Gage smiled, but it almost felt angry, and then he said, “I just hadn’t heard from you.”
“I was talking to my sister,” she said. “I literally just got your text. Yes, I’m hungry. We can go to lunch.” Sheryl’s words got quieter and quieter the further from the office door she walked, and Olympia said, “Good luck, Sher,” under her breath before she got back to her very healthy lunch.
Room service at your penthouse? she texted to Chet a few hours later. I’m going to go see my mother and grandmother for a few minutes, and I’m sure everything is booked on a Friday night around here.
We could go somewhere not around here, he answered, and Olympia’s blood moved a little faster through her system. She’d love to go on an adventure with him, and she grinned at her device as her fingers flew across it.
Sure, tell me when and where to be.
You’re not working?
I’m not even at the inn. She looked up and climbed the steps to her parents’ house. Without knocking, she went inside, calling, “Ma, it’s me, Olympia.”
“In the kitchen,” her mother said, and Olympia moved through the older home that could probably use an update. Her mom turned from the counter where she stood stirring a large pitcher of lemonade.
“Grandma’s asleep,” she said, gesturing for Olympia to join her on the screened-in back porch. She did, sinking into one of the chairs that faced the ocean, a sigh leaking from her lips.
“Wow, this view.” She took the lemonade her mother poured for her with a smile and a “Thank you. Where’s Dad?”
“Oh, it’s poker night for him,” she said. “I swear, that man. If he’s not fishing, he’s golfing. And if he’s not golfing, he’s trying to beat the other sixty-five-year-old locals at cards.” She chuckled and shook her head, though she didn’t really seem upset by her husband’s activities.
“How are things at the inn?”
“Great,” Olympia said. “I tried popcorn for the movie night. It was a huge mess.”
“Oh, food in a large area always is,” her mom said. “We did Taco Tuesday one season at the inn, and it was a disaster.” She laughed and clapped her hands together. “Sometimes I really miss the inn.”
“Come on over anytime, Ma,” Olympia said, watching the joy fade from her face. “I have an extra bedroom at the penthouse.” She hoped one day that she’d be as thrilled about ground-up popcorn in the carpet as her mom seemed to be about their Taco Tuesday failure.
It was nice to know her parents had tried things that had failed too. They’d always had each other while running the inn, as they’d gotten married fairly young. Her dad had only been twenty-three and her mom twenty-one. By the time her father had taken over sole management and had the ownership transferred, Olympia was ten years old.
She could still remember working in the kitchen, running the dishes through the machine. All of her sisters had started in the same spot, and each had moved on to areas of the inn that interested them the most. Olympia had endured blistering training sessions in her late twenties and early thirties, and her father had taken a backseat role at the inn for years now.
“Oh, I can’t leave Grandma alone overnight,” her mother said. “She’s not as young as she once was. Her memory isn’t great.” She sipped her lemonade and watched the wind blow across the sand. “She fell the other day and didn’t even remember it.”
“She fell? Is she okay?”
“She’s okay. Nothing fractured or broken. I taped her pointer and middle fingers together, and she seemed good as new.” Her mom smiled. “What brings you by?”
“I’m trying to take more breaks,” Olympia said. “Get out of the inn more.”
“That place can take everything from a person,” her mother said. “Good for you for not letting it.” She reached over and patted Olympia’s hand.
Olympia basked in the compliment and squeezed her mom’s hand.
Time passed, as it did, and the surfing competition got underway without a hitch. Olympia had decided to simply start with bottled water and sunscreen out in a booth beside the towels they provided for their private beachfront. Within the first few hours, the water was gone, and Olympia was buoyed by the success.
Chet’s idea of the beach-side food service really picked up during lunch and dinner times, and their revenue for the menu overall exceeded the food and labor costs by five times. Another success.
She got to cuddle with Chet after the last pizza was served, and kiss him good-night when they were both so tired they couldn’t stand anymore.
Olympia laid in bed on Thursday night, the huge championship weekend still ahead of them, trying to tell herself not to fall too fast. Yes, Chet was wonderful. Maybe she’d started out bothered by him, but over the course of the last couple of weeks, he’d become her sweetheart.
Maybe it had been an accident. Maybe it hadn’t.
But she couldn’t go giving the man her whole heart yet. She knew this feeling, and it was more familiar than she’d like it to be.
“So go slow,” she told herself, even though spending time with Chet had become her new favorite thing to do. She just didn’t want to make the same mistakes she’d made in the past, because this thing with Chet felt like the real deal.
Of course, she’d thought that about Hunter too, and that had been a massive disaster that had set her back for years.
Chet’s not Hunter. The thought moved through her head just before sleep claimed her, and she dreamed of Chet’s light green eyes as they crinkled right before he laughed.
Yes, she was in deep with him, no matter how much she told herself not to be.
Chapter Twelve
Chet thrived on the busyness at the beach. His feet may have hurt more than he would’ve liked, but he couldn’t complain about wearing board shorts for a uniform, the tips he got for bringing people pizza slices and corndogs, or finally having something to do.
In the downtimes, which were admittedly rare, he caught up on the surfing competition. He’d never come to Carter’s Cove to follow it, but he was enthralled by the men and women and what they were trying to do.
He wove through bodies in the crowd, two people with their hands up. He took their orders, and then three drink orders, on his way back to the kitchen. With the system he and Olympia had worked out, he had an electronic device he could send orders in with before he even left the sand, and usually, the orders were ready by the time he reached the pickup window.
“How’s it going out there?” Olympia asked, her curves making him slide his gaze down her body and back to her beautiful face.
“Great,” he said with a smile.
“Nina almost has your drinks ready,” she said. “Too many for you to carry. Want some help?”
“If you’re helping,” he said, picking up the paper plate with the overly large slice of pepperoni pizza. “This needs a ranch cup,” he called into the kitchen.
Steven grabbed a cup and put it on the plate. “That guy over there stopped by and ordered this.” He put another slice on the shelf, nodding to the right.
Chet took it with a “Thanks, man,” and took the pizza to the guy loitering against the wall. Back at the window, Olympia had the three drinks on a tray, and Chet grabbed the rest of the food. “Steven, you don’t have to make food from orders at the window.”
“It’s okay.” Steven smiled, and Chet wished he’d had as agreeable kitchen staff when he’d worked at The Grand America.
“Let’s roll,” Chet said, already regretting having to leave the air conditioning. Outside, Olympia delivered the drinks and took the tips, tucking them right inside her bra.
Chet tried not to stare, but he failed miserably when she said, “Go on, surfer boy. Deliver your food,” with a knowing look and that sexy, coy smile.
He did, weaving through the crowd to the people who’d ordered. He put his tips in the zippered pocket of his shorts and scanned the crowd.
Four more people had their hands up, and Chet held back the sigh as he
put his most charming smile on as he went to take their orders, run their credit cards, and tell them their food would be coming right up.
Back and forth, forth and back, more sand between his toes, more sun than was probably legally healthy. By the time the competition ended that day, Chet needed to stock up on sunscreen and water, and he could barely go across the hall to see if Olympia was in her penthouse after he’d showered.
“Hey there, handsome,” she said, curving one hip into her doorframe. “There’s no ice cream.”
“I’m out,” he said, reaching for her in the next moment.
“Lucky for you, I have some. Come on in.” She wiggled away from him, and Chet chuckled as he followed her, the very satisfying clunk of the door the signal that they were finally alone.
He kissed her the moment she turned from her freezer, the ice cream carton still in her hand. “Chet,” she murmured against his lips, barely a protest.
“Mm,” he said, kissing her more deeply. He pulled away sooner than he would’ve liked, because the ice cream against his shoulder blade was going to cause a freezer burn.
“What flavor is that?” he asked, running his hand through his hair.
“I don’t know,” Olympia said, setting it on the counter. She opened the wrong drawer for silverware, and Chet helped her by pulling out two spoons and turning to get the bowls.
She cleared her throat while he scooped the pistachio crumble into bowls. “I got another call from that guy at Kipton Monaco.”
Chet nearly swept the ice cream onto the floor. He sucked in a breath that made him cough, and he turned toward the sink to get a drink. And to hide his face.
“What did he want?” Chet asked. Lars Ginnsberg had called Olympia twice in the past few days—right during the surfing competition. Chet didn’t know what he was playing at, but he sure hoped Chet’s name would stay out of everything.
“I don’t know,” Olympia said. “I told all the front desk staff not to send his calls to me anymore.”
Chet turned and handed her a bowl of ice cream. “Good idea.”
She’d spoken to Lars once, and he’d asked her to partner with him on an upcoming fall festival. A pairing of both properties, as the Kipton Monaco sat on the other side of the beach where the bonfire had been.
It was a smart idea, in Chet’s opinion, but he didn’t say anything. Olympia did not take kindly to anyone trying to come into The Heartwood Inn and tell her what to do. She’d thought him a spy when he’d first come, and since Lars had called the first time, Olympia had been a bit more cagey about some of the guests at the inn.
Or maybe that was the stress of the surfing championship.
He followed her to the couch, where they both collapsed with long sighs. Chet ate his ice cream, the TV in front of him flickering with something.
Olympia finished before he did, and she put her bowl on the end table and leaned into him. He liked her by his side, and he needed to tell her he’d come from The Grand America.
He took another bite of ice cream. Tell her, he told himself. But he finished his ice cream, staring at the television like he cared about the cooking show there.
“Olympia?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
She didn’t stir and didn’t answer. She was asleep, her chest rising and falling in even breaths.
Chet licked his spoon and whispered, “I used to work at The Grand America. I was their general manager until I took the fall for the CFO and got blamed for money laundering. Lost my job. Lived out of my car. Showered in campgrounds.” He pressed his lips to her temple and leaned back into the couch, wondering if he could just sleep there with her for a little while.
“Then I came here,” he murmured, his voice barely vibrating the chords in his throat. “And I met you, and everything is great, and I’m thinking I should stay here.”
Olympia didn’t stir, and she didn’t react to his confession about where he’d come from and why. He let his eyes drift closed, hoping when he told her for real, her reaction would be just as favorable.
The crowd on Sunday afternoon was so thick, Chet could barely squeeze his way through the bodies. And delivering drinks became impossible. He had to stand down at the end of the line and pass the drink down. He’d lost a couple of tips in the transfer, and he was ready for this weekend to simply end.
He’d just put in five orders for food, all he could handle at one given time. Olympia had hired someone else to take care of drinks, and the tall, tan woman wearing a two-piece was definitely getting better tips than him—and more orders from men than Chet had gotten.
He stepped out into a roped-off path and came face-to-face with Judith Gillette. His mind blanked, and she seemed just as surprised to see him.
“Chet?” she asked. “What are you doing here?” She looked down at the device in his hand, her eyes flying back to his.
“Working,” he said, pushing past her to continue back to the pick-up window. He should’ve known better, because Judith followed him.
“Working?” she repeated.
“Yes,” he said, glancing at her classy one-piece in what was sure to be labeled as the color midnight. It even had pearls along the shoulder straps. “What are you doing here?”
“My son is surfing,” she said, and he remembered the owner of The Grand America had two sons, and both of them surfed.
“How’s he doing?” Chet asked, pausing just under the shade and looking back to the huge leaderboard that had been set up down the beach.
“He got out this morning,” she said. “He’ll be fourth or fifth, depending.”
“Tell him congratulations.” But Chet knew he didn’t sound happy for his former boss. And why should he? Judith and Clark knew he wasn’t responsible for the money laundering. But it was easier to pin everything on him and fire their nephew privately than it was to let their family name be smeared across the front pages of the tabloids.
“We miss you at The Grand America,” she said. “I’m sure you could get on here at the Kipton Monaco.”
“No, thanks,” Chet said. “I’m only working here temporarily. I don’t even live here.” He turned around and nearly knocked over Olympia.
She wore horror and anger in her eyes. Her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t say anything.
Chet couldn’t remember what he’d said either, but Olympia gained her composure and said, “You worked for The Grand America?” in a voice much too loud and much too high.
Chapter Thirteen
Olympia felt as if someone had lit a stick of dynamite and made her swallow it. The fuse hadn’t gone out, despite the saliva, and now she had a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.
Surely she’d heard that woman wrong. The silver-blonde woman stood just behind Chet, her eyes a shade of brown Olympia felt sure other women would kill for.
“Well?” she asked Chet.
“Yes, but it’s not what you think,” he said quickly, casting a cutting glare at the other woman. “I have orders to get.”
“By all means.” Olympia gestured for him to go past her, and satisfaction moved through her when he looked cowed by her. He should be.
He’d worked for The Grand America.
Unbelievable.
Simply unbelievable.
How many times had she sat beside him on the couch and lamented over that very hotel chain? Accused them of sending spies to the inn? Heck, she’d even asked him if he was there to spy on her.
Horror struck her right between the ribs, and that stick of dynamite went off. Maybe he was there to spy on her. He worked with strength and precision, loading up the food as Steven put it in the window.
Olympia had been looking forward to cuddling with Chet that night and telling him what a huge success his beach-side food service idea had been. Asking him to work for The Heartwood Inn as a consultant so he’d stay on the island when summer ended.
She had no idea what to do now.
At least he’s not married ran through her mind, but it felt
like a consolation prize.
“He doesn’t work for us anymore,” someone said, and Olympia turned, dumbfounded, to the older woman beside her.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“Oh, sorry. I’m Judith Gillette.” She extended her hand and said her name like Olympia should know who she was.
She did, but she didn’t want to admit it. “Nice to meet you,” she said anyway, shaking the woman’s hand though the touch made her skin crawl.
“I love everything you’ve done here at Heartwood,” Judith said, and Olympia wanted to snap at her. She gave her a tight smile instead, and went back to watching Chet. He turned from the window, the power in those shoulders deflating.
Olympia needed more of an explanation from him, but he obviously wasn’t going to give it to her right then. She let him walk past her, hoping her glare held daggers and ice and anything else that would let him know how displeased she was.
His sigh conveyed that, but he marched right past her and back out onto the sand and into the sunshine. His shift didn’t end until the surfing competition did, and that was probably another hour from wrapping up.
She didn’t want to stand there, arms folded, and glare for the next sixty minutes, so she went in the opposite direction. In the safety of her office, she paced from the built-in bookshelves to the door, which she’d locked.
“I can’t believe this is happening again,” she said, the air leaving her lungs in a painful whoosh. She’d trusted another man—the first one in three years. She’d started to fall for him. Told him things she hadn’t told anyone else. Shared her life with him, only to find out he’d kept secrets from her
Big secrets.
Maybe Chet’s wasn’t as big as Hunter’s, but it existed, and that annoyed Olympia until she couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing him again.
And the man currently lived right across the hall from her. They shared an elevator to get to the twentieth floor.
Accidental Sweetheart Page 8