by Raine Miller
“Your brother’s home sounds lovely, but I can assure you we don’t have much in common as far as the island goes.”
Was that sarcasm in her voice?
“What do you mean?” I sensed displeasure, and doubt had started to creep in to kill the happy buzz I’d had when we first started this conversation.
“Not everyone who lives on the island has a mansion with a private beach, Caleb. In fact, most of the permanent residents struggle to find work that will keep them housed and fed year-round. The tourist trade is seasonal, and it’s a very different reality for the rest of us who don’t live on the western shores.”
“Oh . . . where do you live?” I asked hesitantly.
“In my grandmother’s cottage on the hill above Fairchild Light, where there are no private beaches and no estates. And no job for a woman who gave thirty-five years of her life working for one of those fine west-side mansions before they closed it down and dismissed everyone.”
“That’s a terrible thing to do. Was that your grandmother who worked for them?”
“Yes, she was in charge of the housekeeping and general management of the house.”
“I’m so sorry to hear she lost her job.”
“Why? It’s not your fault, Caleb. You can’t help it if your family is west-side and mine is south-end.”
Awkward silence stretched out between us and I wasn’t sure how to respond. Brooke took care of it and saved me from having to think of something to say.
“Listen, that was rude of me and I apologize for the rant. I forgot myself for a moment, sorry. I do want to thank you for the beautiful flowers. They really are so lovely, and I don’t think I’ll ever look at a meatball in quite the same way again.”
“You’re very welcome for the flowers, and please feel free to think of me whenever you see a meatball. I am so honored.”
She laughed but it wasn’t the same as the first time. The magic had gone and been replaced by something vaguely unpleasant.
“Good-bye, Caleb.”
“Take care, Brooke.”
I sat on my ass and pondered where that conversation had taken a wrong turn. Because it most certainly had. Was I attracted to her only because she was beautiful and spoke with a sexy accent that turned me on? Had I indulged in preconceived ideas about her because she appeared so confident and intelligent? Had I evaluated her status and assumed she came from money because of where she lived and because she worked in a professional office? And had I believed that would be the only necessary criteria to continue my pursuit?
I didn’t think I’d done any of those things, but maybe subconsciously I had. I couldn’t recall what I’d thought when I discovered she lived on the island, but it never occurred to me she might be—what—poor? I didn’t think about it at all because such an idea wasn’t in the scope of my realm. I dealt in money, and making sure that money grew into even more money. Poor wasn’t part of my vernacular, and it never had been. Never would be.
I was guilty of letting my dick lead me again. A pretty girl had caught my attention because she spoke in an oh-so-sexy English accent. I must be losing my goddamn mind. Wake up, fuckhead, and pull yourself together.
I texted James to see if he wanted to meet for lunch. I still needed to get the recap on Janice and maybe hanging with my bestie would straighten my stupid ass out.
October
“YOUR suit came back from the cleaners with a note. He can’t get the stains out, and since the fabric is gray, they still show. Something in the cocktail sauce makes the stain set permanently he said.” Victoria held my Brioni Colosseo on a hanger underneath a dry-cleaning bag. “What do you want me to do with it?”
“Donate it to charity I guess. Someone must be able to make use of a five-thousand-dollar suit stained with cocktail sauce.” I wondered how long it would be before Brooke’s dipshit catering manager came calling for the cleaning bill for the rest of them. “Anything else?”
“A guy named Martin called and said he needs to talk to you about damages you agreed to pay for an event he catered.”
Bingo. I could predict this shit like clockwork. “Let me guess—several light-colored suits need to be replaced because the stains are permanent.”
“He mentioned seven or eight suits, yes. It was hard to follow his explanation to be honest. Something about the enzyme in the horseradish, blah, blah, blah,” Victoria said with a shrug.
“I don’t want to talk to that asshole. Just tell him to collect the claims with the receipts and send them over, and I’ll see they are paid.”
“I’ll tell him.” She walked out of my office with the dry-cleaning plastic covering my favorite-but-now-ruined suit fluttering behind her.
If all those suits combined came in at a dime under fifty grand, I’d be surprised. Yeah, well, a promise was a promise, and my word was good. I’d said I’d cover damages, and eight ruined designer suits certainly constituted as damages. Fucking waste of good money. It wasn’t the damages being out of my pocket that bothered me really, it was the cause of the whole thing—an arrogant prick taking advantage of a nice girl just because she was pretty and he’d decided he wanted to fuck her.
That was how it went down. I was there. I saw everything happen almost as if it were in slow motion. If Brooke had just taken Aldrich’s abuse, as he assumed she would, then no flying shrimp, no ruined suits, no damages—just another example of SOP in the after-hours corporate world. The number of hits she’d received that night alone were proved in the business cards she’d tossed at the feet of her shithead boss. That must be a horrible thing to have to put up with while you’re trying to do your job. She shouldn’t be in that situation at all. I wished I’d never gone to that fucking reception in the first place.
And I wouldn’t know her name was Brooke, or that she lived on the island with her grandmother, or that she needed a second job because she didn’t make enough money at Harris & Goode as an interior designer to pay the bills. Oh, I’d had plenty of time to think about Brooke over the last few weeks. The things she’d said to me on the phone. How much she resented the people who had fired her grandmother. The regret in her apology when she realized she’d said too much to the wrong person. And maybe even the same disappointment I’d felt when we both realized our little attraction—or whatever the fuck it was—wouldn’t be going anywhere because we came from different sides of the tracks.
I’d gone to the Starbucks twice, hoping I might bump into her accidently.
No sign of her.
I’d come close to calling just so I could hear her voice again, but what would I say? “Your voice is so sexy I get hard like a teenage boy when you speak. Wanna go out with me?” She already suspected me for a stalker, and it would barely put me above Aldrich if you really got down to the brass tacks of what I wanted from her. And what in the mother fuck was that exactly?
I don’t think I’d yet figured out what I wanted from Brooke. Sex? To be her boyfriend? Something even more than that? I’d only cared about the sex in the past. Oh, I’d love to take my time with her in bed, and I’m sure it would be spectacular, but for the first time since I could remember, sex was not my main motivation. Why the fuck was that? What made Brooke unique in that way? Why was Brooke so tantalizing to me I couldn’t get her out of my head?
I remembered something else, too, and I suspected it was a biggie. What she’d said to Aldrich right after she broke his nose. “You put your hands on me. Nobody does that and gets away with it anymore.”
It made me crazy that Brooke had been hurt badly by some guy in the past. Who the fuck would touch her with anything other than respect? Adoration? The fuckwit certainly hadn’t deserved her. Did I? Was it important to me that I deserve her? I’d never had to entertain that thought before and it confused me. I didn’t really have a handle on what I was doing in regards to Brooke . . . at all.
Taking time I really didn’t have, I considered my options.
And then I called my brother Lucas.
“Cal
eb, long time, no talk. To what do I owe—”
“Lucas, who is the girl named Brooke with an English accent living on the island with her grandmother?”
“Umm . . . bro, don’t you remember Ellen Casterley, the housekeeper at Blackwater? She worked there for our whole life.”
“Ellen Casterley, our sweet British housekeeper, is her grandmother?” I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up.
“Yeees. Brooke came to live with Mrs. Casterley after her parents were killed in London. Brooke was like fifteen at the time, and it was kind of big news on the island. I remember everybody talking about it—why don’t you know this?”
“That’s a fucking good question, little brother. When did this happen?”
“Oh, probably eight or so years ago. Sylvie, my housekeeper, would be the one to ask if you want better details. Sylvie and Mrs. Casterley are good friends, and she knows Brooke very well.”
I did the math. That would make Brooke twenty-three now. Eight years ago I was twenty-three, and I don’t remember visiting the island for holidays. I hadn’t been around when Brooke came to live with her grandmother. “Okay, but why would Brooke say Blackwater was closed and all of the staff dismissed? That’s not true.”
A long pause preceded the heavy sigh from my brother on the other end of my phone, and I knew something was terribly wrong. “Caleb, do you ever speak to Mom? She closed it down nearly two years ago when Dad got sick. The place is boarded up and for sale. When a buyer comes along, it’s gone.”
“No. No way would Dad ever allow Blackwater to be sold off from the family holdings. He loved it there.”
“When was the last time you were at Blackwater?” My brother’s question felt like a metal spike in my heart. He was right. Our father had loved it there. And we’d enjoyed our summer holidays there when we were kids. But then we grew up and lost interest. Or maybe it was just me who lost interest and never went back.
Too fucking long ago.
“How do you feel about putting your clueless brother up for the weekend in your fancy beach house?”
“Plenty of empty rooms for you to choose from, Clueless Brother. You taking your chopper or do you need me to send mine over there to get you?”
“Funny. I always take my own chopper, asshole.”
Caleb
Victoria, can you bring me the files for the Blackwater estate? I want everything: property tax records, payroll, employee pension payouts, back through ten years.”
“You want me to request copies through your mother’s office?”
“My mother’s office? No, I want the original files on everything.” Mom retained a separate business office for her own personal interests and private accounts apart from the family holdings. I’d never questioned it before because my father set it all up for her, and it was basically keeping with the status quo after he died. I’d been so overwhelmed since I’d had to step up to take over the bulk of Dad’s business when he got sick, that I’d not paid attention to what seemed insignificant at the time. Funny how the passage of time can change that.
But was a historic property that had been in my family for generations insignificant? It shouldn’t be. My father loved it and I couldn’t imagine him wanting it sold to strangers. He would have wanted his kids to enjoy it with their young families. Families. None of us were even married yet, or had families of our own. But some day we would. My sister, Willow, was the closest in line for kids since she was already engaged. To a guy who taught history at Brown University, and I’d only met one time. One time. Dad sure as hell would’ve met him more than once if he were still alive. Put the family first, Caleb. I decided I needed to get a little more involved with my family.
A pang of regret hit me hard right in the chest as I realized my dad would never know a single grandchild from any of his five children. What kind of legacy was that to pass down if the family estate was sold off before he was barely cold in his grave? Christ, my mother was a piece of work. She’d never said a word to me about it.
“I’ll go down and see Myrna in the file room and she can point me in the right direction hopefully. You know ten years is going to be a lot of files, Caleb.”
“I realize that. Box them by year and have Spence help you get them up here to my office. He can line the boxes under the window.”
“And when Myrna wants to know why we’re emptying her file room?” she asked.
“Good point. Just tell Myrna we need them for an internal audit because the property is looking for a buyer. I don’t want my mom to know, okay?”
Victoria nodded once and that was our code for, “Got it, boss,” which was just another reason why she was an excellent PA. She was all business with no drama, but most of all, I could trust her. “Victoria,” I called her back as she was almost out the door, “did you—did you know Blackwater was up for sale?”
“Yes.” Her dark-blue eyes were full of compassion for me. That feeling a person gets when they understand you are the last to know what is really going on, and feel sorry for you. “My parents mentioned it to me a while back.”
“What did they say?” I needed to know.
“That it was a shame for such a magnificent place as Blackwater to go to people who wouldn’t have the connection to the island.”
“Your parents are right.” Blackwater wasn’t going to go to strangers. I knew that much. It might be sold, though . . .
To me.
“I also need Spence to get the chopper ready for seven tonight, so set that up with him, please. I’m staying with Lucas this weekend and visiting Blackwater for myself.”
“Lucas,” she said quickly, “tell him—please tell him I said . . . hi.”
That was weird. Victoria always kept her emotions in check, but seeing she’d just lost that careful composure the second I mentioned my brother’s name meant something was going on. Lucas was a touchy subject for a few people. His twin, Wyatt, and our mother were at the top of that short list. I stayed out of it since it wasn’t my battle.
“Will do, Victoria,” I said with a smile—something I rarely gave, but sensed she needed right now. Which just goes to show I’m not always an asshole.
IN the car I had time to ponder, and more importantly, to digest, what I’d learned about the Blackwater estate and its management. Much of it didn’t sit well with me, with the most disturbing revelation being the letting go of employees who had no retirement compensation in place. How had that been allowed to happen? I was still in disbelief over what I’d discovered in those files. My father had never been mercenary like that. He took care of his people, and loyalty was always rewarded generously. There hadn’t even been any health insurance. It took some major self-control on my part to keep from confronting my mother, but I managed to hold myself back.
All I could hear was Brooke. “And no job for a woman who gave thirty-five years of her life working for one of those fine west-side mansions before they closed it down and dismissed everyone.” Every ounce of her bitterness justifiable. Mrs. Casterley deserved so much more than what she’d received. It was now on me to fix it.
“Isaac, take me to Harris & Goode on Hereford Street.”
“Yes, sir. Will you be wanting Starbucks as well?”
“Not this time. I need to engage the services of an interior designer.”
It was just after five o’clock on a Friday so traffic was all jacked up. People were hurrying to get a head start on the weekend and to beat the rain, which couldn’t decide if it wanted to piss down or not. Isaac stopped at a red light on the corner of Massachusetts and Newbury, and in the twisting mass of humanity crossing the street . . . I saw her for the third time in my life.
Brooke.
Brooke whose last name I didn’t even know yet.
Beautiful Brooke walking full-on in my direction, toward what I guessed would be the Convention Center T stop. From there she would take the train to get off at Aquarium, where the ferries transferred people and cars to the different outlyin
g stops: Cape Cod, Provincetown, and Blackstone Island being the main destinations. I had a perfectly clear view of her, too.
I didn’t have to worry about being caught staring because of the window tint. Thank fuck for window tint.
So I enjoyed every second of her walk across the street right in front of me, from her approach, to her passing the car, to her retreat.
My heart pounded mercilessly as I devoured her. Completely and utterly devoured every detail I could see of the girl who had infected me with desire from the first moment I laid eyes on her, and then sealed the deal when she spoke to me in her beautiful, sultry voice.
Her hair was down again, but this time she had on a soft black hat. She stood out in the crowd because of the baby-pink military jacket she wore, with the same high black boots over tight-fitting leather pants. Brooke possessed goddamn amazing legs. Legs I wanted to have wrapped around me with my hands free to touch the rest of her. I’d kiss every inch of those legs first before I moved on to the part where we fucked good and sl—
No, not fucked because it wouldn’t be like that with her. Would it? I didn’t want it to be . . . I was so confused about what I wanted at this point; I’d talked myself out of pursuing her several times already just to shelve that plan the second I saw her walking across the street.
Jesus Christ, I was in major powerful lust with this girl. Lust? It was a different feeling for me, though. It wasn’t like the lust for sex I’d known in the past. It was more of a need. A raw, unfiltered, almost frightening need—that quite honestly scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I couldn’t explain why, but I felt like I just needed her. Brooke was like a breath of fresh air into my very narrowly constrained life. Refined, yet not haughty. Strong, but wielding her strength with a careful sense of purpose. Fiery, but not with anger, just wickedly intelligent sass on the tip of her tongue ready to fly. Someone who knew who she was, but not through entitlement and prestige. In other words, a complete anomaly in my world.
