back to my mom. “She’s a friend of the Landrys. We’re just …”

  We’re just what?

  Fucking? Talking? Eating pizza in the middle of the night?

  I don’t even know anymore.

  Mom grins. “You are bringing her tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Oliver says. “You totally should.”

  I ignore them both and mess with my tie instead.

  I’d forgotten that tonight was our family outing. It must’ve slipped my mind. Now that Boone has told my mother all about Blaire, it’s no surprise Mom wants me to bring her. But if I do that, this whole thing between Blaire and me gets trickier.

  I think.

  Actually, fuck if I know.

  “I’m not bringing her,” I say even though I’m not sure. Better to not get her hopes up. “Why do we keep having this conversation?”

  “We haven’t had this conversion before, Holton.”

  “No, but I’ve had it with everyone else, it seems.”

  Mom looks offended. “Well, pardon me. I only want to get to know her. If she’s a friend of the Landrys … Wait. Which Landry?”

  I sigh. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. If it’s Camilla or Sienna, that’s wonderful news. If it’s Lincoln, then I have reservations.”

  “It’s Sienna,” Oliver chimes in.

  “Great. Bring her. That’s an order, dear.” She flashes me one final, epic smile and heads to the door. “See you boys later. Love you tons.”

  And with that, she’s gone.

  Oliver gathers his things from the table. He keeps the corner of his eye trained on me as if he thinks I might bolt across the room and tackle him.

  It’s not a terrible idea, really. It would definitely expend some of this energy that’s making it hard to stand still.

  “Don’t forget to call Wade, okay?” Oliver asks, heading for the door.

  “I’ll call him now.”

  Oliver nods. He takes a breath and starts to speak but doesn’t. Instead, he blows the air out.

  The moment reminds me of when we were kids. It was always Oliver and me. We’d fight. We’d get into stupid trouble that never amounted to anything serious. We’d skip school, sneak liquor from Dad’s cabinet, and blackmail Wade into doing our homework. But no matter what we did or who got caught, we always had each other’s backs. Without fail.

  “Thanks,” I tell him.

  “What for?”

  “For picking up the slack around here.”

  He shifts the papers from one hand to another. “I was giving you hell earlier, but I honestly am glad that you’re … doing whatever it is you’re doing.” He grins. “Does that work better? Does it make you more comfortable that I didn’t define
it?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughs. “I don’t know what you’re doing in your private life, and I don’t really give a shit, either. I’m just happy to see you relaxing a little.” He opens the door. “But it’s totally self-centered on my behalf. If you relax, that means you won’t die of a heart attack anytime soon, and I don’t have to worry about running this place.”

  I throw a pad of sticky notes at him as he ducks out the door. They hit the spot where his head was.

  Chuckling, I sit down in my chair again and lean back.

  I’m really lucky to have my family. As nosy and maddening as they are, they’re also generous and loving and loyal.

  They’d love Blaire.

  The thought comes easily. The idea of having Blaire around my siblings feels like the most natural thing in the world. I can imagine her conversing with Wade and blushing at Boone’s jokes. Oliver would adore her. Coy would try to charm her.

  A ripple of uncertainty flows through my veins.

  Great. Bring her. That’s an order, dear.

  Do I? What would be the point?

  “There wouldn’t be one,” I mumble and get back to work.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Blaire

  “So that’s it?” I type out a few final notes from my conversation with Yancy. “There are no more loose ends?”

  “No. Just the hearing for the Lawson case next week. If you aren’t back, Mr. Jameson said he would show up on your behalf.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be back even if I have to get a hotel room. Please send the updated files to my email.”

  “I will do that as soon as we get off this call,” Yancy says. “They’re saying they’re on track for reopening the building by the end of the week. Fingers crossed.”

  I start to say it back to her but stop. I’m afraid she’ll hear the reservation in my tone.

  “Let’s hope they reopen when it’s safe,” I say instead.

  “Oh, absolutely.” Computer keys click in the background. “That does it for me. I’ve rearranged everything else in order of precedence. You’ll be slammed for the first week back, but if I know you, that makes you happy.”