"I'm sorry, didn't you hear me?” I asked. “There was a burning smell and the engine just stopped. Now there's nothing."
"So it's completely dead?"
I curled my fingers into a fist. On the anniversary of my grandfather’s death, the last word I wanted to hear was dead. "The car is not working at all."
"You said you smelled something burning and then it died?"
A split rail fence divided the gravel parking lot from the precipice. I leaned heavily on it as my vision blurred with hot tears. "Yes. I need another car or a ride or something."
"I'm sorry the car died. I can send a replacement for you on Monday."
I dug my fingers into the weather-worn wood of the fence rail. "Could you please stop saying 'dead' and 'died'? This is just not the day I can handle that." My voice wavered. "Wait, what? Did you say you can’t send a replacement until Monday?"
The rental car clerk cleared his throat. "Yes, and I apologize."
"I need a car or a ride now. I have somewhere to be!"
"Our mechanic isn’t available to drive down there until Monday. Also, we don’t have any available cars. Are you sure the car is dead?" he asked.
"Yes. Dead! It just died and left me here on my own!" I clapped a hand over my phone as jagged sobs bent me over double.
I stared at the ground, kicking a few rocks and hoping for a brief distraction from my reality. I looked at the busy bar, and the image drove home the crushing loneliness. I focused on the horizon, the far-reaching water, and forced myself to breathe long, slow breaths. The tears didn’t stop, but I was reasonably sure my voice would work now that the sobs were under control.
I interrupted the clerk's apologies. "I'm from out of town. I have somewhere to be."
"At least you're not stuck in a turn-out," the young man said. "Where exactly are you?"
I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead hard. "I have no idea. The last sign I remember said Michel's Beach."
"Oh, hey! They have a really nice brewery in Michel's Beach."
I hung up and jammed my phone in my purse. Then I tugged out a compact and flipped open the mirror. I looked like hell, with tangled hair and red-rimmed eyes. I snapped the compact shut and decided that what I really needed was a drink.
Chapter Two
Landon
I could hear the lecture coming, the way my cousin’s heels cracked against the tiles as she marched across the foyer. I slipped into the kitchen and almost fell over a large delivery box. The kitchen had turned into an obstacle course of decorations, catering equipment, and extra staff. The staff looked up and smiled at me, but then they heard Lyla coming, and their smiles fell.
"Landon, please tell me you are not planning to go out," she barked as she burst into the kitchen.
The staff scattered like cockroaches as she approached. Everyone pretended like they were busier than they really were, just to avoid her.
"You caught me, Lyla. It's a beautiful, sunny afternoon, and I was planning to go out and live a little. How about you?"
She tugged her linen suit coat into place. "You know there’s a difference between reality and what you are trying to call 'life,' right? One's a fantasy that adults have to give up, and the other is the real world."
I gestured to encompass the grand kitchen, the glittering crystal serving sets, and the fresh exotic flowers. "Most people wouldn’t call this reality."
"The reality is that this is your event to host, and you are not going anywhere." She put her hands on her hips.
"I know we all get a little stressed during gala time, but you handle it so much better." I held up my hands in surrender as I inched backward and prayed I wouldn’t trip over a box. "I'm sure you've got this all under control."
Lyla's eyes were icy, as if she was trying to freeze me in place. "Landon, it is your responsibility to make this the event of the season."
I tripped and twenty abalone shells skittered across the kitchen tiles. "It will be. I have faith in you. That's why I hired you, Lyla.” I picked up an iridescent shell. “I mean, I have no idea why we even have these?"
Lyla snatched the shell from my hand. "These are for the centerpieces."
"What are centerpieces?"
"For god's sake, Landon. What would you do without me?" My cousin shook a few curls loose from her perfect ponytail.
I took my chance and headed for the back door. "Exactly. I need you, but you'd be better off if I wasn't in your way."
Lyla caught me on the steps and her polished nails dug into my arm. "Where are your priorities?"
I gritted my teeth. Far off over the manicured lawn and carefully cultivated gardens, the ocean was misty and calm. "Let's not do this today, okay?"
"Landon, you hired me to run this and the company for you, but that doesn't mean you’re off the hook. I'm sorry you don't like it, but people have high expectations of you."
I looked down at her hand on my arm and frowned. She let go of me and clenched her fingers into fists. We used to be playmates, but that didn’t mean I’d let her boss me around like this. I let her get away with too much, only because she was family. The only family I had left.
I looked up from her tight fists to her sharp green eyes. "Anyone who expected anything of me is gone, Lyla, you know that. Why can't I just be left in peace now?"
She softened, but only a little. "Your guests have expectations. Think about the people who have had this on their social calendars their whole lives. Or how about the people that strived to get an invitation and now they've finally made it? This event really means something to people. And think about the town."
I waved my hands in a shooing motion. "The town's overrun with tourists. I bet everyone is happier when this is over."
"Not ‘tourists’. Guests. Guests who come from all over the world and expect to see you. Guests who spend millions of dollars on charities that you suggest. Think about all those charities, Landon."
"That is low. Even for you," I snapped. "What are you going to do next? Pull out a picture of a starving child and tell me to do it for them?"
She crossed her arms. "If I have to."
I took a step down so we were eye to eye. My patience had worn thin as my eyes locked on hers. "I seem to recall I hired you to run all of this. I signed off on the army of staff, the cleaners, and decorators, and that obnoxious duo you assured me were the most elite event planners in the U. S. What I did not do was give you permission to scold me like a child."
A faint smile chased across my cousin's face before she forced her lips back into a stern line. "Let's just call that one of the perks of being family."
My laugh was laced with frustration. Lyla was the only real family I had left. That, combined with the fact that she was five years older than me, usually gave her the upper hand, when I allowed it. We’d spent summers and vacations together in the midst of our parents’ busy lives. Lyla was used to bossing me around from childhood when she was in charge of every camping trip and fun adventure my friend, Andrew, and I planned. It did not help that my cousin was the type of person who wanted to be permanently in charge.
"Are you happy, Ly?" I asked.
She swayed back on her heels. "What? Why would you ask something like that? Of course, I'm happy."
I studied her face, noted the frown lines around her mouth, and sighed. "Do you know what happy feels like?"
"You're one to talk," she snapped. Her eyes widened and she blew out a frustrated sigh. "Sorry. Fighting with you just gets too childish."
I shrugged. "You're right, as usual. I don't know what happy feels like, but at least I'm trying to find out."
"And I'm not?" Lyla covered her mouth with one hand and blinked hard.
I winced at the pain in her eyes but couldn’t take back what I’d said. I looked up to her; she was impressive in so many ways. She was first and foremost a professional. She was always impeccably dressed with her hair in a sleek ponytail. Her plain, dark brown hair was countered by emerald-green eyes and an elegant
, heart-shaped face. She was attractive, ambitious, and dedicated. Just not happy.
"I worry about you, Ly. Just as much as you worry about me," I said. "I benefit from all your hard work, but do you ever turn it off and give yourself a break?"
She sniffed. "You of all people know this is an all-day, everyday, kind of job."
"But it doesn't have to be."
"For you, maybe," Lyla snapped. "I'm not complaining, but if I didn’t work the hours that I did, we wouldn't be standing here right now."
"No," I sighed. "I'd be in town by now. Come on, take the afternoon off. Go surprise your boyfriend with a little free time. Relax. Do something fun. A few hours will not derail this whole operation."
We stepped aside as a team of caterers hauled warming trays into the kitchen. Lyla waited until they had passed and then scowled at me. "I don't have any free time to give."
"What does your boyfriend say about that?" I asked.
"What boyfriend?" Lyla snapped. "And, no, I don't want to talk about it. Stop trying to sidetrack me. You always do this, Landon, and it's not going to work this time."
I knew she didn’t have a boyfriend, but I hoped the dig would push her away and allow me to finally break free. I turned and trotted down the steps to the driveway. "We don't have to have this conversation every day, Lyla."
"Really?" She chased me across the driveway to the five-car garage. "Is this the part where you actually grow up and start taking care of your responsibilities?"
I paused with my hand on the door of a small, sporty convertible. "What responsibilities? All you need me to do is put on a suit, smile, shake hands and sign checks. A monkey could take care of my responsibilities."
"Your guests expect to see you."
I swore until the tops of her cheeks turned pink, then I took a deep breath. "I'll be there, Lyla. Of course, I'll be there. Is that good enough for you?"
"Good enough? When are you going to stop pretending that all of this is a burden?" She motioned to the car, the grounds, and back to the house.
"This coming from the girl who's practically breathing fire over a party that you hired someone else to plan," I snapped.
"Landon, this is important, and I know that underneath your childish attitude, you know it as well."
I yanked open the car door and jumped in. "I already said I'd be there. Can you turn off 'bitch mode' now?"
She stepped in front of the sports car and put her hands on her hips. "You want 'bitch mode?' Then how about we talk about your appearance again. Honestly, Landon, when was the last time you shaved?"
I twisted the car key and revved the engine. "Get out of the way."
"No. If I look unhappy and bitchy all the time, then it's only fair to point out you look like a loser. Scruffy jeans, a faded button-down, constant stubble. Who do you think you're fooling?" Lyla asked. "One of these days you’re going to have to own up to who you really are."
I cranked the sports car into reverse and skidded away from her. She remained planted in the center of the driveway. I revved the engine to drown out the expletives burning my lips, but she heard every word. She didn’t even blink.
The worst part of it was she was right. Someday I was going to have to give in and acknowledge my responsibilities, but I wasn’t ready yet.
I inched the car past her and gritted my teeth. "I said I'd be there, and I will. See ya later, Ly."
She threw her perfectly manicured hands into the air, but finally stepped aside. I hit the gas and peeled down the driveway to the first sharp curve. Behind me, Lyla turned back to the house, already shouting orders to the staff. I watched in the rearview mirror as she marched up the sweeping marble steps and disappeared into the cavernous foyer. The mansion had a way of swallowing people whole.
I wanted to race along the driveway but two catering trucks and a florist van forced me down to a reasonable speed. If a driver didn’t know every turn and switchback of the steep drive like I did, it was a white-knuckled route. I waved to the drivers as I coasted past. Luckily the sun was warm, and it was enough of a relief to be leaving that I could relax. By the time I passed the imposing stone pillars that marked the property line, almost all of the tension had melted out of my shoulders.
The car idled eagerly as I pulled out my phone. "Hey, you at the office?" I asked when a calm voice answered the call.
"Where the hell else would I be on a day like this?" Andrew said. "The real question is where are you? Flying to Ibiza?"
"God, did Lyla tell you about that?"
Andrew chuckled. "When are you going to learn that everybody tells me everything?"
"Yeah, yeah, you're better than a confessional. I'm on my way. Any chance you can have my regular waiting?"
"Consider it done," Andrew said.
I tossed my phone to the passenger’s seat and revved the engine again, considering the straight avenue ahead of me. Too bad the street that led to my driveway was a residential area. Two doors down, a little boy dragged a red wagon to his mailbox and waved at me. I waved back and started toward town at a reasonable speed.
"Tell your mom the roses look great," I called.
The little boy smiled and ran back to his house to deliver the message. The road was clear and I slammed my foot on the accelerator until I came to the next intersection.
The rest of the short drive was painfully slow. Rare traffic sprawled around the two hotels just before the intersection of Highway 1. I recognized the grocer's son wrangling a Ferrari while his best friend jumped into a monstrous Cadillac SUV. The hotels hired the local young folks as valets to help control the congestion, but it never really relieved the problem.
"Every year, same crap," I muttered. I nodded to both boys and threaded my way past the overflowing hotel parking lots.
Two miles down Highway 1 and cars had filled the parking lot outside The Sand Dollar. I cursed the crowd and drove around to the side of the building. Luckily, no thoughtless tourist had taken my spot on the grassy stretch between the dumpster and the edge of the cliff.
Music and colorful conversation pumped out the screen door as I yanked it open and stepped into the busy kitchen.
“I need more tomatoes, cabrón!” someone shouted.
“I’ll get you your tomatoes when you stop yelling at me, pendejo,” someone shouted back.
"Hey, hey, watch your language,” I called. “There are proper people around."
The chef stopped chopping and held up the glinting knife. "I don't see no proper person," he said.
"Thank god. Ruiz, you're the best," I said. "Don't let these tourists say anything else."
"Like I'm gonna listen to them." The chef laughed and turned back to his work.
I nudged open the swinging door to the bar. Only a few stragglers had wandered away from the five-star dining room and the breathtaking balcony overlooking the water. My regular stool was still open. I dodged past the red vinyl booths and slipped onto it.
"Oh, god. Don't tell me. Lyla's on a tear," Andrew said. He had long been the go-between for Lyla and me when we clashed. Andrew was the only person my cousin ever confided in, though mostly, she just ranted about me. "Please tell me she's not going to call looking for you."
“Promise. If she calls me, I’ll answer this time.” I took a long swallow of the porter he set in front of me. "At least she likes you."
"Right. That's why she called me an uncivilized cliff-dweller the last time we talked on the phone." Andrew leaned both hands on the bar and shook his head. "I know the beard's a bit much, but do I really look like some sort of caveman?"
"Don't ask me," I held my arms out so he could take in my ensemble. "I apparently wear the wrong clothes and don't shave enough either."
Andrew stepped back, crossed his arms, and studied me. "Well, you do look jobless."
I snorted. "Yeah, well, if I had an office like this place, I might be able to hold down a job."
"I'm never going to feel bad for you, man. You know that," Andrew said.
&nb
sp; "Then how about we trade? You can have my life, and I'll run The Sand Dollar." It was hard not to sound hopeful.
He laughed like he always did. Same laugh I’d known since we were kids, playing the occasional prank on Lyla. "Forget it, Landon. I would never trade with you. Not for anything."
"Let's see, I've tried a super-yacht, an Italian villa, that chalet in Telluride, and one of Maserati's new concept cars. How about your own private resort island?"
Andrew smiled but shook his head and strolled down the bar to serve other customers. "Not going to happen. I'm not trading The Sand Dollar for anything."
"Come on, just because you inherited this place, just because your family has kept it in continuous operation since before Michel's Beach even got on the map, doesn't mean you can't part with it," I called.
"I just don't want anything you've got," Andrew called back.
"What have I got?" I asked my beer.
Andrew came back with a beer of his own and took a long sip before he said, "This place isn't even any good. Just ask your cousin. She had about eighty suggestions the last time she actually set foot in here."
"She’s had eighty suggestions for everything we do since we were kids. Remember trying to build a clubhouse with her when we were ten?" I tapped my pint glass against his and raised it. "Here's to burning the suggestion box."
"Hell yeah, that was a good day." Andrew grinned. "Though, I gotta say she had some really good ideas."
"Shhh, for god's sake!" I whipped my head around at the handful of other customers. "What if Lyla heard you? She'd make this place unrecognizable in minutes."
Andrew leaned his elbows on the bar and toyed with his pint glass. "Why wouldn't I take her advice?"
"No! Banish that thought. Take the private island. Get out while you still can." I grabbed his arm and gave him a beseeching look.
He shook his head and despite the thick beard, I could see his frown. "I figure a successful corporate manager who controlled multimillion dollar conglomerates before becoming your babysitter might know what she's talking about."
"My babysitter." I finished half my beer in a few gulps.
Torn_An Alpha Billionaire Romance Page 26