by Tia Wylder
“I want you to research these places. The travel agent thinks they’ll be the most receptive to a deal because they’re fairly new and looking for some promotion. Then you’ll need to organize everything, contacting record company’s and finding the people who would be a best potential fit for Bethany. And the last step is to book everything! Do you think you can handle that while doing some light casework?”
I’m just about to answer when two waiters walk up carrying our lunch. Each plate contains a perfectly cooked piece of filet mignon, with sides of hand-cut French Fries tossed in parmesan and garlic, asparagus fritti, and wild mushrooms. Zachary keeps talking, about Bethany, about his work, about his other clients, but all I can do is eat, relishing each bite of the delicious food. I have never, in my life, tasted anything so delicious, and I’m confident I couldn’t even focus on an elephant performing an interpretive dance in the middle of the restaurant. Suddenly, my plate is completely empty, and I realize Zachary is staring at me again.
“Seriously, I feel compelled to ask. Do you not have access to food? Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing I love more in this world than a woman with a healthy appetite. But you’re starting to worry me,” he says as he pushes away his half-eaten steak. I would be lying if I said I didn’t consider asking him if I could finish it, but I don’t want to compound his concern.
“I have food. But I also love food. And when you put amazing food in front of me, I’ll eat. I’m not the woman who will suck on ice cubes and eat a piece of kale just so a man doesn’t think she eats,” I say as I use a piece of bread to sop up the liquid from the wine-infused mushrooms. Zachary just grins at me.
“Well, that is good to know. Because I hate eating alone, and I loathe kale. I’ll start bringing you with me as my companion to business dinners, instead of the usual models my brother insists on setting me up with.”
My heart aches when he says that because I think of my sister. She was stunning and could have easily been a model. I had a feeling that she was lending herself out, doing “girlfriend experience” thing for rich men, but she would never confirm it. Could that have been how she met Zachary? And if it was, were they really dating at all? I also can’t help but wonder if something was missing from her story about Zachary because the man I am seeing in front of me right now… he just doesn’t seem like the man who would intentionally hurt anyone. I feel utterly conflicted, and like I don’t know what is happening anymore. What did Josie leave out of this story?
Zachary waves a hand at the waiter, who rushes back over.
“Mike, can you get another filet plate wrapped up for Miss Webber to go? She enjoyed your food so much, I think she should get to enjoy it again later.”
I make a move to argue, but he shakes his head at me. “Listen, we don’t pay our interns nearly enough, and with all the work you’re about to do, you deserve it. Now go home, take the rest of the day to research these places, and we can reconvene tomorrow, 9 am, to go over what you’ve learned.”
“So, 9:30 or ten?” I ask with a smile.
“You’re learning fast.”
Zachary winks at me with his gorgeous sparkling eyes, and I feel even more confused than I did before.
Chapter Three
I wake up the next morning, and I can’t believe anything that happened the day before. Not only has Zachary entrusted me with this massive project, but I am starting to see a side to him that I never expected in a million years. I don’t know who to believe; the story my sister told me, or what I see with my own eyes when I look at Zachary.
The truth is, my sister never had an easy life. When our parents died, something changed in her. She was eighteen and suddenly forced to take on the responsibility of raising a teenager when she was just a kid herself. But she’d always struggled with her mental health, yet she’d never admitted anything was wrong. So, Josie fought on her own, and I don’t think it’s a battle she ever fully conquered. Because of it, I don’t know how I can ever be sure of what she went through with Zachary, without asking him directly. And I know I can’t do that. Not yet.
I reach over and take a picture of Josie and me off my bedside table. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life, and we could look more different. Josie had gorgeous, natural red hair, huge sapphire blue eyes, and cheeks the were perpetually rosy against her alabaster skin. The only thing we had in common was our hourglass figures, but where Josie was ridiculously tall, I’m considered short for my body type. With my blonde hair and brown eyes, you’d never have assumed Josie and I were sisters, except for the fact that our laughs were the same, and we always had each other’s back.
As I look at the picture of my sister, I miss her so much it hurts. I want nothing more than to do something to make up for what happened to her. But the more time I spend around Zachary, the more I can’t help but wonder how things went down between them. Or how much Josie was aware of in her final moments, or what was fabricated in her mind if things were bad for her when she died.
I get to the office at 9 am, despite the fact I know Zachary will be late, and I start putting together a quick presentation on everything I found out the night before about the resort options he gave me. Every resort was amazing, with incredible amenities that made them seem irresistible. But in the end, I decided that The Hummingbird on Turks & Caicos was the best bet.
The Hummingbird is on its own tiny island in Turks & Caicos, and it’s new, so it’s been looking for some way to get a promotion. The island features a main hotel that encompasses all of the restaurants, ball rooms, and meeting spaces, beach houses, villas, and ten private estates scattered all over the island. There would be room for not only the record executives to have their own individual villas, but for Zachary and whoever else comes with him to have their own houses for the weekend. No matter where you stay, each accommodation is equipped with huge soaking tubs, private pools, king-sized beds, and views of the ocean from almost every angle. There is no way that any reasonable person wouldn’t be totally charmed by the resort, and by extension, Bethany.
I’m pulling pictures of the resort, all of the estates and villas, as well as the ball rooms where we could hold parties for Bethany when Zachary walks in. He’s wearing a black pin-striped button-down shirt, gray pants, and a loose-fitting, thin gray tie. I’m sitting in his desk chair again, but he doesn’t tease me this time. He just sits down across from me in the client chair and leans forward on the desk, his full, curious eyebrows practically wiggling with excitement.
“So, I did some research myself last night, and I think I know exactly where we should hold this event.”
My stomach drops. Are you kidding me? After all the work I did? The slideshow? The swipe transitions?
“The Hummingbird, on Turks & Caicos,” he says, his luscious lips curling up into a satisfied smile. I just burst out laughing.
“What? What’s so funny? Is it a bad idea?”
I turn the computer around and show him the first page of my slideshow, with the logo for The Hummingbird and a photo of the main hotel. He laughs too and then winks at me. “Great minds, as they say. Did you contact them?”
“Not yet, but I did the research. They opened six months ago, and they’re having trouble selling people on the luxury nature of it, and getting people to pay for the rental houses. So, I think if you get one of your higher-profile clients to vacation in one of the estates, they will jump at anything you offer them. Plus, this place is stunning. If Bethany isn’t signed to a record company by the end of the first day, I will be shocked.”
Zachary gives me an impressed nod. “You’ve done your homework, Miss Webber. I’ll call the resort and see what I can negotiate. Your next job is to start contacting record executives, anyone you think would be a good fit for Bethany. Open with the party. Tell them we’re planning an event at an exclusive resort in the Caribbean for an up-and-coming artist. It’s an opportunity they wouldn’t want to miss. Stress ‘all expenses paid.’ I trust you to make the right calls on
who to bring. Hopefully, by the end of the day, we can get this all sorted out!”
I bristle a little more obviously than I mean to. “The end of today? You want all of this done by the end of today? Can this be where I remind you that I’m a law student and I’ve never done any of this before?”
Zachary doesn’t say anything. He just gets up and walks through the door, but before he leaves, he turns around with a smile. “I have faith in you. Just use the names in my online Rolodex. Password to log in is in my desk drawer. I’ll be back in an hour or so.” And with that he disappears down the hall, leaving me to figure out how I am going to convince the people who run record companies currently to take a chance on an untested musician.
I spend the day calling every record exec I can find who I think might be receptive to Bethany. A few ask me what she sounds like, and I realize, I have no idea either. I must remind myself to ask Zachary for a sample of her music later because I’m doing my best not to sound like an idiot. However, within forty-five minutes, I have a list of fifteen different executives who have leaped at the chance to a free vacation. I don’t think they’d care if Bethany played electric tuba backward through a broken champagne bottle.
I’m just hanging up with one of the executive’s assistants when Zachary comes back. His tie is gone, his shirt is unbuttoned down to his pecs, and he looks like he just went ten rounds with a prize fighter: he’s soaked in sweat, and I realize that he’s wearing sneakers instead of his dress shoes. I hold up a finger to let him know I’m almost done, wrap up, then give him the most confused look I’m capable of.
“Did you just run to Topanga and back in your suit?”
He collapses on the floor with a huff and starts laughing. “It feels like it! I did run to accountant’s office. It was quicker than trying to drive.”
I lean over the desk and look at Zachary as he lays on the floor, taking long, deep breaths. Sweat has soaked through his shirt, and it’s clinging to his muscles. I sit back down and shake my head. It’s like he’s sculpted from marble!
“So, you’re telling me running in the hundred-degree heat was a better option? Whatever you say, sports fan.”
“Trust me,” Zachary says with a long sigh, “I can run faster than downtown Los Angeles traffic moves. Anyway, with a little persuasion, and a small financial incentive, we have the entire resort for this weekend.”
I almost fall out of my chair. “This weekend? Like… Friday? How are we supposed to get these people on a plane and on an island by this Friday?”
“Not a problem. We have a plane on retainer that will hold everyone, then you and I can take my private plane.”
“Hold up,” I say, my heart beginning to race. “Me? I’m not going with you. Why would I be going with you? You don’t need me to go with you. I can’t go with you.” I am babbling, but I can’t help it. Zachary sits up and brushes away a long piece of his hair from in front of his eyes. I am continually amazed at how he looks so much younger than his thirty-seven years.
“Of course, you’re going with me. You’re planning the trip, and Bethany has made it very clear that despite having never met you, she trusts you more than me. So, if you don’t go, we might as well cancel everything.”
I scowl. “Are you working me, Graham? If I say no, Bethany’s whole career is dead on arrival?”
Zachary shrugs. “You said it. Not me. But I think she’ll be tremendously disappointed if you don’t agree to the trip.”
I put my head in my hands and groan. This isn’t how any of this was supposed to go. I feel him watching me, so I look back up, pushing my hair away from my face. “Alright, fine. But please just put me in a room in the hotel. I don’t want anything fancy. This is all way outside of my comfort zone. I live in a shoebox in Venice. I’m not going to feel okay about staying in anything super fancy.”
“Nope,” Zachary says shaking his head, “you’re staying in the main house with me. It’s a five-bedroom estate house about a mile from the main resort. You’ll have your own room, bathroom, private balcony. But I need you close so we can keep working, regardless of the hour. I can’t keep driving back and forth to the hotel in a golf cart every time I want to talk you about something.”
“You could call me,” I say under my breath.
“I may be fifteen years older than you, Ava, but I have exceptional hearing. Anyway, it’s settled, so you may as well start packing a bag. In the meantime, I need you to call Professor Sam and set up a recording session for tomorrow. Then call Bethany and fill her in on everything. And Ava?”
I look up from the notes I’m jotting down. “Yes?”
“Thanks,” he says as he jumps off the floor in one fluid motion, then heads into the private bathroom attached to his office. I hear the shower start running, and try not to think about what he must look like… naked… in the steam and hot water.
Stop that, Ava. Get your shit together. Do your job.
Suddenly, Zachary sticks his head around the door from the bathroom, and I can see that he is both naked, and wet, his hair slicked back and just the faintest hint of a towel at his waist.
“Can you also call the private airline? Don’t want to put that off too long.”
He disappears again, and I am left, mouth agape, the visual of Zachary’s glistening chest burned into my retinas.
* * *
I get home that night and find that for the first time in ages, I’ve beaten Liza back to the apartment. She must have gone out with Anthony, assuming he managed to remember to show up for a change. I’m exhausted after a day of chaos with Zachary, and part of me just wants to go to sleep. But I know I have to figure something out about what happened between Zachary and my sister, and I need to figure it out before I got anywhere with him, let alone a Caribbean island.
I head into my bedroom and wipe off all of my makeup from the day, then sweep up all of my long blonde hair into a bun and slip into my favorite flannel pants. If I’m going to do detective work, I can at least be comfortable while I do it. And after a day spent confined in restrictive designer wear, all I want to do is curl up in my PJs and sleep for a year.
The day had ended better than I had expected. I spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone with Bethany, filling her in on all of the things we’d planned, and letting her know that her recording session had been scheduled with Professor Sam. She had been so excited, I thought she was going to explode through the phone just so she could hug me. As nervous as I was about spending any sort of time trapped on an island with Zachary, Bethany’s enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself excited about the trip by the end of the day.
But now, as I sit in my room, trying to figure out where to start going through Josie’s past, my excitement is waning. Trying to sort out anything about Josie and who she was when she died is going to be a nightmare. She didn’t have social media, she used a disposable cell phone for everything, and she didn’t exactly have friends. When she’d call me, she’d only want to know about my life, and what was going on with me. Josie would never tell me anything about herself, no matter how much I begged her to. So, the only thing left for me to do is start sorting through the few things she had in her possession the night of her accident.
I take the box containing her belongings down from the top of my closet and feel a pang of sadness in my chest when I realize that this is all that is left of her. It’s nothing but her purse, her wallet, a cell phone that is long since dead, her favorite old sweater, and wrapped up in the sweater is…
A diary?
I mean, it looks like a diary. It’s a beaten-up notebook with her name and phone number written on the front cover. Inside, I flip through and see page after page of her elegant handwriting, until suddenly, her handwriting becomes more erratic, scattered, confused almost. It is obvious that before her accident, something was wrong. Something worse than just whatever was going on with Zachary. And I’m almost afraid to read her last entry, knowing that it might reveal things to me I don’t want to kno
w.
But I also know I have no choice.
The last page was written the same day as Josie’s accident. It could have been hours before, for all I know. And that makes me feel even worse as I begin reading…
Dear Diary,
I don’t think anyone is listening, even you. I’ve been making plans, trying to figure out how to make things better, how to make things easy for Ava. I’ve been running for a thousand years, and all I found was Zachary Graham. One stupid date. One pointless meeting. A dinner. My heart. Lost. Gone. My self-respect. Lost. He took it. He took my soul.
He is a dragon. A demon. He devoured me alive and left me bleeding on the floor. He did the same to others. I’m so alone. He left me alone. I don’t know what to do.
I feel like I’ve been trapped in my own head forever, so lost. Zachary broke me. I don’t know where to go. I won’t bother Ava with this.
I think I will go for a drive, diary. Maybe that will give me some clarity.
~J
Tears begin to well up, and I don’t know how to process what I’ve just read. Nothing about it makes sense, not in any sense of the word. Josie’s train of thought was completely off kilter when she died, and while she seemed to be thoroughly convinced of Zachary’s guilt, I just don’t know what to believe. Were they even dating? Did Josie even know what she was doing?