by C. M. Albert
I laughed. “You’re something else, Presley. I think you’ll be able to remember them. First, I won’t cooperate unless you write the article. Period. Conflict or not.”
She nodded but said nothing.
“Secondly, I’m getting ready to go to The Grove for a work event and to see my dad. He’s having surgery Tuesday, and I need to be there when he wakes up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.
“Yeah, me too. He’s going to be okay though,” I said, more confident than I felt. An idea started brewing as I considered my options. “If you want to interview me, you need to come with me on this trip. You can get a lot of one-on-one access to ask whatever you want. But I’ll only answer questions while we’re away. When we get back, the interview is over. Then it’s just me and you again. I don’t want work interfering.”
“Interfering? With what?”
“With us.”
SOMEHOW, BY THE grace of god, Presley agreed to my terms. Though she said we’d talk about “us” when we got back. My hands felt clammy as I helped her pack up her bag to bring her home. I wanted her to stay all weekend and was afraid if she left, it would all be just a dream. I don’t know why I felt that way. Maybe because Presley feels out of my league. Even as a bratty thirteen year old, she still knew her place on the island. Felt the comfort of her privilege.
I just wanted one more day with her. Now, I’d have five or six.
When she was done gathering her things, I saw her standing by my pictures again. She’d been there yesterday, too, looking at the same one.
“Whatcha looking at?” I asked, over her shoulder.
“I noticed this picture yesterday,” she said. “Do you know who these men are?”
“Is this Presley asking, or Miss Kincaid, investigative reporter?”
She made a snarly face at me and I laughed.
“Fine. I never asked my dad, so I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think the boy holding the scissors is him. I found this newspaper clipping in my grandpa’s old journals.”
“Did they say anything about the picture?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, honestly. “I haven’t read them yet.”
“How come?” she asked, looking at the rest of the pictures on my built-in bookshelves.
“The situation’s complicated,” I said, shrugging. “Guess I never felt the need to.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets, thinking about the interview and how much I wanted to share with Presley. “He wasn’t exactly grandpa of the year,” I admitted, finally. “He abandoned my dad when he was a kid—not long after this picture was taken. Just up and ran off.”
She turned, placing a hand on my arm. I didn’t want to see the pity that was in her eyes.
“Where was your grandmother when your grandpa took off?”
“She’d passed away already by then in a car accident. She and my grandpa went off a bridge. My grandfather walked away from it, but just barely. Dad says he had a limp after that and couldn’t remember much about the accident. Didn’t talk about it anyway.”
“I’m so sorry, Carter. Do you think he mentions it in the journals at all?”
I shrugged again. “Not sure I care.”
“But it’s your family’s history! How can you not want to know?”
I thought about what she was asking. Sure, I’d wondered before when I was a teen. I’d pestered my dad with questions that he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer. But I’d grown up and left all that behind me when it was clear I was getting nowhere. With dad being sick now, though, maybe I should talk to him about it. It was definitely a wake-up call that my time with him could be cut short. And someday, my own kids might have questions. I’d sure as hell like to be able to answer them—unlike my dad.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
She flushed. “I’m sorry, Carter. I don’t mean to be nosy. I really don’t. I just—look at the sign behind those men. Does Dex’s family own that company? Didn’t his grandfather build The Grove himself after purchasing the island?”
“I don’t know, not for sure really. I was told growing up that his family owned the place. They didn’t run it though. A trust does. That’s how my dad got paid. But everyone knew it was owned by the Truitt family. They could’ve subcontracted it out back then, I guess. Makes sense. They aren’t in the commercial real estate business that I know of.”
Presley nodded. “Is the man behind your father your grandpa then? I see a little resemblance,” she said, eyeing me.
“Maybe. I see my dad a little in him, but I don’t know for sure. I never saw a picture of my grandfather. Not sure why he’d be in a picture like this though. He was a mailman, I think.”
Presley nodded, as if thinking. “Have you asked your dad about the picture?”
I shook my head. “I can when I’m down there, though.”
Her eyes were bright, curious. I loved to see how the wheels in her head were spinning. I hoped it was for personal interest and not just because of the article. But I’d take any excuse I could get to spend more time with Presley.
I cleared my throat, looking at the picture one last time and wondering what brought my dad to the island that day for the ribbon cutting. “After my grandpa took off, a local family who knew the Truitts adopted my dad. They ended up working for the resort, so when my father was old enough, he started working at the resort, too. Made his way up to being the property manager with a lot of hard work. Even though he had a pretty rough go of it, he never let that stop him or hold him back,” I said, proudly. I shook my head. “He might not be a millionaire, but stories should be written about men like him. Not me.”
“I disagree,” Presley said, taking my hand in hers.
The sexy look in her eyes made my chest puff out in pride and was entirely too dangerous. If she kept looking at me like that, I’d never get her home.
“Come on,” I said, gently rubbing my thumb over the back of her hand. “It’s getting late, and I know you need to work before your dinner with Willa.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Carter. I really appreciate it.”
I would move heaven and hell to make that woman smile like that more.
“You gonna tell Willa all about our wild weekend?” I teased, winking at her.
Presley’s face flushed an adorable shade of pink.
“Just make sure you mention what an overachiever I am.”
Presley laughed, squeezing my hand. “Some things I might want to keep to myself.”
“Fair enough. Maybe just slip in somewhere that I have a huge—”
“Carter!” she yelled playfully.
I swooped down and kissed her, silencing that hot little mouth of hers. One kiss became two. And before I knew what was happening, our clothes were off, and I was showing Presley yet another fun position—this time in the entryway.
Based on her reaction, this might be her new favorite.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Presley
“STAWP!” WILLA NEARLY screeched as we hid behind our menus and giggled hysterically. We were grabbing dinner at our favorite Vietnamese restaurant, a little hole in the wall that had the freshest ingredients in New York. Willa took a sip of her wine and nodded. “But go on—tell me more!”
I laughed as we handed the menus back to the waiter. I gave her the highlights of my weekend until the food arrived. Then we dug into our shared dish of brown rice, fried tofu, grilled pineapple chunks, and steamed organic veggies. We split the same thing every single time. I dipped mine into their house-made peanut sauce and moaned. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything better in my life.”
“Anything?” Willa teased. “Even after this weekend?”
I nearly spit out my mouthful of food. “Willa!”
“Come on,” she begged. “I want all the
juicy details!!”
So, over dinner, I spilled the beans. It was all so new to me, and I was still kind of in shock at myself. “So, is that normal, then?” I asked, pushing the food around my plate. I was stuffed. “Wanting it even more after the first time? I mean, it’s literally all I can think about right now. Everywhere I look, my mind drifts off, and I’m daydreaming about Carter’s mouth, or the things he’s said to me, or the way he manhandles my body in all the right ways.”
Willa sighed, looking at me dreamily. “I am so jealous right now.”
“Don’t be! I’m miserable!”
“You are not. And why would you be?”
“Willa . . . I slept with Carter, even though I knew I shouldn’t because of work. I crossed ethical lines. And now? I’m cursed with him being my first. I mean—who’s ever going to top Carter? And worst of all, he has me all wound up like some nymphomaniac! I’m gonna have to call up Charlie Sheen and find out the name of his sex therapist, for heaven’s sake!”
Willa clutched her sides and was laughing so hard others were starting to look at us. “What’s so funny?”
“Girl. You are,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “You’re not a sex addict. It’s called being horny. And Carter unleased your inner sex goddess. That is nothing to be miserable about, I promise. Enjoy the ride while it lasts!”
That was the problem. How long would this last before Carter tired of me? Before he decided I was still the bratty girl he remembered from childhood? Or worse, that the sex wasn’t really that good and he could do better? Ugh! Sex just complicated things—which is why I’d avoided it for so many years.
“I guess so. I’m just worried, Willa. I mean, it can’t always be this good, right? Like, every time?”
“Define every time.”
“What do you mean, define it? I mean, every time we’ve had sex. Surely there’s going to be a time when it’s just a flop, right? Statistically speaking—”
“No, girl. No. Statistics have nothing to do with chemistry. Leave them out of the bedroom.”
“God! You’re right. What is wrong with me?” I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone vibrated on the table. I never answer it during my Willa time, but I was waiting on a return call from Sylvia. “One sec, let me just see who this is and make sure it’s not work.”
I picked up my phone and grinned.
It was Carter.
I quickly read his text. I cancelled my job Monday night, so we’re flying out at noon tomorrow. I’ll be by to pick you up at ten. Pack something sexy.
My ears burned bright red, which happened sometimes when I got flustered. It didn’t escape Willa’s attention.
“So, when are you seeing him again?”
I glanced up, sheepishly. “Uh . . . tomorrow?”
“Wow, girl. You two are moving fast. I don’t think you have anything to worry about with him growing bored with you.”
“It’s not like that,” I said, explaining what happened with the article and how he’d made me agree to go with him to The Grove. “It’s for work. We just happen to be going together.”
“Mmm-hmm. And aliens aren’t real.”
I laughed. Aliens were Willa’s baseline for everything. “Fine,” I conceded. “I might be hoping to get a little lucky this trip. I mean, he did tell me to pack something sexy.”
“And?” she pressed, paying for the bill when it came before I could grab my wallet. “Do you even have anything sexy?”
“Define sexy . . .”
“I’ll take that as a no. Come on, girl. We’re going shopping. I know just the place!”
TWO HOURS AND two grand later, I had a sexy number for every night of our trip. You know, just in case. I also bought a few matching bra and panty sets, because my old grannie panties just wouldn’t cut it if I wanted to keep having sex.
Me. Having sex.
I squealed inwardly as I packed for our trip. When had I become this girl? I get laid once, and now I’m jumping up and down over a guy? I needed to snap the fuck out of it. I called Bianca to ask for some advice, but it went straight to voicemail. She and Dex had met because of an exclusive article she’d gotten to write about him. Not only had that article been a game changer career-wise, she’d also ended up meeting the love of her life—even if it hadn’t felt that way at first. Not that Carter was my soul mate or anything. Sheesh. But these waters were tricky to navigate, and Bianca had sailed this ship before. And here I was, floundering out in the deep end with no life jacket.
I needed to get to sleep, but first I wanted to pop over to The Grove’s website and see if I could get any info about when it was built and who was at the ribbon-cutting ceremony when they broke ground. It was coming up on its sixty-fifth anniversary of being open. The website mentioned little about the Truitt family, which was odd. It just showed a Limited Liability Company’s name in fine print at the end of The Grove’s “About Us” section. Other than the resort itself, there was no additional contact information. Maybe Dex would know?
I checked my phone. It was after midnight, and I had to get up early to work and then head to South Carolina with Carter. I’d call Dex tomorrow. I jotted down a few strings I wanted to tug, though I wasn’t sure why I was bothering with this. Sure, Carter’s dad had been in the picture. But maybe that’s all it had been. A cute photo op. It had nothing to do with the story I was writing, so I probably just needed to let it go.
I climbed into bed, grateful for my cold sheets. When I reached for the phone to set my alarm for the next morning, I noticed a missed call from Rico, and a text from Carter. My insides definitely did a little flip and a little flop. I rolled my eyes. I was so becoming that girl.
It was too late to call Rico back, so I snuggled down with Jar Jar and opened my texts from Carter with a shit-eating grin on my face. The cat meowed, then plopped down on his pillow next to mine and started kneading.
Carter: Hey, princess. Don’t forget to bring a swimsuit.
Carter: And something sexy. Did I mention that already?
Carter: I know it’s uncool to text so soon after our first date. But since we kinda threw all our first date rules out the window, and I’ve known you since you were in pigtails, I figured a text or two the day after wouldn’t hurt.
Carter: Am I right? Hello?
We certainly had thrown all first date rules out the window. And second, and third, and fourth. Good god, the things I’d unabashedly let that man do to my body. I was a heathen. A happy heathen. But a heathen, nonetheless. Might as well text him back.
Pres: You’re forgiven. On one condition.
Carter: Oh yeah? What’s that?
Pres: You score an ice cream token for me.
Carter: I might know a guy. Any other conditions?
Pres: Come to think of it, I might have a few more . . .
Carter: Presley, are you flirting with me?
Pres: Maaaaybe.
Pres: Unless that’s uncool. Then I’m totally not.
Pres: I’m not. Truly. I mean, we’re keeping this week professional, right?
Pres: Though, you did technically ask me to bring something sexy.
Carter: Pres?
Pres: Hmm?
Carter: You’re so lucky you’re not at my place right now.
Pres: How come?
Carter: Because I’d have to stop that overthinking mind of yours somehow.
Pres: And how might you have done that?
Carter: Oh, I can think of a few creative ways to keep you so preoccupied you won’t be able to think at all.
Pres: Promises, promises.
Carter: I don’t make promises I can’t keep.
Pres: Pinky promise?
Carter: I am not typing that back. I have an image to uphold.
Pres: Okay. Then nothing sexy for you, Mister Stand-In.
Carter: . . .
Pres: . . .
Carter: God I’m pussy whipped already.
Pres: You did not just say that!
Carter: Meow.
Pres: . . .
Carter: Okay. Okay.
Carter: I pinky promise I will ravish you so much this week that you won’t be able to overthink.
Pres: I pinky promise I’ll bring something so sexy you will need a forklift to pick your chin up off the floor.
Carter: Girl, why didn’t you just lead with that? I would’ve pinky promised my life away five minutes ago!
Pres: Just helping you with your self-control, Carter.
Carter: You’re working toward a spanking . . .
Pres: Promises, promises.
Carter: Why are we going again? Sure you don’t want to just come over and interview me tonight instead?
Pres: Is that what they’re calling it these days?
Carter: You can call it whatever you want, princess.
Pres: Self. Control.
Carter: Fine. See you in the morning.
Pres: Night, Mr. Stand-In.
Carter: Night, Miss Moneybags.
Pres: Who’s getting the spanking now?
Carter: Promises, promises . . .
Presley:
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Carter
“I’M REALLY GONNA miss her,” I said, scratching Baby Yoda’s favorite spot.
“There will be others. I promise,” Dex reassured me.
“Shh,” I said, “not in front of her.”
Dex laughed.
“So, have you heard from Lauren and Richard? How are they doing on their honeymoon?”
“Yeah, it kinda got cut short. They’re actually coming back tonight.”
“Man, that’s too bad,” I said. “How come? Everything all right?”
“Yeah, just some work stuff. We opened a few charitable organizations, and the legal side’s been a bear, especially in terms of structuring the way we manage and allocate contributions. Richard’s creating a whole new finance group just for that division of Montague Enterprises, so there’s no questions about our ethics, and everything’s transparent. You know how bad things were when I first took it over from my father.”
