Wrecked (Crystal Book Billionaires) (5 page)

“Assholes,” I muttered. How come hardly anyone knew who I was until my father’s company went under, and then suddenly I was getting hate tweets like a regular C-List celebrity?

Throwing my phone in my purse, I stalked down to the bathroom and locked myself in it.

For a second, I just stared. Not precisely at what
was
in the bathroom, but more like what
wasn’t
there. As in, the bathtub.

I took a step forward and opened the sliding door to the shower. Yep. A shower but no tub.

And did I mention there was no pool?

My next breath was the shakiest one I’d taken in days. I took one more step and collapsed onto the toilet seat.

This is temporary,
I reminded myself.
Totally temporary.

Luke

I
hit the floor, going straight into my push-ups.
Two… Four… Six…

The run that morning had been a mile longer than usual. I’d taken the standard trail along the river, but then also crossed the bridge and gone up to do a loop around the mountain. My calves ached, and my feet were sore. But it still wasn’t enough.

I’d done all right for the last four months, emotionally speaking. So why was Lacey suddenly on my mind? We hadn’t spoken since the day we broke up. Thanks to living in different towns, there were close to zero chances of us running into each other.

I’d been good about staying off social media. After trolling her Facebook page just once, I learned my lesson. The pictures of her at a party with an assortment of dudes clustered around her had
not
been good for my ego. Yeah, I know. They were probably all friends.

Or maybe that party was actually an orgy.

I chuckled to myself as I switched to one handed push-ups. Just the thought of Lacey in anything other than a typical, conservative relationship was laughable. The girl was as American as apple pie. She taught at an elementary school and had dimples that would have made her a candidate for Little Debbie’s next mascot.

In some ways, she’d been
too
conservative for me. Ten months of dating and she wanted to know when we were going to get married. I’d been waiting for her to ask for a joint banking account.

Don’t get me wrong. I loved Lacey. I really did. I think. But marriage?

With a huff, I hopped to my feet and grabbed the jump rope hanging from the wall of my home gym. Marriage wasn’t something to play around with. Yeah, I wanted it. Someday. But it had to be with the right girl.

My assertion that I wanted to wait had been enough for
that
girl. She let me go with a simple flick of her wrist.

Her presence in my mind the last few days likely had to do with the dry spell I was going through. I knew I needed to get out and meet more people, but I couldn’t help it. I was tired of the games. Tired of the chases. Tired of the shallowness so many people seemed to possess. All of those things I thought I’d left behind in New York. In actuality, it turned out people could be lame no matter what the local population count was.

Only one year away from thirty and I was already officially jaded.

From the bench where I’d left it, my phone buzzed. I stopped jumping and wiped some sweat from my brow. My hands were already too slick from exertion to touch the phone, but I glanced at the screen where a text message was scrolling.

Drinks? Today sucks.

I smiled. A cold beer and a half hour unloading with one of my best buds was exactly what I needed.

Mark sat in front of
Pit Stop,
on one of the long wooden benches behind the tables. Too busy typing feverishly away on his phone, he didn’t even notice my arrival.

“Hey, big boy.” I reached down and ruffled his bright red hair.

He jerked back and scowled. “Hey, watch it. I don’t wake up looking like this.”

“Oh, really?” I grinned.

He set his phone down on the table. “Yeah, not everyone is Mr. Perfect.”

I acted like the insult didn’t get to me and looked through the pub window to see if I could catch a waitress’ attention.

“I already ordered for you,” Mark explained, removing his feet from the bench across from him so I could take a seat.

“Thanks.” I settled down with my forearms on the table. “So why does today suck?”

He shook his head. “Lunch was crazy, and we were short staffed. Two people called in sick. Actually, they were likely hung over.”

I chuckled. “No shit.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it was a whole lot of fun,” he continued, sarcasm flowing. “You should try it some time.”

“Cooking on a line? No way. I can’t even make toast.”

Mark smirked. “You rich boys…”

I shrugged, not able to argue with him.

“You sure you don’t need an assistant or something?”

I rolled my eyes. “To do what? Check my mail and feed my fish?”

“You make your life sound so boring.”

“It
is
boring.” I leaned back against the bench’s backboard, relishing the breeze wafting down the sidewalk. Half of the shops downtown were closed, making it a quiet late Sunday afternoon. Only a couple other people sat in front of the pub, and no more than half a dozen more could be spotted on the sidewalks in both directions.

“Then why are you still here?” he pointedly asked.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair that was still damp from the shower I’d taken right before walking over. “Sometimes boring is good.”

“Hm,” he said in a tone that told me he wasn’t convinced.

The pub’s door swung open and out walked Sasha, the raven haired bartender. She set the frothy pints of amber beer on the table and smiled at me. “How’s it going, Luke?”

“Great. How are you, Sasha?”

She set her palm against a cocked hip. “Can’t complain. You boys knock on the window if you need anything else.”

“Thanks,” Mark said, his tongue practically hanging out of the side of his mouth as he stared at her. Sasha turned away from us, and Mark craned his neck to watch her hips sway in the cut-off jeans.

When the door slammed shut behind her, he finally turned back to me. “Dude,” he said simply, the one word saying everything.

“Your ogling is pretty hardcore,” I butted in before he could go on. “Watch it. She might kick you out.”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh, man. It’s not me she wants. It’s you.”

“What, Sasha?” I scratched my head and gave it some thought. She was pretty, sure, as well as nice. I’d just never felt any sort of chemistry between us.

Mark took a gulp of his beer. “You could take her home in a heartbeat if you wanted.”

I lifted my beer, then set it back down. “I’m glad you have confidence in me.”

“So why don’t you?”

Gazing down at a thick crack in the table’s wood, I wondered how much I felt like sharing?

“Is this because of What’s-Her-Name?”

“Sure, but that’s not her name.”

“I’m trying to make talking about her easier by not even saying her name.”

“I appreciate that,” I said, meaning it. “And I don’t know, really.”

“You never rebounded.”

I laughed so loud the couple sitting at the other table glanced over at us. “I don’t need to rebound,” I argued.

“Right.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, his nonchalance completely unreadable. Did he really believe me?

“Good luck finding anything permanent and real in this town.”

“Don’t say that,” I groaned.

“It’s true. This pond is about as small as they get.”

“Maybe you haven’t fished hard enough.” I grinned at him before picking up my glass again.

“Seriously, though. You’ve been lots of places. South America. Europe.”

“Don’t forget West Virginia.”

“Exactly.” He ignored my joke. “You know what the women of the world are like.”

“You make me sound like a Casanova. For most of the years I was traveling, I had the same girlfriend, you know.”

“But you met plenty of women.” He pointed his finger at me. “So tell me… are they really any better in Crystal Brook?”

I chugged half my beer and then took a deep breath. “Don’t knock this town just because it’s small, Mark. Gems can be hidden anywhere.”

“All right. Whatever,” he flatly replied. Turning in his seat, he knocked on the window pane. “You want another one?”

“No. I’ve got work to do.”

He shook his head. “You’re a saint, Luke Anderson. A living saint.”

I took a long swallow. “Too bad I don’t take prayer requests.”

Grace

I
changed clothes for dinner. Just the concept of doing so always made me feel like I lived in the twenties in old Hollywood. Instead of a lavish evening gown, of course, I had a pair of black skinny jeans and a shimmery top.

But the act of still making an effort to look my best made me feel better. After freshening up my makeup and running some dry shampoo through my hair, I was ready to go. I checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror on the way down the hall. Yep. A fish out of water. That was me.

But at least I knew who I still was, and I knew I’d eventually be back home in my native ocean.

The dining room table sat in the kitchen, right in the corner next to a big window. A few serving dishes were already on the table, and Aunt Ginger smiled when she saw me hovering in the doorway.

“Have a seat, Grace.”

I covered the short distance across the room in a couple seconds, my ankle length high-heeled boots smacking against the linoleum. The wooden chair creaked as I pulled it out, and I sat down in it slowly, half afraid it might just give way as soon as my rear hit the cushion.

Aunt Ginger grabbed some thick mitts and proceeded to pull something from the oven. “You look lovely,” she told me over her shoulder.

The compliment was an instant mood booster. My back straightened, and I smiled, even though she couldn’t see me. “Thanks, Aunt Ginger,” I said, trying out the word “Aunt.” Surprisingly, it didn’t feel too awkward.

Joe shuffled into the room, nodding at me while he took a seat nearest the window.

“Joe,” his wife said. “The lemonade.”

“Ah,” he answered. “Right.” He bounced back up and retrieved a big clear pitcher from the refrigerator and three glasses from a cabinet.

“We also have coke and orange juice,” Aunt Ginger said to me. “And water, of course. What do you usually drink with dinner?”

Got any vodka?

“Lemonade is fine,” I told her.

Uncle Joe poured a glass and slid it over to me. It was shockingly sweet, and I tried not to enjoy it too much. Sugary drinks held a permanent position on my no-no list of things to ingest.

Unless I was on vacation, because that was an excuse to break the rules. And, in a way, you could say being in Crystal Brook was like being on vacation… in a roughing it kind of way.

Aunt Ginger uncovered the dishes, letting a plethora of good smells into the air. Steam floated off broccoli with garlic, mashed potatoes, and some kind of casserole.

“You made all this?” I asked Aunt Ginger in awe.

She smiled. “Mm hmm. Do you ever cook?”

“Do Ramen noodles count?” I laughed.

She settled into her seat and filled my plate for me before handing it over.

“So Grace,” Uncle Joe started. “Have you given any thought to what you might do while you’re here?”

The fork loaded with mashed potatoes stopped halfway to my mouth. “Uh, not really.”

He swallowed a bite of food and then spoke again. “How about school? You got so far at NYU.”

“I didn’t even finish my second year.”

“There’s a community college here,” he continued as if he hadn’t even heard me. “It’s only a mile away. You could walk there.”

I scoffed, and he looked at me oddly. “What?” he asked.

I shrugged. “It’s just, I went to NYU, you know… it’s one of the best schools in the nation.”

He stared me down. “You also got kicked out of the best school in the nation for hoarding alcohol and drugs in your dorm room.”

“It was just weed,” I answered, trying to keep my voice calm. “It’s not like it was anything hardcore.”

And I definitely wasn’t hoarding. I was using those substances on a very regular basis, thank you very much, Uncle Joe.

Aunt Ginger spoke up. “Well, we’re glad to hear you don’t do hardcore drugs, honey.”

Another thing: I
did
do hardcore drugs. On the weekends, anyway.

“No one is too good to continue their education,” Uncle Joe said. “And at least you’d be doing something while you’re here.”

My gaze fell down to my plate. The food still looked delicious, but most of my appetite had evaporated with the beginning of our conversation.

Uncle Joe went on. “I know it’s tempting to just sit around here and wait until your father works things out, but the truth is, that day may be a long time coming. And we’re happy to have you here, Grace.”

Aunt Ginger quickly added her two cents. “We really are.”

I peeked up at her and smiled. “Thanks.”

Joe went on. “Your father has kept me up to date on what’s been going on in your life, and I think your time here is your chance to start fresh. We’d all hate for you to wander around aimlessly for the next ten years.”

That last part made me bristle. “My life’s not aimless.”

He gave me a patronizing smile. “I get that. But there’s more to life than sunning by the pool and shopping.”

I gnawed at my tongue. Damn him. The man hadn’t seen me in years and yet he knew just which buttons to push. It definitely wasn’t fair.

Aunt Ginger spoke slowly, as if measuring every word. “I think another thing Joe is trying to say is that there’s just not much to do in Crystal Brook. At least when compared to Los Angeles. There are the clubs at the library and such… but you might find you’ll be happier here if there’s something to occupy your time.”

I twisted my lips around. I had purposely not given much thought to just how long I might be stuck in North Carolina, but I certainly had never dreamed it would be long enough to complete a whole term of school.