Kyle wiggles his brows, and she takes the business card he offers. The bite of her bottom lip tells me she’s Kyle’s next hook-up.
The waitress slips the card down her cleavage. “Thanks,” she says and I’m sure Kyle just got a hard-on just hearing her sultry voice. “I’ll call you after my shift, Wayne Butters.” She winks and walks away.
I stifle a chuckle. “Are you still using that damn card?”
“These bunnies don’t need to know my real name.”
“Serial dating rule number one,” I state with a shake of my head. “You’re sick, you know that?”
“And you’re pussy whipped,” Kyle snorts.
“Fuck off, Ky.”
“Looks like I will be with blonde-boob-job when she’s done with her shift.”
“Whatever.”
The glass tumbler is almost at his mouth when he says, “This woe-is-me shit is killing my vibe. Can you lighten up?”
I shake my head as the gnawing ache in my chest grows when I remember the look in Delilah’s eyes when I told her I wasn’t going with her. And it’s fucking killing me.
“I’m a damn mess.”
“Yeah . . . so, fix it.”
“How?”
“Look, I know you better than most. I know all about your past and present, and why you are running from it rather than embracing it. But someday, dude, you will have to face it if you want things to work out with you and your Kansas girl.” Kyle tips his amber liquid back, then leans in. “It sounds like you broke her heart and yours along with it. But if she’s willing to talk to you and take you back after giving her the shaft, she’s in love with you too.”
“I never said I was in love with her.”
He raises his glass, taps the neck of the bottle, gives me a knowing nod, and takes a sip. “You didn’t have to, my friend.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Delilah
“The pool is down this path and the gym is in the adjacent building,” the cheery young lady behind the desk tells me as her finger traces over the resort map. “Room service is open till ten o’clock every evening. Happy hour is in the common lounge from five to eight.”
“Thank you,” I say, pausing to look at her badge on her blazer, “. . . Nicole.”
“Your meeting with Miss Stevenson will be in the Pine Room, which is just down this hallway.”
I glance up at the oversized clock on the wall. I still have a couple of hours to freshen up and walk the grounds to take in the landscape.
After the thirty-minute drive east from the city, the horizon greeted me with a panoramic view of open skies, lush green trees, and a narrow road that led me to Evergreen Escapes. It sounds like a high-priced spa, but now that I’m here, it all makes sense. It is a getaway, an evergreen oasis, an escape.
“Will you be needing two keys?” she asks as I stare at her for a beat and the pit in my stomach grows. I should have been asking for two, but I feel like such an idiot right now as I glance at a man and a woman checking in next to me. “No, just one, thanks.”
She programs the plastic card in the machine, slips it in a cardholder, and hands it to me. “To get to your room, head down this path”—she points to my right—“follow it and it will curve to a fork. Bear left, it will lead you to your secluded quarters. Tent number nineteen.”
I roll my small suitcase through the automatic sliding door and down the graveled path. It’s a bit of a walk, but just like the brochure stated, the sleeping quarters definitely give you the privacy it promises. Something I cataloged for one of the marketing designs.
I swing open the gate of a secluded courtyard to an oversized beige tent, spying colorful flowers and a swing off to the side. I slip my key card in the door.
Upon entry I am blown away. The room is chic and cozy. A large cream faux fur carpet covers the wooden floor. A king-size bed takes up most of the space. The room is stunning, and every piece of furniture, textile, and structure is darling.
I plop my suitcase on the bed and immediately fumble through it to get out my power suit for my meeting with Kayla Stevenson. Then I spot the black lace thong and bra. I don’t know what comes over me, but I change into them and slip on my power suit.
I walk over to the mirror, swivel side to side. Sydney’s right. Not only do I feel prettier, I feel more confident. Now, time to nail this account for good.
* * *
“As you can see the yearly profits will increase with implementing the marketing plan as the seasons change.” I swipe my fingers across the tablet, and I show her the designs for the next four years. “Granted, these are the mock-up photos, but you get the idea. Each one is different. With a slogan to reflect the seasonal transformation.”
“I love what you have done here. It’s as if I’m seeing my resort with a fresh set of eyes.”
“Sometimes, that’s what it takes. My photographer told me this was one of his favorite projects.”
“He did an amazing job,” she says as she flips through a few of the printouts I brought with me. “Absolutely stunning.”
“I’m delighted you are pleased with the rough drafts, Miss Stevenson.”
“Please call me Kayla. My staff calls me Miss Stevenson. We are more like business partners, Delilah.”
Business partners?
I clear my throat. “Are you saying?”
“Consider this your go ahead to proceed. I’ll work with Catherine and Peter to extend the retainer to accommodate the additional work you have proposed.”
“Thank you so much.” We stand and shake hands.
I clear my throat as I gather the papers and pile them in a stack. “Kayla, may I ask you a personal question?”
“Depends how personal.”
“Your parents sold the company to Lindell Investments—”
“And you’re wondering why they didn’t just hand me the business,” she interrupts.
“I don’t mean to pry.”
“My parents offered it to me. But I turned it down.”
“I don’t understand. You’re already vested in your family business as a director, why wouldn’t you want it?”
“The thing is, Delilah, I love working here.” She motions her chin to the spreadsheet displayed on my tablet. “Evergreen was going under and selling was the only option. Lindell Investments saved my family’s business, the employees here got to keep their jobs, and I got to keep mine.”
“I had no idea. The figures didn’t show that.”
“Evergreen was doing okay. But according to the forecast I ran, we were flatlining. And I told my parents to retire and sell it. This way, they get to live a happy retirement and I can still keep close ties to what my parents built. With your designs, I know that Evergreen will thrive and I’m so glad I decided to meet with you today rather than in a few weeks in Los Angeles. Knowing the Lindells, they may still want to see the final plans and your projections.” She looked at her watch again. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get going. I have got to pick up my son from the sitter. Why don’t you head to our restaurant? I will inform the staff to comp your meal and drinks.”
“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
After my meeting with Kayla, I speak with Peter and Catherine on a video conference to let them know about the good news. The fact Kayla is extending our retainer says our meeting went without a hitch.
It felt like a million bucks and all I want to do is call my best friend and tell her how my meeting went.
I quickly get out of the suit and change into my comfy red summer dress, sit on the bed, and hit the camera icon to connect the video call.
“Hey, Syd.”
“Hey, I was just thinking about you . . . how’d your meeting go?”
A proud grin widens my face. “I nailed it!”
“See? I knew you would. How does it feel?”
“Absolutely amazing, now I’m going to grab some dinner and celebrate with a glass of wine or two
.”
“Really?”
“Sure, why not?”
“So, you’re braving it and having a drink alone?” There’s caution in her question.
“I’m working, and I need to take in the vibe and the atmosphere.”
“Okay.” She draws out the word and I’m curious what’s going on in that head of hers.
“Okay, what, Syd?” Now she’s piqued my curiosity.
“It’s just that you were so hesitant to go with me to the club weeks ago. And now you’re venturing out to happy hour and drinking alone.”
“A lot has happened since then. And why are you being such a Debbie-Downer?”
“I’m not trying to be. I’m just trying to gauge your mindset.”
“My mindset is fine. And I wouldn’t be celebrating alone if Brody came with me.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“Not since yesterday when he bailed after dropping off my lunch.” I waltz into the bathroom and open my toiletry bag to freshen up. “He’s hiding something.”
“Good lord, Dee. How many times do I have to tell you? He’s nothing like that shitbag,” she scolds.
“Then why am I up here alone and haven’t heard one word from him? Not even a text.”
“Maybe he’s working a security job and he can’t call you.”
“I doubt it.”
“Look, I was planning to tell you something. But considering you’re already down, I’ll just wait.”
“You might as well tell me,” I say, letting out an audible sigh.
“While I was at the store yesterday, I grabbed that latest Kyndal Magazine and there’s an article . . . about Brody.”
“Why would he be in Kyndal Magazine?”
“Well, you might as well read it for yourself. I just sent you the link.”
Stepping back into the bedroom, I take my tablet from my bag, sit on the bed, and open the link Sydney sent me.
As my finger scrolls, I stop at a picture that catches my eye. It’s Brody and two women. One is Avery Saints. Jesus Christ. He never told me his sister is a fucking model—a famous one too.
Looking back at the picture, I assume the other woman is their mother. She’s wearing a satin scarf over her head and despite the frailty in her face, she’s beautiful and I can see where Brody and his sister get their good looks from. The date of the picture was almost five years ago.
I read the article aloud. “Stella Saint Clair, was the driving force in SC Investments, now known as Lindell Investments, bringing in more than $105 billion for clients and an uptick of 22% growth in 2016. In her last year as chairman of SC Investments, one of the largest investment companies in the nation, business began to flatline and became increasingly challenging, leaving her no choice but to pass the baton to her two children, Brody and Avery Saint Clair-Reinhardt, following her announcement of ovarian cancer. Unfortunately, this great empire built from the ground up by their grandfather, took a different path. In a news conference held on June 29, 2017, the Saint Clair-Reinhardt children announced the takeover by Charles Lindell. Saint Clair remained on the Board of Directors until the cancer claimed her life three years ago . . .”
“Did you know?” Sydney cuts in as I stare at the trio on my screen.
“Brody told me his mother died from cancer. But I had no idea she was a Saint Clair. And he didn’t tell me Avery Saints, aka Avery Saint Clair-Reinhardt, is his sister.” And I had no idea Lindell bought out his mother’s company which now happens to be the new owner of Evergreen Escapes. What are the odds?
“Keep scrolling to the next picture. You made it to the social section.”
My fingers swipe to a photo of Brody and me at Levi’s barbeque. The caption:
Naval hero and most eligible bachelor, Brody Saint Clair-Reinhardt, is back in town with Delilah Marshall, a marketing manager at CJJ Public Relations. Is this the new woman in his life? Or is he back on the market and she’s his next conquest?
“Conquest?” I keep scrolling and there are photos of him in his early years. A boyish-man and not yet the adult male I know him to be.
“According to this article, post-navy, Brody’s kept his life private. Hmm, the article keeps going on about his bad boy image before he joined,” Sydney says as I skim the words.
Images of him years ago, a man I barely recognize is front and center. It’s Brody with different women. But there are several with one sultry, sexy model draped all over him like a scarf. Her name is Sophia and she’s kissing him on the mouth and his hand is on her ass.
Heat surges in my veins. How do I know if this is in the past? What if Brody is still in love with her? What if Sophia is still in love with him?
“I had no idea,” is all I murmur. “Did Levi know who Brody was?”
“Not sure. He didn’t say anything to me about it. But then again, guys don’t get gooey about another guy. Besides, Levi was busy entertaining his guests and the cast.”
How stupid am I? Trust is so important to me and I put one hundred percent of it in this man. Paragraph after paragraph, photo after photo, I realize I really don’t know the man I have been dating for the last several weeks.
All I keep thinking about is the man that made me fall for him. How he kissed me yet, made no attempt to go any further. Is it because he hasn’t changed and he’s still seeing other women?
I told him I was exclusive to him and thought it was mutual. I run a hand through my hair then pound it on the bed.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I yell. “Syd, I am so fucking stupid! How could I let him . . . ?”
“Calm down. Remember, this article is all about the old Brody. These pictures mean nothing. The tabloids are good at making you believe what they want you to read. People change.”
“Are you taking his side?” I point to my tablet. “Brody lied to me.”
“He didn’t lie . . . he just didn’t tell you everything.”
“Omission is still lying, Syd.” I roll my eyes as anger simmers in my veins.
I skim quickly to the next article. Something about accusations, non-consent, and charges as I read aloud.
“There is a good explanation for it all. Just like the tabloid almost ruined my love life with Levi only to find out it was all in the name of boosting the ratings for the show.”
“There’s no show here. It’s Brody and an article. But from what I know of the man, I can’t fathom why this woman would accuse him of assault.”
“There are two sides to a story.”
I pace the room a few times, then walk over to the window and stare at the hills beyond the evergreen pines surrounding the resort. Although it’s peaceful, my heart is racing, and my head is spinning. I take in a deep breath to calm my mind from spiraling out of control.
“I’m sorry, I only wanted to show that you made it to the social section. But I guess I should have read more before I showed this to you.”
“It’s not your fault, Syd. This is all on him.”
“I know the wheels are turning in your head about Brody. Go easy on him. Weigh his actions against the way he makes you smile and how he helped you find yourself again. There’s a reason why he’s secretive about these things. You were secretive too once before.”
“Take care, you,” I say, taking in her plea and remembering the secret I kept from my family and friends. But it’s no longer a secret. I have come to terms that I’m no longer Todd’s victim, but rather a victor and a survivor.
“Take care, you,” she replies.
* * *
I need to keep my head occupied, not think of Brody and the damn article that blares the words I never thought I would ever read as I finish my second glass of wine.
Rape charges against golden-boy, Brody Saint Clair-Reinhardt, were later dropped after Campbell refused to appear in court to testify. Campbell, now facing her own set of charges for false allegations, retracted her statement and publicly apologized for defaming Saint Clair-Reinhardt . . .
Thoughts run through my head. Is t
his why he’s been secretive about his past? He didn’t want me to know about the allegations and see him differently?
Well, hell . . . It seems a lot worse now because he’s been hiding this information. But, if he had told me initially, would I have given him the time of day? And what about his family? Why didn’t he tell me about his sister? And his mother’s business? And what’s the deal with his father?
I’m so confused and no matter how I look at things, he lied. Right?
“Would you like another refill, miss?” the waiter asks, holding up the bottle.
I nod absently and blindly stare at my half-eaten salad as the waiter pours my third glass of wine. I toy with the parsley on my plate with my fork contemplating if I should call Brody and beat him to the punch by letting him know I know.
A man and woman catch my attention on the other side of the cozy restaurant. I watch as the man’s finger caresses her dainty wrist and he slowly reaches in his pocket and pulls out a black box. He lowers to one knee and the few lingering people gasp at his foreseeable movement. Tears stream down the woman’s face as her palms cover her smiling mouth. She nods without hesitation and the man swoops her up in his arms and kisses her passionately while the onlookers applaud.
My eyes pool as I play with my charm between my fingers and I get sappy at their happy moment as I watch the loving couple embrace.
Tomorrow I will witness Dylan do the same to Phoebe. I’m so happy for my brother and I can’t wait to see everyone. I miss them so very much and right now being with family is what I need.
My phone jingles in my purse and I’m sure it’s Dylan once again fine tuning the surprise engagement party details. I spoke to him fifteen minutes ago and I swear he thinks I’ll forget to bring the photos for their new house where the festivities will be held.
“Dylan, how many times do I have to tell you? I’ll be there with all the photos and help set up,” I answer exasperated.
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