“How do you want her, then?”
I want her smiling and willing. I want her to love me. I want her eyes to get soft when she looks at me, and I want her to curl up against me when she’s sleepy. I want my hand on her knee as we have dinner. I want her laughter. I want her everything. “Not forced to be with me,” I say softly. “I want her to be with me because she wants to be there.”
Knox snorts. “Then romance her, ya dumbass.”
“Don’t think I can un-ring that bell,” I tell him flatly. “I screwed up any chance I had of romancing her with this whole ‘pay her to be my assistant’ thing. It was a dumb fuckin’ idea.”
“It’s not a dumb idea,” Knox insists. “You’re just goin’ about it like a dummy.”
I scowl at him.
“It’s true. The assistant thing just gets you in the door. Means she has to listen to you. Doesn’t mean ya own her. Now that you got her and she has to listen to you, now you turn on the charm. Bein’ a scoundrel doesn’t mean bein’ a dick. It just means bein’ a little unscrupulous now and then to get her to pay attention. She’s payin’ attention now, so now you can lay on the charm.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks smug. “Though you might have a ways to go before you get out of the doghouse. But it can still be done. You just need to lay it on thick. And if she tries to run or push you away, you just wave that contract in her face. You’ll wear her down eventually.”
“So . . . you’re sayin’ I should hammer romance at her until she gives in?”
Knox nods sagely. “Precisely.”
It ain’t the worst idea.
Chapter Eleven
Natalie
My phone buzzes with an incoming text, rousing me out of sleep. I roll over in bed and snag it, shielding the screen so it doesn’t wake up Lexi. We had an impromptu slumber party last night, complete with the cold pizza, room service desserts, M&Ms from the mini-fridge, and a reality TV marathon. It almost made me feel better about the shit-show that is my life.
I frown when the message on the screen is from Clay and not Alice the nurse, like I expected. Carefully, I tuck my phone against my chest and tiptoe out to the bathroom, away from Lexi’s snoring. Once there, I hop up on the counter and begin to read.
CLAY: SORRY IVE BEEN ABSENT
CLAY: SHIT CAPSLOCK
CLAY: Sorry. Trying again. I hope you are well. I’ve been absent the last few days due to work stuff. Hope you are doing okay back at the hotel. If you need anything, let me know and I’ll make sure it’s delivered to you today. I hope you are well.
NATALIE: Did you just . . . ask me if I was well three times in a row? Are you drunk?
CLAY: No. I’m just not good at this texting shit. Should I have sent some smiley faces?
My screen fills with a few random emojis, and I have to bite back my laughter. This is just ridiculous. Cute, but ridiculous. My wounded heart feels a little better at hearing from him. Not much, but some.
NATALIE: You can skip the emojis, I promise. And I’m fine, though I wish you would have said something about work a few days ago. I’ve been feeling stressed and abandoned. Did I do something wrong?
CLAY: No, I’m just an asshole. I’m sorry, Nat. I keep fucking this shit up. I’m gonna be better about things, okay? I promise. And I’ll be there in about an hour to pick you up. Do you have a swimsuit or do you need to get one? I can wire money to the front desk.
NATALIE: A swimsuit?
CLAY: Yeah, there’s a family get-together. We’re going tubing. You ever been?
NATALIE: No. What do I need to bring?
CLAY: Just a swimsuit and a towel. And sunblock. I’ll handle the rest. Just look pretty.
CLAY: Of course, you always look pretty. So just look like you.
CLAY: Didn’t mean to imply you weren’t pretty. I think you’re gorgeous.
CLAY: Perfect.
NATALIE: Are you flirting to make up for how you left in the middle of the night?
CLAY: Trying to. Is it working?
NATALIE: I’m still hurt. You sure I didn’t piss you off?
CLAY: Not at all. We’ll talk more in person, okay? Feels weird to do it over text. My thumbs keep getting in the way. Just know that I am not mad, you are perfect, and I will be there in an hour.
NATALIE: If you’re sure you’re not mad. You do realize you bought me and can tell me to shut up if I piss you off, right?
CLAY: I would never tell you to shut up.
NATALIE: Okay, well . . . can I bring a friend on this tubing trip if it’s a bigger get-together? My friend Lexi came over to keep me company while you were, uh, gone.
CLAY: Sure. Bring her along. If she don’t mind hanging out with a bunch of my brothers.
NATALIE: She won’t mind.
CLAY: Ok see you in an hour.
NATALIE: Can you make it 2? I have to find a swimsuit ASAP.
CLAY: Two it is. Be there soon.
I race out of the bathroom and head to the bed, shaking Lexi’s shoulder. “Wake up! We have to go shopping right away.”
Lexi sits up, a bleary-eyed expression on her face. “What? What?”
“I need you to go tubing with me today.” I sit down on the edge of the bed and clasp my hands. “It’s with Clay and his family.”
“Clay, the bastard Clay?” She rubs a hand over her face and smears old eye makeup. “The one that’s ignored you for three days?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. He said he was sorry and he’ll explain to me when we get there. So, will you go with me?”
She groans as if she’s in pain. “When is it?”
“He’s picking me up in two hours and I need a swimsuit before then.”
She groans again and pulls a pillow over her face. “Must we ‘people’ before noon?”
“You have to go swimsuit shopping with me,” I tell her, undaunted. “And then you have to go to tubing with me.”
“You know I hate sunlight,” she tells me from beneath the pillow. “And society. But mostly sunlight.”
“It sounds like Clay’s family is going to be there. Lots and lots of billionaires.”
“Don’t care.”
“They’re weird,” I say cajolingly.
Lexi pulls the pillow down and gives me a contemplative look. “How weird?”
“Human-train-wreck weird,” I tell her. I actually don’t know if that’s the case. But I do remember the Price brothers vaguely from my time back in high school, and when Knox showed up with Clay the other day, he looked as much of a mess as Clay did. So I feel they’ll be sufficiently weird enough for Lexi.
“All right, I’m in,” she tells me. “But you can’t make me wear florals.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
* * *
An hour and a half later, I have a small bag packed with sunblock, flip-flops, a towel, and a swimsuit. Pickings were slim considering the early hour and the last-minute nature of things, and I’m lucky I found a one-piece that covers everything and doesn’t look heinous. It’s bright red, and has a low cut front that made Lexi smirk and crack jokes about Baywatch, but it doesn’t look all that terrible. I have a crochet white shrug for my shoulders, and I’m wearing jeans and a plain pink T-shirt while we wait for Clay to arrive.
Lexi, meanwhile, is dressed in true Lexi form. She’s wearing a black dress over black leggings and has her long dark hair parted down the center of her head. She found a black swimsuit, since she’s a tiny, limber twig of a human, and she looks like Morticia Addams come to life, a comparison she adores.
And she’s calm. So calm. As I sit on the end of the bed and twitch, she’s calmly doing yoga asanas in the middle of the floor. Me, I’m nervous. I’m about to see Clay again, and we’re going to talk. The thought is filling me with all kinds of anxiety. What if he’s letting me off the hook? What if he’s decided that
he’s gotten what he wants out of our deal? What if the reason why he left is because he’s not attracted to me, or he’s done with me, and those reassuring texts were just so he could let me down in person?
“You’re destroying my Zen,” Lexi calls from her spot on the floor. Her eyes are closed and her palms are pressed together under her chin. “Either come join me and relax, or go vibrate with bad energy somewhere else.”
“It’s my hotel room,” I remind her.
“Yes, and it’d look super weird if your guest was doing yoga in the hall, wouldn’t it?” She pats the floor. “Come on. Do yoga with me. I’ll go easy on you.”
I pull my phone out. “Actually I think I’ll go in the hall and check in on my father.”
“Coward.”
She’s not wrong about that. I’m utterly terrible at yoga and I always feel like a clunky, ungainly elephant next to Lexi’s graceful gestures. “Be back soon.”
“I’ll be here.”
I head into the hall, leaving my bag on the bed. It’s quiet out here, the only sound that of a vacuum a few doors down. I lean against the wall and then sink down to the floor, dialing Alice’s number.
The nurse answers on the second ring. “Oh, Ms. Weston. How are you today?” She sounds a little stressed. In the background, I can hear sobbing. Male sobbing.
That has to be my father. My heart squeezes painfully. “I thought I’d call and see how Dad’s doing.”
“He’s not having a good day,” Alice tells me in a kind voice. “He’s been very upset all morning. I didn’t want to text you and worry you. It’s just a spell and he’ll recover soon enough. I’ve called in the weekend nurse and we’re not leaving him alone, I assure you.”
It’s that bad that Alice had to get reinforcements? “Should I come home? I’m only a few hours away—”
“No, no,” Alice reassures me. “It’s handled. This is part of the job, though one of the less charming aspects. It’s just one of those things that comes with dementia, as I’m sure you know. Even if you were here, I don’t know that you could help. He doesn’t recognize anyone today.”
My stomach burns with a mixture of guilt and nerves. It should be me there taking care of my father. “But if I can help—”
“You cannot, Ms. Weston. I promise you that it’s handled. I don’t want you to worry. When he’s lucid again, I’ll make sure he calls you, all right? It’s truly nothing to worry over.” The crying on the other end dies down a little, and turns into angry yelling.
I wince into the phone. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. This is our job. You’re welcome to check in as often as you like,” Alice says kindly.
“Thank you, I will.” I hesitate, then add, “I’ll try and visit this weekend if possible.” I can talk to Clay about it, let him know how my father’s doing. Surely he won’t mind a visit.
“I’m sure your father will like that. I’ll tell him when he’s himself again.” Her voice is cheerful throughout the strain. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms. Weston?”
“No, thank you.” I hang up, troubled. Not for the first time, I worry that I’ve somehow made the wrong choice. That I’ve picked my own selfish wants and needs over that of my ailing father. Then, of course, I wonder how much of that is guilt and how much is truth. Sometimes it’s so hard to tell. And isn’t this for my father, in the end? So I can pay off his debts and get the house fixed up?
Lies, a little voice whispers in my head. You know this is really for you. You want Clay Price.
It’s true. I can’t even pretend it’s just for the plumbing. I want Clay just as badly now as I ever did. I might not understand him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hunger for him.
I wonder if that makes me a bad daughter. I stare at my phone screen glumly.
“Nat?”
I look up—and do a double take.
It’s Clay. He’s approaching from down the hall, a pack slung over his shoulder. He’s wearing a pair of bright blue swimming trunks that almost reach his knees, and an old T-shirt that’s got the sleeves (and most of the side) cut off to reveal tanned skin underneath. He’s wearing a baseball cap over his hair.
And he’s shaved.
His beard is gone. Completely, utterly gone. I can’t stop staring, because he looks so different. Gone is the rugged, hairy Clay from a few days ago, the man with the wild beard and wide grin. In its place is the boy I fell in love with seven years ago, his face a little paler along the jaw where his beard was. It’s like looking at something out of the past, and for a moment, I can’t breathe.
“You okay?” He pulls his cap off and adjusts it, and I can see he cut his hair, too. Instead of hanging long and unkempt, it’s cut short on the sides and slightly longer on top. He looks so different.
“Your beard,” I say faintly, shocked.
Clay comes up to me and I can see the strong lines of his jaw. My fingers itch to touch, but I don’t know what to think, or if that’ll even be welcomed. So I clench my hand at my side.
He gives me a slow smile that looks so different—and yet so very similar—than when his beard covers his face. “Didn’t like how it tore up your skin when I was kissin’ ya. Made your face all red and scratchy.” He reaches out and cups my chin, rubbing his thumb along my jaw. “I didn’t like that it hurt ya.”
“I didn’t mind it,” I protest, and then I blush, because I really, really didn’t mind it brushing up against certain spots of my anatomy.
“Well, it can grow back. But we’ll see.” His green eyes search my face and he drops his hand. “Everything okay?”
I recover quickly, nodding. “I was just calling to see how my dad was doing. He’s not having a great day, but the nurses say there’s not much to be done about it.” I bite my lip. “I know they’re right, but I still worry.”
“Do you need to cancel today?” He shifts his weight, stepping away from me, and I want to protest and pull him closer. For some reason, it’s important to me that he not step away from me.
“No,” I say slowly, as if I’m still convincing myself. The nurses are right. I’ve been at my dad’s side on days like this, and he won’t recognize me. He won’t recognize anyone. Going out of my way to head there—and break my deal with Clay—won’t solve anything. If he’s got competent nurses at his side already, I’ll just be in the way. There’s nothing I can do. “No, I’m going to stay.”
His smile breaks out then, big and genuine, and I smile back. “Good, because I wanna talk. We need to head out if we’re meetin’ my family, though.”
I gesture at the room door. “My friend Lexi’s inside. I’ll get her.”
“You don’t have to,” a voice announces on the other side of the door. “I can stay here. You crazy kids go have fun in the sun doing people-y things.”
I roll my eyes. “She wants to go,” I reassure him.
“No, she doesn’t,” Lexi calls out from the other side. “She’s just being a good friend.”
“The best of friends,” I agree. “And she’s already got a swimsuit, so she’s going.”
“Damn it,” I hear Lexi mutter.
Clay’s brows draw together, studying my face. He looks confused.
I’m not surprised. Lexi’s a lot to take in the first time you meet her. “My friend is a little . . . theatrical,” I whisper. “And eccentric.”
“She should fit right in, then,” Clay tells me. “My family’s got a whole lot of weird.”
* * *
It’s not a bad drive out to the Guadalupe River, though it’s definitely an awkward one. For one, there’s no limo today. It’s only Clay and his oversized pickup truck. He drives, I sit in the middle, and Lexi sits to my other side. There’s not a lot of privacy and Clay and I don’t get a chance to talk, so the conversation that we do have is awkward and mostly revolves around the weather or the ri
ver itself. At one point, Lexi “innocently” asks him what work he had that involved him leaving me behind for three days, and that shuts down the conversation pretty fast.
It’s silent the rest of the way, until Clay parks his truck. “You ready?”
“No,” Lexi says flatly.
I nudge her. “Yes, we are. Get out of the damn car, Lexi.” I look over at Clay and smile. “She’s fun, I promise.”
“No, I’m not,” Lexi adds, but she gets out of the car.
I can tell Lexi’s going to be a lot of fun today. I’m worried about bringing her, but she brightens at the sight of the group of people standing near a picnic table at the edge of the water. There’s several large inner tubes waiting, and a man and a heavily pregnant blonde woman stand near a grill, starting a fire. Seated atop the table are three other bearded men that look like Clay’s brothers. They’re all dressed in torn-up, trashed shirts, trucker caps, and swimsuits. One’s even wearing a camo swimsuit—the youngest-looking, whose blond beard looks a bit scruffier than the others.
“You’re right, this is going to be fun,” she announces.
“I’m glad you approve,” I mutter, but I get all distracted when Clay moves to my side and puts his arm around my waist, like I’m his girlfriend. Like I belong to him.
Then again, I do belong to him, at least for a little while. Maybe I’m reading too much into things.
We approach, and the moment we do, the three guys seated on the table start snickering into their cans of beer, their gazes focused on Clay.
“Yuck it up,” Clay says, good-natured.
“You look like you’re twelve,” one of his brothers comments, and the others howl with laughter. They start elbowing each other and talking over one another loudly, teasing Clay about how white his jaw is compared to the rest of him.
The man at the barbecue turns, and he gets a knowing look on his face as he glances over at me. “You must be Natalie,” he says, putting out a hand for me to shake. “I’m Boone, Clay’s older brother.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I tell him. “This is my friend Lexi. I hope it’s all right that we showed up.”
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