by Shannyn Leah
Had Izzy put that thought into Grayson’s head?
She had been so convinced there was a love triangle, and now there was one. Sort of. Closest as it would ever get to one involving her anyway.
Emma jumped from the lounger and darted into the hallway. If she had a key, she would have stormed inside her sister’s cabin. Unfortunately, she didn’t.
Emma banged on the door instead.
She heard motion inside before Abby appeared. The whole cabin smelled like coconut tanning lotion.
Abby smiled. “Hey Ems. How was your morning−”
“Where’s Izzy?”
Her smile fell. “On the balcony.”
Abby barely got the words out before Emma stormed past her and inside the cabin. She whipped the door open, finding Izzy stretched out, lounging in nothing more than a skimpy white string bikini. Her large white sunglasses covered her eyes and her leg bounced in tune with whatever she was listening to.
Emma yanked out the ear-bud wire from Izzy’s ear. “Izzy, inside. Now,” she said.
Emma wasn’t making the mistake of airing her dirty laundry out on the balcony with Grayson two cabins down.
Izzy’s smile dropped. “Why? So you can yell at me some more?”
“NOW.”
Izzy rolled her eyes and dragged herself inside like it was sweet torture.
When they were both inside, Emma shut the door and asked, “Were you with Grayson last night when you saw me go into Brock’s suite?”
Izzy said nothing.
“Izzy?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” Emma repeated.
“Yes. Well, sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
Izzy bit her lower lip. She was nervous. What was going on? Did it even matter?
Emma groaned. “You think I slept with Brock?”
Izzy suddenly looked embarrassed and shy. Two looks that were rare for her. The look reminded Emma of when Izzy was young and innocent.
“It’s not my business,” Izzy finally said.
“When has that ever stopped you before?”
“Listen, I was mad at Grayson. I really was. I mean he broke you.”
Emma scoffed. “He did not break me.”
“He shattered you.”
“Stop saying that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Move along with your story,” Emma instructed.
Izzy wrinkled her nose. “Emma, Grayson looked heartbroken when he saw you and Brock together. Like really heartbroken. Marc heartbroken when Kate took off, you know. I didn’t want to bud into whatever was going on between you three−”
“There’s no three!”
Izzy held her hands up. “Okay. I didn’t know.”
“You should have asked.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get involved. You’ve never been this brok−”
Emma glared at her.
“Hurt,” Izzy supplied. “Over a guy before, so I didn’t know if you were just...I don’t know sleeping with Brock to spite Grayson for rejecting you. Stringing them both along. I don’t know.”
“You think I’m a tramp?”
“Hey, I sleep with guys I’m not dating, too, and I don’t consider myself a slut.”
Abby chuckled behind them.
Both sisters turned to glare at Abby comfortably sitting on the couch watching them, popping candies in her mouth like she was at the theater.
“P-uhlease,” Izzy rolled her eyes. “Just because you suddenly have your own personal man-candy doesn’t mean your slate is clean. Tramp.”
Abby laughed and waved her hands at them. “Carry on. Don’t stop on my behalf. This is better than a McAdams fight.”
“Not helping,” Izzy snarled. She turned back to Emma. “I wasn’t judging you. I was trying to give you space. You’re more sensitive than the rest of us, and I was trying to let you figure it out without all of us Caliendos jumping in.”
That was sweet of her sister. “I didn’t sleep with Brock.”
“It’s not me you need to tell.”
What did she know? The only truth Grayson was getting was a large plate of bite me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
GRAYSON FUMED ABOUT his conversation with Emma. He was more upset now after she had admitted to sleeping with his dad than he though he ever could be with her.
Hearing her loathing words, without so much as an apology, no remorse, and making a joke instead at his expense, was far worse.
He would have gone back to his room and pulled out his laptop to get some work finished if Emma’s cabin hadn’t been right beside his. He settled for a stool at the counter of the sports bar hoping the television would take his mind off the details of the morning.
The soccer players ran across the field, kicking the ball, and making him want to kick something of his own. Like his father’s ass...or his own, for pressing Emma for the truth. It would have been better had they simply continued with the rest of the trip, and life, being silently irritated at each other. Now, he was livid and feeding the rage burning deep within him by blending a heated path with alcohol.
What a dumbass.
Screw Emma. Screw his dad. Screw this whole damn ship.
Grayson loved his dad. Truthfully, he’d somewhat forgiven Brock the first time, and the second time, but this...this felt different.
Hours later, after he’d drank himself into an almost alcohol-induced coma, Grayson decided he was finished hiding. If there was one thing he’d learned from his time with Emma, it was that hiding wasn’t an option.
Brock and Emma were the bandits and damned if Grayson was going to let them chase him out of town. He wouldn’t let them drive him into drinking alone and stewing over the two of them.
Back in his room, Grayson showered and dressed for supper with his family. He bet his father’s night-call would be there too, looking all smug, because, Emma was...perfect little Emma.
Ha! He would show her. She wasn’t the only pretty little mermaid in the sea. More like a cryptic finned monster who lured men to their death.
Grayson continued to down the shots during his preparation. By the time he was ready to go, his vision was a little blurry and his steps uneven.
Oh damn it.
But he sure as hell wasn’t missing tonight and he sure as hell wasn’t going alone.
WHEN IZZY AND ABBY knocked on Emma’s cabin door for supper that evening, she answered the door dressed in another cocktail dress, and greeted the duo with a bright smile, holding up Brock’s invitation.
Izzy and Abby exchanged uncertain looks, but said nothing.
Emma hadn’t planned on going out for supper, especially not with the Cohen family, but after pulling the curtains around the loft for the rest of the afternoon and taking another long, hot bath, she’d intended on staying in and watching a movie...until the cruise docked. But, why did she have to hide because of Grayson’s insecurities?
Didn’t that family communicate? Brock and Linda were having an affair. Grayson thought Brock was sleeping with his women. Who knew what was going on with Tom and Emma didn’t have any more room in her head to find out.
“Melissa, are you ready?” Emma asked, glancing over her shoulder.
Melissa stood in the kitchen, with her arms folded over the front of her black dress with an unimpressed, tight look on her face. This was her version of pouting, not liking the idea of going out to dinner with the Cohens. Melissa’s show of displeasure lifted the corners of Emma’s mouth. She could face a stampede of wild animals without a second thought, or fear for that matter, but she couldn’t hide her anger with how Grayson had hurt Emma.
“We talked about this,” Emma said. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t promise to behave,” Melissa said. “I am not opposed to putting Grayson in his spot.”
“Me either,” Izzy said, from behind Emma.
“Neither of you will do any such thing,” Emma said, looking from one to the next. “We have a busine
ss merger with the Cohens, and regardless of what has happened between me and Grayson, we have to be professional in the company of the Cohens. Is that understood?”
Melissa snatched her clutch with an angry puff of energy and stormed past them into the hallway.
Heading toward the elevator, Izzy looped her arm in Emma’s, slowing the pace of their walk and asked, “Are you still mad at me?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s a yes.”
“That’s an I don’t want to talk about it. No more discussion about the love triangle you honestly believed I got myself involved in.”
“I feel like this is a vengeance mission,” Izzy said.
Emma didn’t bother with a response, keeping her quick pace all the way to the restaurant. There would be no lolling about this evening.
This restaurant was even more magnificent then the last, as though that were even possible. A different layout gave the room a more private and dark atmosphere. Still, a pianist entertained in the heart of the room with the graceful music.
The young waitress led them through the room and to a table with Brock, Tom and Linda.
No Grayson.
Good. She hadn’t come here to see him anyway. That was a lie if she ever heard one.
“The wonderful Caliendo women. Come, sit down.” Brock stood and pulled a chair out for Emma...right beside him.
Was he aware of his son’s accusations?
Sitting down, Emma began to lose her nerve. She’d come to prove to Grayson she didn’t care what he thought about her...but deep down, she did...now she was tempted to pull Brock aside and fill him on his son’s view of them. It was disrespectful, rude, and way off base. Not to mention Brock was with Linda...whatever that meant.
“How was your day, girls?” Linda asked, looking stunning as usual. She wore black and deep purple today, bold and beautiful.
Emma answered first, needing to talk to distract herself from coming right out and tearing Grayson down from the adoring pedestal his family had him on.
“Good. I spent most the day sun bathing on my balcony. The view and privacy was needed.”
Because I was ready to slaughter your precious Grayson.
“Did you see Grayson today?” Brock asked, and Emma couldn’t keep her eyes from looking at him. Was he going to bring up their discussion in front of everyone? She would be forced to admit her deceit, and Grayson’s accusation.
Izzy jumped in, in what appeared an Emma saving move. “Last night Abby, Melissa and I checked out the bar Grayson suggested and it was fantastic. However, this afternoon we were a little hung over so we all just lounged around. Partially in sun, but mostly groaning in the shade.”
“Speak for yourself,” Abby said, sending Emma a wink. “I was doing no groaning. I can handle my alcohol. Mr. Cohen this cruise is magnificent.”
“Thank you, Abby.”
“Those who can’t handle their alcohol should stay on shore, and leave the playing to the professionals,” Abby said with a wink.
Izzy and Abby bantered back and forth, and, for the first time in her life, Emma appreciated it.
When she felt Izzy squeeze her leg, she glanced over and caught a wink before she continued. It was incredible how Izzy and Abby were able to spin a web of nonsense, and yet, involve anyone within hearing range. The table was engrossed in their tales and Emma let her breathing flow easy again.
She was both brave and stupid, sitting at the Cohen dinner table, planning to bait Grayson, who hadn’t even shown.
Why would he? He thought his dad had stolen his...what? Girlfriend? Cruise fling? How dare Grayson even get angry at her or at Brock when Grayson had offered nothing.
Emma frowned inside, while laughter erupted on the outside at the girls.
She’d sipped a mouthful of wine, when she caught sight of Grayson walking toward the table with the black-haired woman from the bar latched to his arm. She almost spewed the liquid across the table, but sucked it back, and quickly started choking.
That was fast, she thought as Brock pounded her back. It just had to be her. Her. Who was she?
That will teach you to think you can outwit a Cohen.
The gorgeous black-haired beauty walked with confidence like she owned the joint.
“Evening,” Grayson greeted with a lazy slur. “Look who I found wondering about.”
Brock stopped patting her back and a chill passed through the other Cohens at the table as all eyes fixated on the slim woman. Grayson seemed not to notice as he smoothly pulled out a chair for the tall beauty.
Who was she?
Her laughter was like the sound of music, sweet and soft, but with an underlying drum of something Emma couldn’t put her finger on...was it an “I told you so” attitude?
“Oh, you did not,” the woman said, laughing, tossing her long hair over one shoulder to look at Grayson. One arm was wrapped around his back, snuggly joining his navy tux, to her ruby red dress.
So, he liked women in red. Pig
His date’s other arm patted Grayson’s chest and Emma was immediately jealous.
“He showed up at my stateroom, and personally invited me for dinner.” As she sat down, still no name was given, but she exchanged shared looks with Brock, Tom and Linda.
Pushing away her jealousy, Emma noted that an ice-cold stare flittered between each of them. Not a bad word was spoken, but plenty of silent warnings were issued. Even Linda was having a hard time conjuring up a smile for this woman.
Who was she? Everyone knew her except Emma and the women.
As the deepest, darkest, grey eyes met hers, Emma forced herself to smile.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Samantha.” Her stare demanded an introduction, and the slant of her thin-plucked eyebrows asked what they were doing seated at this table. Bitch.
Emma wasn’t easily intimidated. She had a last name that commanded respect.
She met Samantha’s hand with a firm handshake. “Emma Caliendo, and this is my sister Izzy and our friends Abby and Melissa.”
Samantha held her hand a little longer than Emma liked. “Caliendo? Why does that sound familiar? A Caliendo...of the Caliendo Resorts?”
There’s your clue to put those looks in check, lady.
Emma’s smile came easier this time. “One in the same. I don’t believe I caught your last name.”
Samantha’s smile wide. “That’s because I didn’t give it.” She took her hand back and resided in her chair as Grayson pushed it in for her.
Emma sat down, disliking the smug wench for more than simply dangling off Grayson’s arm. There was something wrong about her, and she would bet money this family shared her mutual dislike for Samantha.
No one offered her last name, nor did they scrounge up any conversation. Pointed looks darted back and forth between the Cohens, often meeting Grayson’s glazed eyes with their disapproving one. Glazed?
How had Emma not noticed right away−probably because her focus was on snot-face−but Grayson was drunk. He was off his game. Big time.
He sipped his champagne, unaware, or unconcerned, about the troubled looks from his family. His focus was all over the place, until his eyes finally landed on her.
Emma should have looked away, but the dark anger behind those eyes dragged up her guilt.
He was mad at her.
As his eyes traveled to his dad with the same anger, Emma felt her guilt multiply.
What had she done?
Emma bit her lower lip.
Grayson looked mad enough to jump over the table and punch Brock square in the face.
Oh blasted.
Izzy feigned looking over her shoulder, and whispered, “You didn’t tell Grayson the truth, did you?”
Through clenched teeth Emma whispered, “No.”
“Oh Emma.”
Emma shot her a glare.
“So, Samantha,” Linda started, and there was no missing the strain of her voice. “How did you end up on a Cohen crui
se?”
Samantha set her elbows on the table, and leaned her face against the top of her hands. “It’s such a pleasure to see you too, Linda. I see you’re still playing devil’s advocate between the family.”
“You sat at our table, and we can easily have you removed,” Tom warned.
“Oh now.” Samantha sat back and placed an obvious hand on Grayson’s thigh. He didn’t notice, and he didn’t seem to be listening to the conversation.
It amazed Emma how oblivious to the tension between this woman and his family he was. Why would he bring her when it was clear she was not welcome?
“I know Brock’s birthday is rolling around,” Samantha said. “Congratulations.”
No response.
“Awkward,” Izzy whispered, a little louder than Emma assumed she intended.
It drew a loud rumble out from Brock, startling Emma and sending looks of confusion around the table.
“Alright now. We’re all adults. If Grayson desires to bring Samantha to dinner, let’s be civil.”
If Emma was in Samantha’s high, devil red heels, she would have excused herself long before getting to this embarrassing point. But it didn’t even seem to faze her.
“Don’t be civil on my account,” Samantha said. “Or is it for the Caliendo women here.” She lowered her voice to an exaggerated whisper. “Grayson told me about your little merge deal.”
Brock’s smile fell. “Dammit Grayson.”
“Oops.” Samantha covered her lips. “Was that a secret? Are we supposed to be on our best behavior in front of possible future clients? Wouldn’t want to be airing our dirty laundry.”
Our dirty laundry? What dirty laundry?
“Don’t be civil on our account,” Melissa said.
Emma found herself wanting to slink in her seat, recognizing Melissa’s fighting tone.
Izzy must have caught it too, because she snickered with anticipation of what was about to follow.
“Please, continue airing your dirty laundry. It’s sounding almost as entertaining as you trying to pull off that dress, which is more than one size too small for you. And in case you missed my last name, it’s Carter, as in the mayor of Willow Valley’s, daughter. You, on the other hand, I wonder exactly what secrets your last name brings. So please, continue.”