The Sisterhood Promise

by Susan Hatler

  His slow grin again reappeared, one corner of his mouth hitching up higher than the other. “I’ll tell you . . . if you take a walk on the beach with me.”

  “That’s blackmail,” I said, tempted to say yes.

  He leaned toward me, so close I could feel his breath against my cheek. “No, blackmail is when you use something against someone. You’d win on both counts if you come on that stroll.”

  Ugh, he was so infuriating. And I hated how badly I wanted to go with him. So, I took a meaningful step back. “You know what? I don’t have time for this. I have a business to run, and now I have to work extra hard to make my boss happy, thanks to you being here next door.”

  He straightened, gripping the door with his hand. “Sorry for the inconvenience, lovely lady. Maybe we’ll run into each other again under better circumstances.”

  “Good-bye, Brody.” I spun on my heel, striding away as fast as I could, fuming at his nerve. Why did he keep asking me to spend time with him? Didn’t he understand the word no? How could I have let my curiosity get the best of me? How embarrassing.

  Plus, his refusal to tell me made me want to know his story now more than ever. So pathetic. I replayed our conversation in my head, wondering if there had been anything more I could’ve done to keep them away for Greta’s sake. As I strode back toward the mansion with what I hoped looked like a purposeful stride, I rounded the corner and stopped short.

  Across the lawn, one of the women from our retreat, Amy, was chatting with a shirtless guy I recognized from the volleyball match. The way she was flipping her hair and swatting his arm playfully let me know that they weren’t discussing Men: Who Needs Them?

  Panic flooded through me, I swung my gaze around wildly, and checked to see if Greta was observing this dalliance. Thankfully, she was nowhere in sight. I needed to get Amy back to the scheduled activity pronto, before Greta caught Amy flirting.

  “Amy? Amy, darling?” Greta’s voice emanated from the house. The click-click-click of her stilettos echoed on the tiled flooring from inside, growing louder. “Olivia, have you seen Amy?”

  I cringed and hustled to break up the couple. How would I keep the women separated from the guys next door for the next two weeks? Of equal importance, how would I keep my thoughts from drifting to the sexy bartender I shouldn’t be thinking about?

  Chapter Four

  I could hear the waves through the open window before I even opened my eyes. The cool morning air was heavy with the briny, salty scent of the sea. In my foggy haze, still cozy and warm, wrapped in the quilt on my bed, I felt the most delicious tingling in my limbs as I replayed the dream I’d just had.

  I was strolling down the beach with the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. He stood tall and broad-shouldered with sun-kissed skin, golden hair, and twinkling blue eyes—the quintessential California surfer hottie. Our hands were intertwined as we walked the line between the sand and the surf. I could actually feel the misty spray of the ocean as cold waves tumbled over our bare feet.

  The corner of the man’s mouth hitched up in a mischievous way I couldn’t resist, so I gazed up at him and asked, “What’s the real reason you were tending bar at Scotty’s?”

  “I knew you’d still want to know the answer, lovely lady.” He caught me around the waist and lifted me up, swinging me in a circle. Then he set me down, and laughed. “I’ll only tell you if you give me a kiss.”

  My heart thudded in my chest and I zeroed in on Brody’s confident expression, as if he knew just how badly I wanted to take him up on his offer. Oh, no. I was dreaming about Brody Mitchell! Even in my dreamy-haze, his grin rose as he leaned toward me—

  I jolted upright in bed. I gasped, pressing my hands over my mouth. I peered over at Janine’s bed only four feet away, relieved to see that she still slept soundly.

  How could I dream about the sexy bartender next door while I was attending an independent women’s retreat led by my role model? Hello, hypocrite subconscious? Dream about Olivia’s Occasions appearing on every morning news show, or something equally awesome.

  Sinking back into bed, I lay my hand across my forehead. I felt a heated flush all over from my dream. That sexy grin of his got me every time. Ugh! I had to get my head back in the game. Greta would know if I wasn’t one hundred percent onboard with her and The Date Escape retreat. I worried she had a sixth sense about that sort of thing.

  Admittedly, Brody Mitchell was hot. And okay, his grin did amazing things to my belly. But I did not need to lose myself in another man who would just let me down. Was that what Greta von Strand would do? No way. I needed to focus on what I really wanted for me as a successful woman: to build my business into something that would make me proud.

  Greta was my ticket to that goal, so I had to make the next two weeks run as smoothly and seamlessly as possible. I needed to anticipate Greta’s every move and meet her every demand.

  My mind drifted to Brody again, and how he’d leaned close to me while standing in his doorway. I groaned and pulled the covers up tight against my neck. How had a mere mortal looked that amazing with his shirt off? In my dream, I’d run my hands over those taut muscles and they’d felt warm and firm under my fingertips, too. Shiver. What would it hurt to take one innocent walk along the beach with him?

  I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head against my pillow. I couldn’t keep doing this to myself. The logical part of my brain told me to block all thoughts of Brody, but my traitorous subconscious just couldn’t let him go. With another moan, I swung my legs out of the bed and headed for the bathroom. I needed a cold shower, though I doubted that could erase the heat caused by that hottie next door.

  An hour later, I was downstairs in the dining room ready to greet the women, and discuss the itinerary for the next two weeks. Greta wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The ladies began arriving in pairs moments later. Amy bounced into the room, and I thought again of how she’d flirted with that guy next door. I’d reminded her that this retreat was about being independent of men, which obviously didn’t include flirting with them, and I just hoped she stayed away from Brody’s work buddy. Amy had agreed, but she’d rolled her eyes at the same time. Not exactly a promising response.

  Amy helped herself to scrambled eggs and a carrot-cake muffin from the spread on the sideboard, then gave me a peppy smile. “Are all those guys next door supposed to be a challenge for us or something? They sure are hunky. It’s like a house full of male models.”

  I tapped my cheek at the concept.

  Charlie strode into the dining room right as Amy had asked the question. With those almond-brown eyes, she met my gaze and we shared a secret smile that reminded me of our friendship in high school.

  I shook my head. “The guys are on some kind of co-worker getaway. We should pretend they aren’t there and focus on ourselves.”

  If only my subconscious could follow my own advice.

  Charlie lifted a plate, reached for an oatmeal muffin, then glanced over me. “Greta left late last night, and I haven’t seen her since. I wanted to talk to her, though. Any idea where she is?”

  I choked on my coffee and covered my mouth. “I’m sure she’ll be along soon,” I said, stamping down the panic I felt. Greta had left? Why? I hoped she hadn’t gone off to find my replacement. “She’s a busy woman and must’ve had business to attend to, or something.”

  With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I excused myself, and hurried to the kitchen where I whipped out my phone and texted Greta: A guest is asking for you. Will you be here soon?

  I hit SEND, then stared at the screen, willing her reply to come quickly. No such luck.

  Panic rose inside me and my pulse sped. I thought of a line from Men: Who Needs Them?: A confident woman maintains control in every situation.

  When Greta returned, she’d see my itinerary for the retreat, and my organizational skills would convince her that I was the right person to host these retreats. Today would run so smoothly she’d have no choice but to sing my
praises to everyone she knew. Now, all I had to do was convince the women to participate in every activity and keep the men next door as far away from my guests as possible. How hard could that be? I gulped the rest of my coffee.

  After everyone finished breakfast, I invited them into the living room, so we could talk about the itinerary. A woman named Erin raised her hand. Her auburn curls were up in a messy bun, and she wore rimless glasses. Finally, someone who looked serious about this retreat.

  I threw her an appreciative look. “Yes, Erin?”

  She twirled a loose curl around her finger. “I was thinking we should be good neighbors and invite the guys next door over for a cookout or something. They seemed really friendly.”

  I silently counted to ten, feeling thankful Greta hadn’t been here to hear Erin’s suggestion. But where was Greta? I’d texted her three times. What if she was picking up my replacement from the airport? Piper Lewis would have a field day after I’d bragged about this retreat.

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Thanks for the suggestion, Erin. But we won’t have time for cookouts with the neighbors. We’ll be too busy focusing on ourselves and each other. Greta and I have planned a fun, action-packed two weeks for all of you. There will be readings and discussion from Men: Who Needs Them?, journaling our thoughts, yoga in the exercise room, and every few days we’ll head out for an amazing adventure. Today, we’re going deep-sea fishing. Over the next two weeks, we’ll also be visiting a day spa, learning to change the tire on our car, horseback riding, and making a bonfire on the beach.”

  Just as I finished speaking, I heard the front door slam shut. Greta. Janine gave me a look then scampered out of the room, wearing a look of distress. Maybe she realized if I got canned, she likely would too.

  An exotic-looking woman with jet-black hair, named Isabel, raised her hand.

  “Yes, Isabel?” I infused as much enthusiasm into my voice as I could, and hoped Greta could hear how I totally had things under control in here.

  She hugged a hardback copy of Greta’s book to her chest. “You said no to the cookout, but could we invite the guys next door to do some of the activities with us? Now that would be a fun adventure.”

  I flinched, knowing Greta must’ve heard Isabel’s question. “That’s not what The Date Escape is about, remember? We’re here for three things: one, to focus on our independence from men; two, to focus on ourselves. Remember, you’ll be journaling about your goals for things like career and health, or life in general; and three, we’re here to focus on friendships with each other, with other women, not with men.”

  A few of the women nodded, but Amy, Erin, and Isabel looked crestfallen.

  “You each signed up for The Date Escape for a personal reason, and today is the first day to focus on the new you. By the end of this retreat you’ll feel stronger and more confident, like the independent woman you are.” I’d used my best motivational tone, and it may just have worked. “All right, ladies. It’s time to gather your things for our day on the boat. We leave for our fishing expedition in exactly two hours.”

  As the women left to get ready, Greta stood in the back of the room, crooking her finger at me. “Olivia, come here please. I need to talk to you for a moment.”

  My stomach churned and I swallowed hard, determined to put on a brave face. I forced a smile, and when I got close to her, I said, “Well, I think the morning went very well. The ladies will enjoy the boat excursion, for sure.”

  Greta waved a hand dismissively, and her facial muscles went tight, the vein on her temple throbbing. “I’ve been researching the house next door, and it belongs to Scotty Mitchell. He owns Scotty’s Seafood Restaurant in town. Do you know the place?”

  My bottom lip nearly dropped to the floor as my brain fought to recall what Brody had said about the owner of the house. “He . . . uh . . .”

  She made a face at my unintelligible response, then stepped closer. “You can’t know this, but Scotty Mitchell was the last man to break my heart. The demise of our relationship inspired my mega bestseller, Men: Who Needs Them? Apparently he loaned his mansion to his nephew for the next two weeks. It’s like he’s still out to torture me.”

  Scotty Mitchell had broken Greta’s heart?

  “That’s, um, not good,” I said, remembering that Brody had said his uncle let him use his house for their getaway. So Scotty was Brody’s uncle? Oh, great.

  Greta placed her manicured hand on my arm. “You’ve never met this nephew before, right? Because if you had met him before and had anything to do with this, then I’d have to fire you immediately.”

  Every nerve in my body froze, and I drew in a nervous breath. Lie or not lie? Before I could weigh the options, my mouth opened and words came out. “I understand completely, Greta. We women need to stick together, chapter nine, ‘Back-up Buddies,’ and if I’d known about this Scotty Mitchell or his nephew, I’d have come to you straight away.” Not a total lie since I didn’t know Brody, just a little harmless flirting with him in the bar was all.

  “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Her eyes narrowed, sending lasers at me. “Now, I need to know. . . What do you plan to do about this situation?”

  As Greta stared at me, the churning in my stomach intensified and I thought I might hurl. There was no way I could’ve anticipated a harmless little flirtation at a restaurant bar might ruin my career before it even had a chance to take off. Pressure built up inside me and my temples throbbed. Before thinking it through, I blurted the first thing that came to mind, “Actually, I think having the men next door will be a good thing for our retreat.”

  “What? What are you saying?” Greta spluttered.

  I started pacing, thinking, then held my palm up. “Hear me out. Any woman can be independent on her own, right? That’s a no brainer. What will prove our independence from men is if we can resist temptation. The guys next door will be lame ducks against the strength of The Date Escape women. We’ll make them rue the day Scotty Mitchell broke your heart!”

  My stomach clenched. What in the world was I talking about? There was no way Greta would buy any of this. My beloved business was moments away from destruction.

  Greta’s face contorted in anger, then in frustration, but then, suddenly, her eyes lit up. “Of course, that’s brilliant. You’re absolutely right. We will prove our strength and independence by resisting temptation. The men need to be at all of our outings.” She smiled sweetly at me, then patted my shoulder. “Set it up, darling.”

  With that, Greta turned and strode away. I stood rooted in place, jaw practically unhinged, gaping after her. A cool breeze blew my bangs into my eyes and I brushed them away, turning to stare at the neighbor’s mansion.

  What had I just done? Sure, I’d saved my job. Well, it seemed secure for the moment, anyway. You never knew with Greta’s mood swings. But I had to go crawling back to Brody Mitchell after the cold way I’d acted toward him. Ugh. There was no way around interacting with him now. I’d do everything in my power to become a strong, independent woman, even if that meant asking the hot guy next door, who I’d rejected multiple times, for a favor.

  Chapter Five

  I crossed the lawn toward the Mitchell mansion next door, and my stomach bubbled with worry. After the way I’d treated Brody, there was little to no chance that he and his buddies would agree to come to our outings unless I thought of some humiliating way to redeem myself. Why had I opened my big mouth to Greta about having the men join us?

  By the time I got to Brody’s front door, I’d managed to convince myself I’d been in the “right” before. If Brody had told me he was Scotty’s nephew to begin with, instead of acting all sexy and mysterious then I wouldn’t be in this mess. Resolved, I pressed hard on the doorbell, determined to stay professional and make things right with Greta.

  Unfortunately, no one answered the door. I rang the bell again to no avail. I heaved a sigh of frustration, then scooted around the house to see if Brody might be on their deck. Nope, this too wa
s deserted. Short of breaking into the house, I wasn’t sure what to do. We were leaving to go out on the boat in an hour. I was ready to scream in frustration when I heard shouts and whoops from down on the beach. I hurried toward the stairs, and looked down to the beach to see a group of men surfing.

  Some shirtless. Some upright. Some paddling. Some with short-sleeved wetsuits. Biceps bulging with each and every stroke. I knew we were at the beach, but did we have to see so much bare muscled skin? Sigh.

  Leaning on the rough wood railing, I squinted down at the beach trying to spot Brody. I contemplated asking one of the other guys for the favor, but Brody seemed to be their leader since it was his uncle’s house and all.

  With each step I took down the stairs, I felt a distinct quiver in my stomach roiling like the pounding surf. I couldn’t deny I felt excitement at seeing Brody again. Whatever. Not like it was a crime to be attracted to a hot guy. I certainly wasn’t going to act on my annoying feelings. When I got to the last step, I slipped off my heels before plunging my feet into the cold sand. The second the granules rubbed against my feet, I sighed with delight at the familiar feel.

  I’d always loved my small town of Blue Moon Bay. When was the last time I’d come to the beach just to enjoy the sand and the waves? To hang with friends? I honestly couldn’t remember.

  Just as I was about to wonder if Brody was even down on the beach, I recognized him lying face down on his board in the water. Droplets of water glinted off his arms as he paddled hard, a large wave creeping up behind him.

  Seconds later, he popped up on his surfboard, catching the wave. He remained comfortably balanced like surfing was no big thing, whereas I would’ve fallen off backward for sure.

  I strolled closer, watching, almost mesmerized by his skill. His hair was slicked back from his face, and his expression held a look of pure joy. The black wetsuit he wore clung to his muscled chest and powerful thighs.