Adrift

by Isabel Jolie

  While I found it fascinating, I didn’t care for men from random computers writing her with requests. I recognized my cognitive thought process as being primitive, but I didn’t like it. Yes, everything she did was largely innocent…but I still didn’t like it.

  “But once you get your restaurant going, you’ll probably stop, right?”

  “Yeah…” She trailed off, thoughtful.

  “Give me your updated restaurant pitch. I might want to invest.”

  “Thad didn’t share it with you?” I hadn’t heard anything from that company.

  “Nope. I want the pitch from the woman herself.”

  “No.” She sucked on the tip of her thumb, and I could swear I felt it in my cock. “I’ve already relied on you too much. I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you being an investor, taking your money.”

  “No one in this world makes it completely on their own. If you stop to study anyone’s path to success, at some point they leveraged a friend or at least a business connection. It’s how the world works.”

  She sipped her wine, clearly mulling over the idea. I thought we were in for an entertaining debate, but she twisted the tables and asked, “So, tell me about your business and this whole leave of absence from your firm. Any updates?”

  I explained in detail the ins and the outs of my life in limbo. She paid rapt attention.

  “You can’t wait to go back, can you?”

  “No, I can’t. I’m doing some work here, but it’s not the same. I miss the energy of people working on my floor. My assistant right outside my office. Conversations at the elevator. More than that, I miss the city in a way I didn’t think possible. Still can’t sleep. It’s too fucking quiet.”

  “So, it’s the city you miss?”

  A lone boat, probably a fisherman headed out for a nightly trawl, headed out, the green and white lights twinkling over the Cape Fear as it passed. A bird squawked in the distance.

  “It’s the energy. I miss the energy. There’s no energy out here. So, I guess you could say I miss both. My office. Trading buzz. Not having to deal with the garbage cans. Do you know the guy who takes my garbage refuses to put my garbage cans back in that little shed and I have to do it myself?” She giggled. I smiled. My frustration flowed out. “I miss people. People in and out and around me. I miss going out at night, any time of night, three a.m., and seeing other people. A few nights ago, I couldn’t sleep, and I went out on my deck at three a.m. Do you know what I saw?”

  “The moon?”

  “Exactly. Waves, sand, the moon. I’m sure I would’ve seen sand crabs if I’d walked out onto the empty beach. Empty being the key word. No. One. Anywhere. No light on. Nothing. Deathly quiet. I never gave much thought to the phrase deathly quiet. Now it has new meaning. It’s. Killing. Me.”

  She giggled, and we gazed at each other. If it wasn’t for her, I’d probably be considering abandoning this escape plan. But I found her entertaining. And all that energy I claimed to miss would be there when I returned.

  She’d pulled her blonde curls up into a bun when we’d boarded the boat, and now a few ringlets framed her face. The candlelight highlighted her long, slender neck. Sitting there, I fantasized trailing kisses down the delicate pale skin, all the way to her tempting breasts. Even though her black sweater covered her, I’d memorized her curves during my nightly perusal of her tempting photos. My absolute favorite shots were of her tiny tank tops that skimmed just below her nipples, and sometimes showed the edge of the dark rim. God, the woman had a gorgeous rack. I tipped bigtime on those photos. A less than intelligent move, given the last thing I wanted was for her to post more of those shots for other pervs to see.

  If she would allow me to be her only customer, she could keep her OnlyFans account income, and it would be a win-win. I’d still get to see her photos, whenever she had a chance to take some, and she’d still have an additional income stream while she kicked off her restaurant business. I pondered how to approach the solution again while she slipped off to the ladies’ room. Her stubborn refusal to wear my coat came to mind. She’d never go for it. Besides, like she told me, the site wasn’t set up that way—to provide exclusivity.

  The more time I spent with her, the more I hated that site. It was one thing to click on PornHub, or to even meet hired talent at a party. Those women felt one-dimensional. Entertainment.

  Poppy was no longer mere entertainment. I wanted her in my three-dimensional world, my real life, and I didn’t want any part of her to remain in that one-dimensional world where some part of her was hired. But if she wouldn’t accept my help…

  On the ride back, she stood in front of me and, under my guidance, took hold of the shiny silver wheel. The boat swerved left then right as she overcompensated time and again. Her belly laughs cut through the chilly night air. Her soft curves pressed against my front, and I settled into her warmth.

  As our date drew to a close and we walked side by side along the marina, I prepared mentally for our goodnight kiss. On that first night, she shocked me with a door in the face. Now, as her fingers slid into mine, I felt grateful she forced me to take it slow. If she’d let me in that first night, I might have written her off as a conquest. Kept her in my one-dimensional entertainment framework.

  Standing on her doorstep, I ran a thumb across her bottom lip and tilted her head up to meet mine. I tasted her, soft and slow. I had an urge to press her up against the wall and grind into her, but knowing I was the first guy to bring her flowers, the desire to show her how she deserved to be treated won out. I took a step back and held on to the railing as my breathing evened out and my dick protested my decision.

  “Would you like to come in?” She opened the door and placed her hand on the knob, offering.

  “More than you know. But I want to treat you right.”

  “Treat me? Because of Ben?”

  “Because you deserve it. You are worthy.” I pressed my lips against hers once more, breathed in her soft flowery scent, and forced myself off her porch. A headiness filled me, that feeling one got when you’d done something right. Maybe she wouldn’t accept my investment, but I had other ways of helping her and building her up. I planned to give Poppy a taste of life dating Gabriel Chesterton.

  Chapter 20

  Poppy

  * * *

  “Those. Flowers. Are. Gorgeous.” Luna kicked off her fuzzy boots by the front door and planted her face in the latest flower delivery, a stunning arrangement of thirty-six pink roses. And yes, I counted.

  “Gabe discovered no one had ever given me flowers before, and he’s been a little over the top this week. I’ve received a new arrangement every day. I’m going to have to tell him to slow it down or else my house is going to look like someone died.”

  “Uh-uh. These colors don’t say death. These colors say he’s fallen. Hard.” She fingered the low-lying modern arrangement on my coffee table and pointed at the white orchids on the center of the kitchen table.

  “The first arrangement he gave me were peonies. I think they’ll be my favorite for the rest of my life.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Well, they lost all their petals. But here are photos.” I handed her my phone, open to the right place in my photo directory.

  “Every day, huh?” She slowly turned around the room. “You have more upstairs?”

  “One by my bed. Another in my bathroom.”

  “L.O.V.E.,” she teased.

  “As if. More likely he’s staking a claim. I posted a pic of the flowers on my free account. You know, I do landscape shots and how-to videos, and fun stuff. Anyway, every time he sends them, I post the pics. One of my subscribers messaged me asking for a non-PO box address so he could send flowers, too. Something tells me I might be able to get a competition going. Men are weird.”

  “Yuck on the subscriber. Don’t do that.” She held her index finger out authoritatively.

  “That kind of goes without saying.”

  Satisfied, she dropped the fin
ger and stepped into my kitchen. “I think he really likes you. Have you got coffee?”

  “No, but you can use my Keurig.”

  She opened the cabinet and perused my coffee and tea options.

  “Other than the flowers and our texting, he hasn’t been around. I haven’t wanted to ask him to get together, because I kind of wanted him to initiate.”

  “Oh, you didn’t know? He’s been in New York. Something about meeting with lawyers. He’s back now, though. Is he going to take you flying?”

  “He said he would. But the small plane makes me nervous. Those are the planes that barely make a news mention when they crash. That Reed guy—now, admittedly, he was an asshole, but he didn’t make it sound like fun. I’d probably vomit all over his stick shift or whatever they have inside those planes, and Gabe would never want to see me again. No more flowers for Poppy.”

  Luna laughed. “Yeah, I’ve been hesitant to go up myself. Tate’s gone a few times. He likes flying over the coast and checking aerial views of various wreck sites. Actually, this weekend we’re taking a charter and going out to a wreck site off Hatteras. Want to come?”

  “Dive? The water’s fucking freezing. Are you out of your mind?”

  “Wet suit.”

  “Yeah…no.”

  “Hhmmm. What are all those boxes?” She eyed the flat stack of brand-new brown cardboard leaning against the den wall.

  “Gabe’s taken it upon himself to help me with the moving process.”

  “You’re moving?”

  “Sadly. I can’t justify throwing away another wad of cash to rent this place. It was really supposed to be more of a one-year gift to me. Gift received.”

  “Where are you going?” She leaned over my kitchen counter and I sank onto the facing bar stool.

  “I’m considering moving in with Gabe. Am I a lunatic for considering it?”

  “Moving in…as his girlfriend?”

  “No, moving in as his friend.”

  Luna’s chin almost met the back of her throat as she wrapped her mind around that notion.

  “I know, it’s crazy. But he has a full suite on the first floor. Two suites, actually. He’s offered me the whole downstairs. And he claims he’ll only be living here a few more months. Then he’d appreciate me being in his place so it’s not empty. It’s like a dream house sitting gig if there ever was one. Oceanfront. Gorgeous fucking house. I’d be crazy not to do it, right?”

  “Oh, babe. He’s moving back to New York?”

  “What’s the ‘oh, babe’ for? That’s always been the plan. He can’t stand it here. Can’t even sleep here.”

  “So, what’s with all the flowers?”

  “I don’t know.” I understood her confusion because I’d been awash in it. I’d normally assume he just wanted in my panties, but I offered him a chance at those, and he turned me down, so it was all a conundrum. And he’d made it clear he had no intentions of being cordoned off in the friend zone…yet again, he didn’t come in. And then the flowers. And the moving boxes. “Do you think maybe he’s like this with all the girls he dates? Like maybe he has an assistant, and he has packages for each girl. Maybe he calls his assistant, let’s call her Karen, and he says, ‘Okay, Karen, I’ve met another girl. Put her on the second package. Keep Laurel on the first package, and place Emily on the third package.’”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Pay attention. I saw a movie like this. He has more money than sense. And he likes having plenty of female options. He has his assistant design specialty packages. Or no, his women would never meet each other. So, it could just be one package. The ‘load ’em up with flowers’ package. Keep them around and interested until he wants to come and collect on his investment.”

  “Which reality TV show did you say you’re into these days?”

  I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t know! I told you I don’t know what’s going on. I’m just spitballing ideas.”

  “Well, instead of spitballing, why don’t you go over to his house and ask him if he wants to go on a walk? Or bring him a baked good from Sand Piper as a thank you for all the flowers? From what I understand from Tate, he’s been stressed out of his mind with this Justice Department investigation. I’m sure he’d appreciate being forced to take a break and get out of the house.”

  “Wow. I’ve been in my own head, worried about his intentions like some middle schooler, and it hasn’t even occurred to me he might be having a tough week.” He might need a friend.

  A few hours later, with a fresh baked cinnamon bun cake tucked under my arm, I stood in front of his screen door. I could see straight through his whole house, all the way to the whites of the crashing waves. I knocked, but I expected if he was upstairs, or downstairs, he’d never hear. I tried the knob, and it turned in my hand.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  My voice echoed through the wide foyer. I stepped cautiously down the hall and into his kitchen. I slid the cake onto the pristine marble countertop and glanced around for a pen or paper. The white marble reflected the outside light, spotless. Nothing was out of place, and I pretty quickly realized a pen lying around on the counter would be out of place. So, I snapped a photo of the cake and texted it to him with the caption, A gift from me. Sorry I missed you.

  The screen door slid open, startling the shit out of me, and my phone clattered across the floor.

  “Oh, hi. Sorry to scare you.” A tall, rail thin, raven-haired woman in a gold velvet tracksuit entered, and another equally thin though not quite as tall brunette followed her. “Do you need us to sign something?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you already put away the groceries?” The woman approached the island and scanned the kitchen perimeter. My mind raced as I bent to pick up my phone. He has women here?

  “Did you bring Gabe a cake?” the other woman asked.

  “Yes. Hi. I’m Poppy.” Her dark eyes scrutinized me, blatantly moving up and down my body. “His friend,” I added, in case the glare was territorial.

  The two women could have passed for runway models. Extremely tall, almost too skinny, and striking protruding cheekbones. My gaze fell to the Louis Vuitton fur slippers.

  “Ah. I’m Lauren, Gabe’s sister. He and Tate went windsurfing.”

  “Oh, well, nice to meet you. Sorry to barge in. The door was open.”

  “I’ll tell him you stopped by. Poppy, right?” His sister smiled and, in contrast to the other woman, had a friendly quality to her. She didn’t look like Gabe, except for possibly the shape of her eyes, and the matching dark hair.

  The other woman laughed. The kind of laugh that was often followed by ‘bless your heart.’ A fake laugh dipped in sugar.

  “You brought him a cake? That’s so sweet. You don’t know him too well, do you? He’s not into sweets. Never eats dessert. And we’re not going to eat it.”

  “I’ll eat it. And I don’t know what you’re talking about, Caroline. Maybe he didn’t eat cake in front of you, but… It looks delicious.” She sounded so genuine I might have believed her if she’d bothered to look at my cake.

  “I’ll get out of your way. Sorry again about barging in.” I rushed down the hall without waiting for a reply. Behind my back, the two women continued speaking as if I didn’t have ears.

  “Do you think Gabe’s dating her?”

  “Dating? Noooo. She’s not his type. Trust me. I know Gabe’s type. Now, Reed…he’d bang anything. Fat, wrinkled, trampy—”

  The front door slammed behind me.

  Chapter 21

  Gabe

  * * *

  A cold wind whipped the palm trees lining Transom Row as I pounded on the door. Where the fuck is she? I tapped a text into my phone to ask. She had to be somewhere nearby. One good thing about this deserted speck of land—no one could be too far away. The door opened before I hit send.

  “What’re you doing here?” She stood behind the screen door, tentative. Pink splotches marred her pale skin. Oh, h
ell.

  “What happened? What did they do?” I should’ve never flown them down here.

  “Nothing.” She breathed in and blinked a few times.

  “Can I come in?” I heard a click and expected the door to swing open. But it didn’t. She locked the fucking door. “Poppy…what’s going on?”

  “Now’s not a good time for a visitor.” She stepped back and reached for the wooden front door to close it.

  “Poppy, come on. You’ve got to tell me what happened. If my sister or Caroline did something to you, you’ve got to tell me.”

  “They didn’t do anything. I barely spoke to them.”

  “Then what’s going on? They said you stopped by.”

  “You could have called. I just wanted to thank you, that’s all.”

  “Well, you can thank me by letting me in. I came here to escape those two. They’re driving me nuts.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, and I followed her gaze. “You’re throwing away all of my flowers?”

  Her bottom lip protruded, lush and plump, in a full pout.

  “Poppy?” I prodded.

  A click sounded, and the screen door swung open.

  “Fine. Come in. I might have gotten a little emotional, and I didn’t want you to see. But now you’ve seen, so just come on in.”

  “Did I do something?” I asked as I stepped inside, kicked off my boots, and closed her front door.

  I sidestepped the tall kitchen trash can she’d pulled into the foyer.