Ten: Dick Punch
Lexington
“Hi, Lex? It’s Amie. Amalie. Hi.”
I’m shocked to hear her voice so it takes a second before I answer, less than eloquently. “Hey. Hi, Amie. How’re you?”
“I’m fine.” She laughs uncertainly. “I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”
The waver in her voice makes me sit up straighter. “Are you sure you’re fine? You don’t sound fine.”
She sighs softly. “Not really. I need your help.”
Based on her tone, I don’t think this is about being her toy chest beta tester. I’m sitting on my deck with a pile of file folders, crunching numbers between dips in the water. Yesterday was full of meetings, today I’m reviewing the most important things that need to be managed. In three hours I have another meeting at the sister resort a ways down the island. “What’s going on? Are you in trouble?”
“Um. I think . . . I think I need to get out of here. Could you come get me? Or . . . never mind. You’re probably in the middle of a meeting. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
I move my laptop to the table. “I’m not in the middle of anything. I can come right now. What’s happened?”
“Armstrong’s here.”
“I’m sorry, did I hear that correctly?”
“Armstrong is in Bora Bora.”
I slip my feet into my flip-flops. “Is he with you right now?”
“He is.”
“Has he hurt you?” I grab the keys for the hotel jeep I’ve been using during my stay and rush down the dock, forcing a smile as I pass a couple of the cleaning staff and resort guests.
“Hurt me?”
“Put his hands on you, touched you, harmed you?”
“I don’t think so. No. I mean, he put his hand on me, but I punched him, so I’m okay.”
This time my smile is real. “Good girl. I’m on my way. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”
“I’m okay. I think. I need to pack. I should pack.”
She sounds like she’s in shock. It’s a different kind of shock than the night of the wedding. “Are you sure? I can stay on the line.”
“How long will you be?”
“Ten minutes. Fifteen at the most. I’m not far.”
“Okay. I’ll be fine until then. I’ll see you soon.”
Amalie ends the call. I stare at my phone for a few seconds, debating whether I should call her back and make sure she really is fine. Or as fine as she can be considering the circumstances. Of course Armstrong would come to get her. He can’t stand losing and he hates the idea that people may be talking negatively about him because of this.
Over the past few days I’ve been in constant contact with Bane. The first call I received wasn’t all that friendly. He assumed I’d somehow known Amalie was going to Bora Bora. Armstrong’s honeymoon had never been something I’d cared to hear about. When Bane realized how ridiculous that was he calmed down and apologized. If this had been a few years ago his worry might’ve been valid, but I haven’t fucked with Armstrong in a long time.
Beyond calls from Bane, I’ve been fielding endless messages from Ruby updating me on her best friend’s status, including her hut number, should I need it. The temptation to check on Amalie has been strong, however, I wasn’t going to initiate contact. I will not be the asshole in this situation by taking advantage of her in a weak moment. But her coming to me, well, that’s different. She’s asking me for help. I don’t know how Armstrong is going to react to seeing me, but I’m not about to let him mess with her any more than he already has. I’ve had enough of his bullshit to last an entire lifetime.
I jump into the jeep and head toward the Haven. Once there, I secure a golf cart so I can navigate the narrow paths leading to the beachfront huts. It doesn’t take me long to locate Amalie’s hut. She’s wheeling her suitcases out the door while Armstrong grabs her arm, in an attempt to pull her back inside.
I barely have the cart in park before I’m rushing him. “Get your hands off her!”
He releases her, face scrunching in confusion. Obviously she didn’t mention me coming to get her, and no one told him I was here, which gives me an element-of-surprise advantage. I come in low like a linebacker, jamming my shoulder into his stomach, launching him back into the hut. We land on the floor in a heap.
“What the hell are you doing here? You fucker. This is your fault—” Before he can get another word out I punch him in the mouth.
“You fucked this up all on your own. Don’t get mad ’cause she came to me for help.” To keep him from speaking I give him a shot in the nuts.
He sucks in a heaving, gasping breath as he cups his balls, groaning profanity.
“My bags are in the cart, let’s go.” Amalie comes stomping back through the door and stops when she sees Armstrong curled in a ball on the floor. “What’d you do?”
“I punched him.”
“In the dick?” she asks.
“And the face first, but yeah.”
She smiles. It’s a little manic. “So did I. The dick punch, I mean.” She steps around me to stand over Armstrong. “From now on, any communication you have with me will be through our lawyers. Don’t contact me directly. I have nothing to say to you. Actually, that’s not true. I have a lot to say to you, but I don’t really think any of it matters anymore because you’re clearly a morally defunct asshole. And for the record, I’m excellent at deep-throating, and I totally would’ve been up for anal.”
Now I want to know what I missed before I arrived.
“Amalie. You can’t—” Armstrong tries to sit up, but he doesn’t seem to be able to coordinate the movement.
“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up. I’m not done.” When he remains silent she continues. “The fact that you wanted me to act like your virgin bride every time we had sex was demeaning and I’ve been faking my orgasms for months. Also, your penis is small. It’s the smallest penis I’ve ever ridden. Or tried to ride. In fact, half the time I wasn’t even sure you were in. And you’re a premature ejaculator. I hope Brittany and whoever else you put your dick in enjoy their two minutes of humping followed by your horrifying orgasms. Let’s go, Lex.”
“Sure thing.”
She breezes past me, her hands curled into fists, eyes on fire.
Armstrong pushes to a sitting position and tries to stand, but he can’t seem to manage getting off his ass. His voice is a low, barely audible rasp. “You bastard. You set me up.”
“That would be very convenient for you, and even if it was true, which it’s not, you screwed yourself, not me. Thanks for fucking up, though. I knew you’d never be able to keep her. And it sure makes it a lot easier for me to be the good guy.”
Amalie honks the horn and I flip Armstrong the bird before I turn around and walk back to the golf cart.
I drop into the driver’s seat. “You okay?”
“I don’t have an answer for that question.”
“Let’s get you out of here.” I put the cart in reverse and turn us around.
Just as we’re about to pull away, Armstrong makes it to the door, still cupping his balls. “Amalie, please! We can work this out. You can’t have her, Lex!”
“I hope your dick is broken forever!” Amalie shoots him the double bird as we zip down the path. She drops her head against the back of the seat as we disappear around a corner. “If I never see his face again it’ll be too soon.”
Amalie helps transfer her bags to the back of the jeep even though I tell her I can manage. I’m glad Armstrong hasn’t followed us out to the lot. I don’t want him to say anything else that could give Amalie the wrong impression. Once the bags are loaded, we get in the jeep and leave the resort lot. I remind myself that right now she needs a friend, and I’m literally the only person she has access to. I can definitely understand how Armstrong might assume I set this entire thing up. If I were him that’s exactly the conclusion I would’ve come to as well. Hell, even my brother thought the same thing.
Amalie pulls her hair up into a high ponytail to keep it from whipping her in the face. “How is this my life?”
“Wanna talk about what happened?”
She sighs and drops her head back against the seat, staring up at the sky for a few long moments before she finally says. “The Whore-ton blow job wasn’t an isolated incident. I think he’s been cheating on me this whole time.”
“Did he admit to that?” I don’t want to push for information she doesn’t want to give, but I’d like some insight as to what exactly happened to make her call me. Considering Armstrong’s history of screwing around with the girls I was seeing in the past, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to believe he’s been cheating on her right from the start. He doesn’t seem to have a moral compass of any kind when it comes to relationships.
Her sunglasses don’t hide the tear tracking down her cheek. She swipes at it with frustration. “He said he hasn’t slept with anyone but me since we’ve been together. Or kissed anyone. He also said blow jobs don’t qualify as cheating.”
I grip the wheel tighter, fighting the urge to hit the brakes, turn the jeep around, and finish kicking his ass. “He actually said that? Those are the words he used?”
“Yes. Those are the words. He made it seem like I should expect him to have women on the side. Actually, he implied multiple women. Mistresses in fact. Plural. That it’s just part of how things are and I should be fine with it. What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with me that I didn’t even know? How could I be blind to the fact that he was screwing around with other women?”
I choose my words carefully. “Armstrong has always been very adept at manipulating situations, Amalie. He’s also good at spinning things in ways that suit him, and he’s very used to getting what he wants.”
“How does one convince himself that a blow job isn’t cheating?” she scoffs.
“I’m sure in his head his argument was convincing.”
Amalie rubs her eyes. “This is such a mess. I don’t understand how he managed to get a passport so quickly.”
“The Mooreheads have connections at the US embassy.” I know this because Griffin had to use them thanks to a lost passport in London last year. It was the same time Bane lost his phone and iPad. That trip was a nightmare.
“Of course they do. I wonder which woman is on his BJ list over there.” She makes an annoyed sound. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this again, Lexington.”
“Don’t apologize. I got to punch my cousin more than once, and in the dick. It’s probably going to be the highlight of this trip.”
That gets a weak laugh out of her. “Same for me. I can’t believe I did that. I mean, kneeing someone in the balls I get, but I punched him. Hard.”
“Lot of gratification in that, huh?”
“I should feel some kind of remorse, but I really don’t.”
“Same.”
It doesn’t take long to get back to my resort. I park near the concierge and motion to the bungalows on stilts out on the water. “You have two options, you can either stay out there, or in one of the beachfront villas.”
“This is where I wanted to stay when we booked the trip.” She jumps down and closes the door. “Where are you?”
I nod toward the water. “I’m out there.”
“Would it be okay if I stay there, too?”
For a split second I think she means that she wants to stay with me. Which would not be a good idea at all. I am well aware that if she stays in my bungalow I will most definitely fuck her. She’s too much of a temptation and I’m compelled to flirt with her. She’s also under far too much emotional stress and much too vulnerable to make good decisions, and I sure as hell don’t want to end up as a bad one.
I must be silent for too long, because she looks away and fidgets with her purse strap. “You don’t have to entertain me or anything. I know you’re here to work. I won’t be a problem. Just . . . in case Armstrong tries to find me, or wants to talk again, I’d feel safer knowing you were close.”
“It’s fine. And it’s exactly what I was thinking, about you being safe, I mean. Although, I don’t know how much I actually have to worry since you seem to be able to defend yourself fairly well.”
She smiles and ducks her head as we cross the lot to check her in at the concierge. “I had to take self-defense courses as part of a punishment when I was a teenager. Turns out I actually liked them.”
“As punishment? What the hell did you do that would make self-defense classes a punishment?”
“It’s a long story. One I don’t usually tell unless I’m really drunk.”
“Huh. Interesting. Remind me to get you really drunk later.”
“I have a feeling that won’t be difficult. I plan to consume copious quantities of booze in hopes of erasing the past year from my memory.”
And we’re back to Armstrong and his assholery. For someone as smart as Amalie seems to be, I have a hard time understanding how she managed to fall for his bullshit in the first place. It’s not a question I feel I have the right to ask just yet, though.
Owning the resort means it’s easy to secure an over-water bungalow for Amalie when we’re typically fully booked a year in advance. Interestingly, the one beside mine just happens to be empty for the next week. Very convenient. I’m sure we can shift the guests around so she can stay there as long as she wants. I help Amalie bring her bags out to the bungalow. The bed—a massive king—is set in such a way that it provides an unobstructed view of the inactive volcano across the water. The bar fridge is stocked and a bowl of fruit sits in the center of the small table.
“Everything will be taken care of, all your food, drink, everything’s included while you’re here and feel free to take advantage of the spa. I’ll have credits applied to your room so you can use it whenever you want.” I open the sliding doors and we step out onto the deck.
“That’s not necessary. You’ve been more than generous bringing me here.”
“Consider it market research. We need to update the service list, and your experiences will help me make better decisions on what changes should be implemented.” I point to the left, at the neighboring bungalow. “That’s me, right there. I have to attend a meeting shortly, but I’ll be back later this evening, just knock on my door if you need anything.”
“Right. Of course. Thank you again for your kindness.” Amalie closes the gap between us and wraps her arms around my waist. She’s wearing flip-flops instead of heels, so the top of her head doesn’t even reach my chin.
I return the embrace, enjoying the feel of her body against mine. I’d like to stay with her and help her settle in, but I have a meeting to prepare for. I can check on her when I get back. She looks a little lost when I leave, and I hate to admit it, but I kind of like the way she seems to need me.
Eleven: Martini Mouth
Lexington
My afternoon meeting turns into dinner and drinks with several of the managerial staff and a few of the high-rolling clients who frequent the resort on a regular basis.
My father sending me here is a big deal. While it gets me out of the line of fire for Armstrong’s bullshit, it’s also his way of telling me, not so subtly, that he’d like to see me up my game. Until the past six months, he thought I was coasting.
I can attribute it in part to my mother’s illness, and it’s for that reason that my father hasn’t really pushed for more from me. Until now. But the truth is, it’s more than that. Griffin is good at what he does, but he’s quiet and the people part of the business isn’t really his thing. Bancroft shows promise in the renovation side of the business, but he doesn’t want to head the company. I’m the one my dad is relying on to keep the Mills empire running when he’s set to retire. It’s what I want, even if I haven’t been particularly good at expressing it up until now.
That’s a lot of responsibility for me since I’ve been seen as a fuck-up for most of my life, thanks to my constant battles with Armstrong. He’s done a great job
of making me look incompetent, and more often than not, I’ve fed right into the games he played. It hasn’t been helpful in restoring my father’s faith in my ability to manage this business with a level head. He worries about me being reactive, which has been a valid concern.
Bancroft joining the team last year has pushed me to look at how I haven’t been doing my best. I don’t want to let my father down, and more than that, I don’t want to let myself down. This is my opportunity to demonstrate to him, and myself, that I’ll be able to take over the business when he retires. It’s not that I was a complete slacker until recently, it was more that I was used to getting great results without putting in maximum effort. That’s changed, though. I see how hard Bane works, and I recognize that if I put in the same amount of effort, we’d see even greater results. It’s not a competition, it’s a collaboration.
My father will never walk away fully, but my mother’s cancer scare has made him realize just how important she is, and that he doesn’t want to miss out on these years because he still feels compelled to work seventy hours a week. There’s some good in the bad, I suppose.
It’s late by the time I return to the resort. I’d like to check on Amalie, but her bungalow is dark. I don’t want to bother her if she’s sleeping. Still wired from the day, I change and head to the bar for a quick drink.
The nightlife here is always on point. Unlike Amalie’s previous resort, this place isn’t all couples and honeymooners, although there are plenty of them. Singles come here for a getaway. Families and their nannies will spend two weeks enjoying the sun and scenery. It’s a mixed group, which makes it a better option for those who are unattached.
I was born to socialize. In high school I had friends in every group. I had connections with the potheads; I spent time with the rockers and always went to dive bars to listen to them play; I was tight with the study nerds, the kids in metal shop, the drama geeks, you name it, I could find a way to relate. It’s why my father sends me on these trips. Beyond the fact that I’m unattached and he doesn’t need to worry about taking me away from someone important, I’m good at schmoozing. People like to talk to me. It’s as much a gift as it is a curse.
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