by J. L. Berg
“No,” I answered immediately, finishing off my coffee.
“Jesus, Taylor. At least think it through.”
I shrugged and headed back to the coffeepot for a refill. “I don’t need to think it through. I’m perfectly happy with my current arrangement.”
He waited as I did my usual routine of copious amounts of creamer to coffee before speaking again, “You mean, you’re perfectly happy with banging every single tourist you meet and the occasional grandchild of a family friend even if it means possible dismemberment on your part.”
“Jimmy won’t hurt me,” I scoffed. “He’s the most lovable—”
“That guy was a fighter pilot in Vietnam. I’m pretty sure he got a medal for how many enemy planes he shot down. He’s a beast.”
“Really? Well, that’s…unsettling.”
“So, stop fucking his granddaughter then!”
“I am! I did, I mean. Remember, breakfast?”
He let out a huff. “Don’t you want to have something real with someone?”
“Like you and Cora?”
His smile softened at the mere mention of his wife. They’d been married less than a year, and they still had that glow about them. It was disgusting.
“Yeah,” he said.
Running my hands through my light-brown hair, I let his question sink in, giving it a few seconds of my time; he was my big brother after all.
“Not really,” I finally answered. “Honestly, I’m good, Dean. Stop trying to save me. I know, now that you’re all in love or whatever, you feel it’s your mission to make sure everyone else around you is just as happy as you are, but I’m really good. Promise.”
He eyed me warily.
“Besides, I seem to remember that not too long ago, the name on every young tourist’s lips was a different Sutherland brother entirely.”
“That was a long time ago,” he argued. “And let me tell you something; it got tiresome. The chase, the same boring conversation, the awkward morning after.”
“So, you thought it’d be a better idea to marry your best friend?”
His eyes narrowed as I mentally high-fived myself for that jab.
“It wasn’t my best decision, but thankfully, Molly and I came to our senses.”
Oh no, I wasn’t letting him off that easy.
“You mean, Jake came back to town and took what was rightfully his. Man, have you ever noticed how much drama this little town has going on? It’s like there’s a mini soap opera going on every time I turn around.”
“Yeah, weird,” he answered, clearly annoyed. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is—”
“What you’re trying to say is that your way—love and commitment and all that—is the best and, obviously, the only way. But here’s the thing, Dean. I’ve been handling things on my own for a while now. While you were recovering from your accident, I was busting my ass off, rebuilding this company like I had done time and time before that. So, don’t come in here and act all big brother on me like you did when we were kids. I love you; I do. But we’re past the age for love advice, okay?”
He looked a bit taken aback, and I felt bad for the harshness of my tone, but I wouldn’t apologize for my lifestyle.
Not when he’d traveled the same path only a few years earlier.
“Okay,” he finally agreed.
“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to prep for an early morning tour—”
I was cut off by the bell on the office door.
Turning around, I saw our mother flying through it, her eyes wide and full of panic like she was being chased here by a wild animal.
It wasn’t an impossibility, I guessed, given the town we lived in.
“You’ll never guess what I just heard!”
Oh great, town gossip.
Just what I needed to hear at the ass crack of dawn on Thursday morning.
“I’d better put on another pot of coffee,” Dean groaned.
“Make it a strong one.”
As a rule, news of any kind spread like wildfire in our small town.
You could get in an argument with your spouse in the morning on one side of the island, and by noon, it was old news, having already reached the other side and back again by the time everyone finished their second cup of coffee.
So, it was no surprise that something as big as this had caused a flurry of activity; so much so that an emergency meeting had been called that very night to try to help calm everyone’s nerves.
Mine included.
Being low season, we met at By the Bay, a popular inn owned by none other than Molly Jameson, one of Dean’s best friends and ex-fiancée. They were both married now—to other people. Molly was married to her high school sweetheart, Jake, the town doctor, and Dean had just recently married Cora, the town nurse.
Honestly, it kind of made me ill, how well-adjusted and happy they all were.
I watched as they all took seats next to each other, the girls complimenting each other on outfit choices while crooning over baby Ruby as the guys joked.
Not a single bit of animosity or latent jealousy floating about.
Talk about weird.
“Hey.”
I looked up to see Millie McIntyre, Molly’s younger sister and my former classmate from high school, although now she was Millie Fisher, since she’d recently been married herself.
“Hey yourself,” I said as she helped guide her husband, Aiden, to a seat beside her.
Although I didn’t know the British artist well, I did know Millie, having gotten the chance to reacquaint myself with my good friend since her move back home just over a year ago. She’d come back to help out Molly during her maternity leave and ended up falling in love with Aiden, who was internationally recognized for his stone sculptures and the fact that he did them almost completely blind.
“Do you know what’s going on?” she asked. “All I know is that something was sold and it’s a big freaking deal because my mom said, ‘Get your ass to that meeting, Millie. All the other business owners will be there, and you’ll look stupid if you’re not.’ So, here I am.”
I laughed. “There’s no way your mom said the word ass.”
She shrugged as Aiden chuckled. The dark glasses he wore to help enhance what little sight he had left made it hard to see his full expression.
“Okay, so I might be paraphrasing, but she did say it was important.”
“You know that dive of a hotel along the marina?”
“Of course. Is that what sold? I told my sister to buy it months ago.”
I let out a sigh. “Well, it’s too bad she didn’t. Maybe then we wouldn’t be in this shithole of a mess.”
“Why? Who did buy it?”
“Hart International.”
“Oh fuck,” Aiden said under his breath, causing his wife to turn abruptly toward him and then back to me, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Okay! Hello!” my mother said loudly at the front of the room. “We’re going to get started. I’ve been asked to lead, as the seller of the hotel in question, The Cozy Hotel, prefers to not participate.”
I bet she doesn’t, I thought to myself. Selfish bitch. I bet the old hag took all that money they’d given her and hopped the first ferry out of here.
“Hart International? Like the resorts?” Millie whispered into my ear. “What do they want with us?”
I let out a sigh as my mother began, “We’re just going to do this casual-style, so does anyone have any questions?”
A million hands shot up in the air.
“Nothing good,” I answered back. “Nothing damn good.”
“Just set the canapés down right there,” I instructed, nervously buzzing around the conference table, making sure every little detail was taken care of.
“Like this?” my coworker and best friend, Piper, asked, adjusting the large platter just so.
I surveyed the lunch spread, feeling pretty proud of myself.
“Yes.” I nodded. “I think that’s perfec
t.”
We both stepped back to appreciate our hard work. I’d planned this menu weeks ago, ordering food from my father’s favorite restaurants—the main course from a little place he’d loved to take me and my mother to when I was little, which was famous for their authentic Polynesian fare, and then dessert was straight-up Italian, like his Nonna used to make.
“You do realize that there is enough food here to feed the entire floor, right?” Piper joked. Her hand reached toward the perfect Italian desserts I’d plated on delicate china I’d brought from my own apartment.
“Don’t you dare,” I said, slapping it away. “And, yes, I realize that, but this is special. It’s not every day that my father comes home, and I want to make it special.”
“You mean you want to woo him with your superior skills so that he’ll finally promote you.”
I defensively folded my arms across my chest, the polka-dot blouse I’d chosen just for this occasion wrinkling beneath my tight embrace. “Would it kill him? I mean, would it really?”
“He doesn’t show favoritism, that’s for sure. That man is making you earn your keep.”
“No! He’s making me work ten times harder; that’s what he’s doing. Do you know Becky Knowles?”
Piper’s blonde eyebrows rose, but she went with it. She was used to my abrupt change of topics. We’d been friends since college, both attending the University of Hawaii, here in Honolulu. We’d become fast friends one night at a freshman mixer when I, who was well on my way to blending perfectly into the wall, overheard her discussing Hogwarts houses with a guy so desperate to get in her pants, he was willing to try to play along.
His deadly mistake? Saying he’d laughed when that “old dude died.”
I’d stepped in before she committed murder or tried to off him with an unforgivable curse.
The fact that she, too, was majoring in interior design had just sealed the deal.
We’d been inseparable ever since.
“Of course I know Becky Knowles. Although I’m not sure she goes by Becky anymore. Not since college.”
I let out an annoyed huff.
“Okay, okay,” she said, holding out her hands in defeat. “Yes, I know Becky. What about her?”
“She was just given the Chicago project.”
Piper’s eyes widened. “You mean, that big one? The old historic hotel right on the water? Damn.”
And the way she’d said the last word said it all. Day-um.
“Exactly.”
“Didn’t she just start here—”
“A year ago,” I confirmed, looking over my ridiculous attempt to wrangle my dad into a promotion that should have been mine by birthright alone. “She’s about to temporarily relocate halfway across the country to head up a major remodel worth millions while we sit here, at the top of this high-rise, gathering dust.”
“Ew, I’m not dusty,” she argued, her pert little nose pointed sky-high in defiance.
“Really? What was the last project you worked on? The last viable thing you did for this company?”
That confidence she wore suddenly slipped, and a strong pout formed on her porcelain skin. “Fine, but when you present this amazing meal to your daddy, you’d better make sure you mention my name. Otherwise—”
“I know, I know. You’ll go to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter without me.”
“And?” she pressed.
“And…you’ll drink all the Butterbeer without me.”
“You bet your ass I will. And I’ll send you selfies the whole time, too.”
I shook my head. “Well, that’s just evil.”
She shrugged. “I’m a Slytherin. What do you expect?” Making a last-minute adjustment to the salad bowl, she patted my shoulder and took my hand. “Okay, you’ve got this. Remember what we talked about?”
“Stick to the talking points—my strengths as a team player and a leader and the fact that I’ve committed myself to this company for six long-ass years.”
“Might be good to leave off the word ass.”
“Right,” I agreed.
“And what are we avoiding?”
I let out a sigh. “That I’m entitled to it and that I deserve the promotion because he’s my father.”
“Good.” She smiled. “I think you’re ready.”
“Great, because”—I looked at the time on my phone—“I think he’s just about to step out of his meeting.”
Her hand squeezed mine before she pulled me into one last hug. “Good luck, and remember, talk me up!”
I laughed, before she stepped back and turned toward the door.
“You’re going to be fabulous.”
I nodded, knowing she was right.
This was my time to shine.
My father had always wanted me to earn my success, hating the title hotel heiress and terrified that his daughter would somehow become the next Paris Hilton. He’d put strict rules on me while I was growing up. No extravagances, no access to my trust fund until a certain age, and everything had to be earned. After four years of college and six years of working in the trenches, I was finally going to show him all the hard work I’d accomplished.
Look out, Becky Knowles. I’m right behind you.
Checking my phone again, I made a mental note of the time. It was a few minutes past noon, but meetings were known to drag late around here, so I decided to open up my laptop while I waited and peruse the company database.
My father had made a name for himself decades ago when I was nothing more than a toddler. Back then, Hart Hotels had been just a small chain here in Hawaii, which had been started by my grandparents, who’d met during World War II.
My grandfather, who had been stationed at Pearl Harbor, had fallen in love with the island and then with my grandmother. After the war, they’d opened the first Hart hotel, a small bungalow-style inn that welcomed guests from all over the world. Over the years, my grandparents had been fortunate to open several more and lived a comfortable lifestyle.
But it was my father who had really taken it to a global level, creating Hart International—a company that, in only a matter of a couple of years, now rivaled even the biggest hotel chains.
Looking through the database, I pulled up the latest acquisitions, seeing what properties my father had purchased. This was something he was known for—scooping up less than desirable properties in glamorous locations and turning them into something no one had expected. At any time, we had about a dozen hotels in progress globally.
These would be the future of the company over the next few months, if not years, and I wanted in. I wanted in so badly that I could taste it. Clicking on several, I could see he’d bought a property in Paris, one in Bali, and several other island locations I didn’t recognize, all varying in size and price.
Honestly, I’d take any of them as long as I wasn’t stuck in this building anymore. I just wanted to make my mark. Hell, I’d even take Chicago with its arctic winters if it meant something different for a change.
I really hated that I was jealous of Becky.
I’d written her a letter of recommendation for this job as a favor since we’d been friends in college, and now, she was off living my dream.
I checked the clock again.
Thirty minutes past twelve.
I started to get antsy.
My father was a talker and a known perfectionist. This could take a while. Thankfully, the food could keep awhile longer.
Fifteen minutes and two games of solitaire later, a knock came at the door. I jumped to my feet and tried to smooth the wrinkles in my blouse as the handle turned. My heart pounded, and I wondered if that was a normal reaction to a daughter seeing her father.
I also tried to remember the last time I’d seen him.
Six months?
Nine maybe?
Had we spent Christmas together? No, he’d canceled.
Letting go of my nerves, I plastered on a confident smile, only to feel it shatter when my father’s assistant walked th
rough the door.
I already knew what that meant.
“Hi Leilani,” he said, a careful tone he’d used with me on more than one occasion. In fact, I recalled the same formal cadence in his voice when he’d called only hours before my father was to arrive for Christmas dinner, telling me he’d had a change of plans. “I’m so sorry, but your father—”
“Isn’t coming,” I said, finishing his sentence for him. “What’s his excuse this time?”
Troy, who wasn’t much older than myself, gave me a sort of nod. His head tilted to the side, and his lips pursed.
I got it.
He couldn’t say.
Or wouldn’t.
“Well, thanks for doing his dirty work,” I said. “You want a canapé? They’re the best in the city.”
His eyebrows lifted as I motioned to the pretty platter of desserts. It was the most emotion I’d seen. Well, the truest emotion, I guessed, considering my dad had basically turned him into a walking, talking robot.
“Uh, no, but thank you.”
“Of course,” I said, my lip quivering as I fought off tears.
If there was one thing that could stop a man in his tracks, even a half-cyborg like Troy, it was tears. He stood frozen in place, staring at me, unsure of what to do as I sniffled into the palm of my hand.
Finally, his cyborg programming must have kicked back in because he turned toward the door to leave.
“Troy?” I said meekly, completely hating myself for the tears currently trailing down my cheeks.
“Yes, Miss Hart?”
“Do you think you could do me a favor and not tell my father about the crying?”
He didn’t say a word, but I saw a brief nod in my direction before he grabbed the door handle and exited.
Well, at least the tin man of an assistant still had a sliver of a heart left. There was some hope left for him after all.
Unfortunately though, there wasn’t even a scrap left for me.
“You sure you want to drink that?” Piper asked, pointing to the double shot that had just magically appeared at our table.
And by magically, I meant, I’d waved my finger, and the cute bartender I’d massively tipped to keep the alcohol flowing in my direction had walked his adorable butt over here and placed it in front of me.