by Lori Borrill
Why hadn’t he stopped her from leaving when he had the chance? Or at the very least, why hadn’t he had the self-awareness to admit that he hadn’t been in a position to discuss their relationship when she’d stormed into his office? Her timing had been horrible. He’d been inundated with threats by Phil and concerned calls by the board, and every news media outlet in California had been harassing him for quotes. She’d caught him in the throes of shock, fear and anger, and though he’d tried to shut his mouth and keep from saying something he’d regret, in the end it was what he hadn’t said that had done the most damage.
Regardless, he needed to find a way to fix this, to settle the turbulence that had taken over his conscience the moment he’d met Rachel Winston. He needed clarity. And most of all, he needed to understand why, as he stood in this lobby and surveyed everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish, not a stitch of it mattered to him anymore.
The walkie-talkie on his belt sounded with the crackling voice of Kyle in maintenance, no doubt needing a management decision on something involving the conference. But instead of answering it, he handed it to Brett. “Handle this.”
Brett stared at the device as if it was kryptonite. “What are you talking about?”
Reaching out and grabbing Brett’s wrist, he placed it in his hand. “Kyle needs something. I’m busy. You take it.”
“It’s a conference. I don’t do—”
“You do now.”
Then Marc took out his pager and cell phone and handed those to Brett, as well. “I’m taking the afternoon off. You’re officially in charge.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
Marc started walking toward the front lobby doors, tossing over his shoulder, “You’ll figure it out.”
And with Brett stuttering objections, Marc pulled off his suit jacket, threw it on a nearby chair and stepped through the double glass doors into the hot afternoon.
Warm air spilled over him as he walked the length of the carport, stopping at the edge of the shaded terrace and taking a moment to contemplate where he wanted to go. He rolled up his sleeves as he watched the airport shuttles and taxis pull up to the drive and drop off carloads of business travelers coming in for the conference. He stood on the sidelines observing them, reminding himself that when he was young and dreaming about running a resort, those dreams hadn’t involved catering to large corporate functions. Events like these were a lot of work and they offered little reward other than financial profit. But Marc hadn’t gone into this business to become a rich man. He’d wanted to connect with people, to bring families together and help them make the most of the time they spent together. Staring out over the bustle of arrivals, no doubt many of them were here to get away from their families. Yet Marc would still be spending the next four days working twelve-hour shifts to accommodate them.
He sighed and crossed the grounds, walking down the stone pathway around the main building toward the suites and the plaza beyond. Was this really everything he’d ever wanted?
He reflected on the times Rachel had insinuated that it wasn’t. It was one of the reasons he’d been both intrigued by her yet put off at the same time. She had an ability to see straight through him, to cut straight to the conflict in his life and note all the places where his carefully laid-out plans didn’t jibe with the life he said he’d wanted. And instead of being open to what she’d said, he’d shut it out, too stubborn and bullheaded to consider the thought that somewhere in the pursuit of his dreams he might have gotten it all wrong.
He passed one of the four swimming pools on the grounds. This particular pool was set up like an island lagoon, edged with large boulders and waterfalls and surrounded by palms. Miguel ran the poolside bar here, and though Marc knew the man well, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually sat and enjoyed a drink. He recalled the time he’d first set eyes on this spot, thinking how great it would be to stand on one of those boulders and dive into the cool water on a hot day.
He’d never done it once.
Crossing to the plaza, he stopped to really look at what he’d built here over the past three years. He’d spent so many years working for this, tirelessly calling in every favor he could, squeezing out every connection he’d ever made to pull together the partnership to buy Clearwater Springs. A huge chunk of his life was here in these stones, poured into this earth and etched into the bricks and tiles and wood he’d so carefully restored.
Could he actually consider walking away from it all?
A month ago a thought like that would have been dismissed as ludicrous. In fact, he would have laughed it off as absurd right up to a week ago when he thought he’d lost it all. But when the dust had settled and he’d stopped being ruled by his fears, he realized he wanted Rachel more than he wanted this resort. And he didn’t just want her back here with him. He wanted her with him sharing a life that offered something even more.
Stepping over to one of the refreshment carts, he bought a bottle of water and took a seat on a bench next to an elderly gentleman who was sitting alone in the shade.
“Enjoying your stay?” he asked the man, needing a distraction, if only momentarily.
The old man nodded. “Yes, yes. It’s a very nice place.”
Marc held out a hand. “I’m Marc Strauss. I run the resort.”
The man smiled and accepted it. “Hank Short.”
“You here with family?”
Hank repositioned his long frame, crossing his legs and throwing an arm over the back of the bench so that he was facing Marc. “My granddaughter wants to get married here. She’s brought the whole crew. I think it’s a reconnaissance mission to get us all to pay for it. Both she and my daughter have been working me and the wife since they announced the engagement.”
Marc chuckled. “If they get their way, we’ll make sure to make it worth your money.”
Hank grinned, his friendly brown eyes and wide mouth bringing a smile to Marc’s face and easing some of the heaviness in his chest.
“I don’t doubt that,” Hank said. “This is a beautiful spot of land here.”
“We work hard on it.”
The two made casual conversation as they rested in the shade. Apparently, most of Hank’s family had gone off with one of Paige’s assistants to discuss the various options Clearwater Springs offered for hosting weddings. And while Hank’s family busied themselves with the details, he’d opted to spend the afternoon relaxing on the plaza.
“I spent forty years on my feet,” Hank said. “Now, I only get up when I absolutely have to.”
Marc laughed. “What did you do on your feet for forty years?”
“I was a supply sergeant for the army until ’57. Then I spent the next thirty years as a doorman for the Beverly Hills Hilton.”
“No kidding.”
Marc listened intently as Hank told stories of his years with the Hilton, keeping Marc rapt with tales of Hank’s experiences there and the people he’d come across, from celebrities to politicians to mobsters. The man had led a fascinating life, and Marc so enjoyed the tales that he hadn’t realized an hour had gone by before Hank’s family tracked him down.
They stood and made introductions, and Marc shook the hands of Hank’s family and chatted with them for a few moments. And when they took off for dinner, Marc sat down and came face-to-face with what it was that had been wrong with his equation. This was the one piece of the puzzle he hadn’t factored when he was putting together his prospectus, wooing investors and slaving to get this resort on the map. The intangible part of his dream that he hadn’t been able to put on paper, but that Rachel had seen so clearly. Time.
Time and freedom and independence. The ability to do what he wanted, when he wanted, instead of being chained to the job and a foreman for a board who only cared about the bottom line.
He thought back to all the things Rachel had said to him over the weeks that she’d been here, starting with that very first time they’d made love in her bed. He’d shared with her his drea
ms, talked about his goals and what he’d set out to accomplish, and each time she’d looked at him quizzically as if she couldn’t reconcile what he was saying with what he was doing here at Clearwater Springs.
Now, he understood that quizzical look completely. He understood all of it from his feelings for her to the missing link in his plans that controlled the power to take a good life and make it great.
So there, under the shade of the palm trees, Marc stared out over everything he’d built and came up with a new plan.
While he couldn’t change the past and the hurtful way he’d treated Rachel, he could change the future. And if he played his cards right, he might be able to talk her into giving him another chance, and in the process, offer her something even better than the short slice of paradise they’d shared here together.
16
RACHEL STEPPED FROM her closet into her bedroom and held up a cashmere sweater. “I forgot to ask my mom what the weather is like in Italy. Do you think I’ll need sweaters?”
Her friend Pamela was spread across the couch thumbing through the latest Vogue magazine. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re packing any clothes at all. You’re going to Italy. Pack an overnight bag with the essentials then buy all new when you get there.” She pointed her French manicured fingernail toward Rachel’s sweater. “That’s cute, but so California. Why would you want to drag it to one of the fashion capitals of the world? That’s like showing up at Wolfgang Puck’s with a bag of Oreos.”
Rachel turned her eyes to Stefan, who was sitting at her desk clicking away at her laptop.
“Want me to look up the weather forecast?” he asked.
“No, that’s all right.”
She returned the sweater to her closet, thinking about what Pamela had said and trying to drum up excitement for the trip. Instead, she only wished she was back in Palm Springs, living the last week over again but this time getting it right.
Once again, she’d taken something good and royally screwed it up beyond repair. Yes, she’d been hurt and angry when she’d left Marc’s office. And, yes, she’d had every right to be upset with the way he’d reacted when their affair had hit the tabloids. But as was typical of her when things didn’t go her way, she couldn’t simply let a bad situation be, she had to blow it up into bits until there was nothing left to salvage.
Marc had called up and so sweetly tried to apologize, and what did she do but tear the man to shreds and slam the phone in his ear. He’d hurt her and she’d taken her opportunity to hurt him back. Hip-hip hooray for that little victory.
Except she was tired of the childish behavior and disgusted with the fact that she hadn’t matured as much as she thought she had these past few months. She really thought she’d gone beyond the foolish antics that had caused her so much trouble in the past. Apparently, she still had a lot of growing up to do.
Pulling two of her favorite skirts from her closet, she stepped back into the bedroom to pack them, telling herself that it didn’t matter. Marc had only called to apologize for the way they’d left things. He hadn’t called to profess his undying love for her, and he certainly wasn’t on the phone to beg her to come back. It was time to face the fact that they were both too messed up for a relationship—two people perfect for each other who unfortunately met at the wrong time in their lives. Marc wasn’t going to let a woman in until he’d secured his dream career, and she wouldn’t manage to keep a relationship until she learned to stop acting like a spoiled child every time she didn’t get her way.
“Oh, my God, would you cheer up?” Pamela spouted. “It’s nearly storming in here with that big cloud of gloom over your head. You’re going to Italy! You’ll be spending a month with your mother. When was the last time you two had some girl time together?”
“She has a new Italian boyfriend, apparently,” Rachel said, knowing better than to expect a lot of attention from her mother when she showed up in Milan. To Abigail, Rachel was an accessory. Always would be. In all honesty, the only reason Rachel was making the trip was to get as far away from Marc as she could, hoping maybe the distance and the change of scenery would help take him off her mind. “That’s what you need. An Italian fling. I hear the men over there are way less sexually repressed than they are in the States.”
Stefan raised a hand. “I’ll vouch for that. I dated an Italian one time. The guy was an animal.”
Pamela set down her magazine. “There you go. A hot Italian man to go with that fiery personality of yours.”
“Ha! We’d kill each other,” Rachel blurted.
“He’d be perfect for you.”
“Marc was perfect for me.”
Crap, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. She’d already spent two weeks crying on her friend’s shoulder. Pamela was beginning to lose patience, as noted by the glance she and Stefan shared.
“What?” Rachel asked, eyeing the two.
Stefan threw up his hands. “I’m not saying another word. You already know how I feel about Strauss the Louse.” Rachel frowned.
“Oh, c’mon, Rach,” Pamela said. “The guy’s a hotel manager. You can do so much better.”
“You’re dating a bartender.”
“Only until he lands his first big movie deal. Then he’ll be a world-famous actor.”
With the help of Pamela’s father, an award-winning director, no doubt.
Rachel shook her head and retreated to her closet. Yes, she hated this life, even more so now that she’d had a taste of something different. Everyone around her was shallow, self-centered and out for some sort of personal gain, up to and including her two closest friends right here in this room. Of course, they weren’t like that intentionally and certainly wouldn’t see those qualities within themselves. Pamela would never admit that her latest boyfriend was only using her for the connections, and in the end it wouldn’t matter. No doubt, Pamela would get bored with him first and move on to something new. It was just the Hollywood way, where everyone played the game and ran with it or got out.
And at this point, Rachel knew for sure she couldn’t play the game anymore. She wanted out, and if she couldn’t escape to Palm Springs, she’d have to take off to Italy and figure out where to go from there.
But Pamela had a point. Leaving town with her spirits down and her attitude in the gutter wouldn’t make for a fresh start. She needed to get excited about this trip, to start appreciating the positives like the fact that the legal battles she’d been dealing with for the past six months were finally over. She’d also severed all her commitments with her agent and the modeling firm that had employed her over the past several years. She had nothing outstanding, only a clean slate and plenty of free time. She should be looking at this as a time of renewal instead of moaning over what she’d lost.
The power of positive thinking. Accept what you can’t control and make a plan for what you can.
She’d repeated those lines to herself countless times. Now it was time to really live it.
“Oh…my…God!” Stefan cried, causing Rachel to rush to the doorway of her closet.
“Gossip-bits.com is speculating that you’re pregnant.” His eyes were wide as he stared at her computer screen.
Pamela shot out a laugh. “Can I name the baby?”
Rachel only rolled her eyes. “I told you that if you insist on scouring the Internet I don’t want to hear anything about what you find.”
“Do you know how this rumor will take off once everyone gets wind that you’ve gone abroad? They’ll be convinced you’ve gone away to have a secret baby.”
“It isn’t 1960 anymore. Women don’t run off to have secret babies, especially not in Hollywood. The bump is practically a fashion statement right now.”
“You know why this is happening,” Stefan scolded. “You refuse to give anyone an interview or make the slightest comment about your time at Clearwater Springs. It’s not like you, so everyone’s imaginations are running wild. Every magazine and celebrity news show is dying to get you to talk. If
you’d just set the record straight, everyone would take a chill pill.”
It was a lie and Rachel knew it. Stefan was only prodding her because he lived off the drama she’d always provided, and she wondered how he would manage once he got a real dose of her new life and how she intended to live it. Like it or not, he’d have to get used to the new Rachel Winston.
“I told you already, that’s out of the question. I’m done with interviews, appearances and statements to the press.” She folded a few T-shirts and set them in her suitcase. “Let them speculate all they want. I’m done talking to those vultures, and I’m especially not talking to them about Marc.” Then she added under her breath, “Besides, it’s still too fresh.”
“Rach, if you’re that crazy about the guy, go see him,” Pamela urged. “You’ve been moping around for two weeks. I’m seriously considering dumping you as my BFF. This whole downer thing is getting on my nerves.”
“Actually, I am. When I get back from Italy, I plan to visit the resort. I’ve got a number of people there I never properly said my goodbyes to, and I’m hoping by that time, I can come back without causing a media uproar.”
And maybe by that time, she’d be able to look Marc in the eye, express her regret for the way she’d spoken to him and finally put their affair to rest without hard feelings on either side. She knew she’d never feel right until she made her peace there, but right now wasn’t the time. She needed Italy, a change in scenery, a cleansing of the spirit, so to speak, before she could face the unfinished business she’d left behind.
At least, for now, that was her plan.
Her housekeeper, Annette, came to the door. “Ms. Winston, the limo is here.”
Rachel checked her watch. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time. I’ll be ready in just a moment.”
Annette nodded and left, and Rachel rushed to finish her packing while both Pamela and Stefan gathered their things and said their goodbyes.
“Like I said, if I can get away I’ll fly out and see how you’re doing,” Pamela said, pressing an air kiss toward Rachel’s left cheek.
