Chapter “So, do we have a deal, Mr. Rossi?” We were back home in the Keys after a long week of busy schedules. Work was grueling, my plans to build a resort had been accepted by the city, while Beau finished signing up for next semester’s classes. Our paths had crossed only to say good morning and an even quicker goodnight.
That’s why the second I wrapped up this phone conference, I was saying goodbye to work and enjoying our long weekend alone. Four days of fun in the sun with my nymph.
Mine. And she was, even if she didn’t realize it yet.
The scent of spices and seafood wafted through the air vents, and my mouth watered. It took everything within me not to hang up and go cop a feel—then a taste of whatever she was creating.
Beau was busy cooking for me today, and it was a remarkable sight. Her, in a short summer dress—feet bare and hips swaying to the island rhythms playing on the radio.
Had to walk away before I fucked her. Not that she would complain, but my nymph wanted to surprise me, and I wasn’t about to be the dick that couldn’t let his girl breathe.
Won’t deny that I’d been seeing her as such lately. Amber’s words had resonated with me. Her trusting eyes that night after the gala had broken some of my walls down. All I could think about was asking Beau to extend our contract.
Those six months would never be enough for me. Hell, six years wouldn’t work either.
But the question remained: would she want to? How do I go about asking her that we begin anew?
Like any other couple.
Just us. Me and her. Nothing between us.
You still need to discuss your past with her. We both had to, but I wasn’t ready to face that monster just yet.
“Your offer is fifteen grand below the market asking price, Parker. We both know that,” Rossi answered, bringing me back to the present. He was trying to force my hand into paying more than his lands were worth. The man was full of shit. That large plot near Clearwater had been abandoned for years with no other interested party looking to buy.
Close to the beach, it had potential. Perfect place to build a family-friendly resort to inaugurate next spring. Plus, it would bring in a lot of new jobs to the area, which the state loved. Made it easier to justify the amount of permits I needed pushed through and fast, when it benefited the state.
He was the sole thorn in my side, impending me from breaking ground. Fucker thought he could drain me.
“Could be possible, but going from fifteen below to not a damn dime is quite a difference…don’t you think?” My cell phone chimed then with a reminder from my calendar. I looked, and wish I hadn’t.
Eyes locked on the message; I couldn’t understand how I had forgotten.
Anniversary of Ophelia’s Death, it read, and the world around me dissolved.
“Let’s not be hasty, Hendrix. Maybe ten under would satisfy us both?”
“Thirteen, and not a penny less.”
Rossi sighed, his annoyance palpable. “Deal.”
“Good.” Fuck, I needed to get off this call. Red fucking fury boiled beneath my skin, my mind a black haze. The painful memories of that night always rocked me, broke me in two. “I’ll have the office call you once the contract has been drawn up and we are ready for you to sign. Should be no later than Wednesday afternoon.”
“Perfect, I’ll be in town.”
“See you then. Have a great weekend.” Didn’t make a single move to place the cordless phone on the receiver. Muscles coiled tight, I tried to regulate my breathing.
I’m an asshole. A piece of shit.
Too busy chasing the ass of a woman I paid to fuck that I forgot the day she died. My wife. My best friend.
I stood, the force sending my chair back and against a bookcase. The phone in my hand fell with a thud to the ground. All around me the walls closed, the pain in my chest intensifying with each minute that passed.
Stumbling, I made it over to the small bar in the room and poured myself a drink. Not even looking to see what it was, I just tossed it back and served another.
Three back to back while my mind replayed memories I fought day in and day out to suppress.
It was my fault that she died. Had I not been such a dick to her when she—
“Hey, grouch. Dinner’s ready.” Beau poked her head into my office, her smile fading at the sight of me with a bottle in hand. “You okay?”
“Motherfucking peachy, nymph. Let’s go eat.” Walking out, I waved my hand for her to lead the way. Had to bite the inside of my cheek until it bled to keep myself from telling her to shove that dinner. That I didn’t have an appetite, nor did I care if her feelings were hurt.
The words were there, on the tip of my tongue, but they wouldn’t come out. So instead, I followed her into my dining room.
It was set for two. Intimate.
“Let me go grab our plates. I placed them in the oven to keep warm.” Beau walked off while I took a seat at the head and waited. I poured myself some wine and polished off the glass in two large gulps. Less than a minute later, she came back with our food in hand. “Hope you like it. It’s my first time attempting this.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” Even to my own ears, my voice was off. The pure rage that simmered beneath the surface was mixed with recriminations and self-hate. I was a willing participant in this charade, and yet, it felt as if I were watching from the sidelines.
It wasn’t until she sat down and poured herself a drink that I looked down at what she served. My chest grew tight, and a barrage of emotions hit me all at once. As if a battering ram had been used, I was pounded on until my walls gave way.
“So, I was thinking...” I tuned her out, not comprehending what I was seeing in front of me. How did she know? Where did she find this recipe?
My eyes watched her talk, but I couldn’t hear anything past the ringing inside my ears. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead and the back of my neck. Fingers closed tightly around the fork in my hand a second before I let the cutlery drop and bang against my untouched plate.
“Stop.” The familiar rush of anger brewing beneath my skin was dangerously close to tipping over.
Beau speared another piece of shrimp from her plate and brought the fork to her lips. “Are you okay, Hendrix? You’re looking quite flushed.”
“Where did you get this recipe from?” No one, not even Ophelia, had ever gotten my mother’s gumbo right. They always missed something. Didn’t understand the Creole way of cooking.
But it looked as if she nailed it, and that bothered me.
My mother’s heritage tarnished by her touch.
“Is it bad?” The confusion on her face would’ve made a lesser man feel like an ass, but instead, it incensed me further. She’d rifled through my attic—through the belongings of my deceased loved ones, and that wasn’t acceptable.
Beau had no right to even breathe inside the same space. She’d forgotten her place.
Who the fuck does she think she is?
Nostrils flaring, I slammed a hand atop the dining room table. “Where!”
“In a chest upstairs labeled kitchen,” she whispered, her smile gone. “Does that upset you?”
“What were you doing in my attic? Who gave you permission to go through my things?” Fuck, I wanted to yell, throw shit, but I didn’t. Instead, I glared at the woman before me and waited. Dared her to lie.
Beau took in a deep breath, wrung her hands in her lap. “You told me it was okay the day after we had dinner with James and Marsha.” I remembered that night and the way I fucked her tight little pussy the morning after. Her ass, round and mouthwatering, had been splayed before me. Tempted me to take. Corrupt. I remembered how loud she moaned with each snap of my hips. How she shattered around my cock from the brutality of my thrust. “Said you might have some recipe books for me to try out in the attic, so I searched. It wasn’t my intention to piss you off, Hendrix. I just wanted to surprise you with a nice meal.”
She pushed her plate away, face red with embarrassment. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes, but only one fell. Beau swiped it away with her hand just as another one rolled down her cheek, and my chest grew tight.
Hurting her hurt me.
Made me feel shit that I could never acknowledge.
Reminded me of the words Amber said while her son and my nymph danced at the banquet a few days ago. Was that just a few days ago?
I didn’t love her. Couldn’t. Doing so would be a blemish on the memory of my Ophelia.
Just thinking about it renewed the simmering rage within me, and I snapped. Released all the pent-up emotions I’d been fighting like hell to keep under control. Misery that was destined to destroy everything I touched, and she was no different.
“For fuck’s sake, Beau,” I all but snarled, teeth bared in disgust. My heart was beating fast, palms sweating. The sole way to describe me at that moment was pissed—fuming at her audacity. For making me question my life and the choices I had made thus far. “I paid you to be my whore, not play Susie homemaker. You’ll never be more than the woman I pay to use.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Parker,” Beau’s voice was low but steady as she stood from her seat to my right. Her hands were clenched at her sides, face red and blotchy. “See, people make mistakes every day. Some they can fix and continue on with a lesson learned attitude, and others…”
“Fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Consider our contract null and void.” Grabbing her plate, she turned and walked toward the entrance that connected the kitchen to dining room. She paused at the threshold and spoke without turning to face me. “I’m done trying with you, Hendrix. You’re not worth the heartache.”
With that, she walked off and into the kitchen. I heard the clang of her plate hitting the sink and shattering.
I followed her as she marched through the house and gathered a few things. “Where are you going? Answer me when I am talking to you.”
She laughed, the sound fake and forced. Beau was already at the front door with her wristlet in hand when I realized her intention, but it was too late. Her green eyes were so full of pain that they brought me into a memory of another pair of eyes that looked at me the same way.
It wasn’t until the door slammed closed that her parting words hit me full force.
“To remind myself that I am no one’s property. This whore quits.”