22

 

 

Logan’s newest hire was twice the size of Logan, a giant Pacific Islander named Keoni Hale. As Connor squeezed himself into the new camera monitoring room after both men, he felt like a pebble crushed between two boulders. Logan and Keoni had worked together years before at a rowdy music venue where, to hear Keoni tell it, they’d subdued more than a few dozen brawls with minimal broken bones.

The old monitoring room had worked fine, but they’d decided to convert it into office storage for the same reason airlines took certain flight numbers off the schedule after one of the planes flying them crashed.

For someone who looked like he could plow through a brick wall without missing a step, Keoni was surprisingly soft spoken. But he was still bleary-eyed from watching hours of surveillance footage, so maybe the guy was simply tired. And after all that work, he’d only found a few glimpses of Rodney on the new security cameras.

“So it’s like Rodney said,” Keoni explained. “He came on the property while everybody was looking for that little boy.”

Logan raised a hand. “Okay. Hold up. Sort of. He jumped a fence east of the villas then went up the east staircase of the main building while we were all huddling in the lobby coming up with a plan, so J.T. wasn’t monitoring the feeds. Otherwise he would have seen him. As soon as we split into search teams, J.T. came back here, but he was so busy paging through all the live angles looking for Benji he didn’t go back into the archive. That’s why we missed Rodney.”

“All right,” Connor said. “Well, the system’s only a few days old, so maybe we could all use some more training sessions.”

“Copy that.” Logan’s nod told Connor he’d phrased the directive diplomatically enough not to raise his boyfriend’s hackles. But the message was clear—J.T. had goofed up.

“He never came down off the roof again?” Connor asked.

“We can’t find a trace of him on any of the other cameras,” Keoni said. “Believe me. I’ve watched them all. He had to have stayed up there until he broke into your room.”

“Which suggests,” Logan said, “he really did come back because he wanted to talk to you.”

“It’s still weird he went straight to the roof and stayed there until the hotel went to sleep.” Connor leaned closer to the freeze frame they’d been studying, hoping some telling detail would reveal itself once his nose was inches from the screen.

“Well, he didn’t just stay there,” Logan said. “He passed out drunk. He had a flask on him.”

“Also, there’s another thing,” Keoni said. “I can’t prove it, ’cause he had a cap on, but I think there might be a moment where he notices the new cameras.”

“Which means,” Logan said, “he realized he didn’t know how to evade them. They’re all in different places now, so if he had a map in his head of how he was going to sneak around for hours before he caught up with you someplace private, that was out the window. Also, he might have thought the whole system was still in smithereens after the raid. We moved hell and high water to get new cameras put in. Nothing moved that fast when he was GM.”

“And he didn’t have anywhere else to go, right?” Connor asked. “Didn’t the FBI say his friends were all telling him to turn himself in?”

“Yep, and he obviously didn’t have the means to leave the country either,” Logan said.

“Good lesson there,” Keoni said. “Gonna run a blackmail ring? Pack a go-bag.”

“I know this might be hard to believe,” Logan said, “but Rodney might have actually been feeling remorse about what he said to you. People change when they hit the end of the road. My dad did.”

Maybe, but Rodney’s apology hadn’t been unconditional. There was something he’d wanted in return—for Connor to tell him what his dad had said about Rodney in his don’t-open-till-I’m-gone letter. The thought of sharing something so personal and intimate with his uncle after everything the man had done made Connor’s stomach lurch. Thank God Logan had broken down the door before Rodney could add a new level of menace to his demand.

“There’s no comparing your dad to Rodney,” Connor said.

“Today,” Logan said. “I wouldn’t have wanted to hang with my dad when he was on the streets. He still doesn’t even like talking about some of the stuff he had to do out there.”

There was a buzz in Connor’s pocket, one of the urgent alerts he’d assigned to his department heads.

“Jonas,” Connor said when he saw the screen.

“A 911 from Jonas?” Logan asked. “First event’s not for three weeks.”

“I better go talk to him,” Connor said.

The special events office was by itself right next to the conference center. It shared a small hallway with a storage closet and an employee bathroom most of the staff seemed to have forgotten about. Jonas was standing outside the hallway’s STAFF ONLY door, phone in hand, expression graver than any he’d worn in Connor’s presence before.

“We have a problem,” he said.

“Ditto,” said another voice from behind Connor.

Gloria was next to him suddenly.

“Yikes,” Connor said. “Well, the timing suggests they might be related. Jonas, you go first because you got to me first.”

“I have an email from the Lighthouse Foundation’s executive director,” Jonas said.

“Nicole Richter? What does it say?”

“She wants to take a fresh look at some of the terms of their contract.”

“A fresh look?” Connor asked. “What does that mean?”

“I have no idea,” Jonas said. “But I wanted to check in with you before I talked to her. I know we said we’d let them walk without a cancellation fee. But renegotiating a few weeks out? Their contract’s ten pages, and it predates my working here.”

“All right, then,” Connor said. “You and I will set up a call with them ASAP. In the meantime, I need a copy of the contract. Gloria, you’re up.”

“Sylvia Milton announced a press conference,” Gloria said. “It’s on the Stop Sapphire Cove Twitter feed.”

“Her Twitter feed, you mean. And what is the subject, pray tell?” Connor asked.

“New revelations about the security staff at Sapphire Cove.”

“What new revelations?” Connor asked. “Is there something in the news I didn’t see?”

“We’ve been checking, and the last major item was Benji’s rescue.”

“Well, and also the professional history of some of our security team,” Jonas said.

“Twitter was dragging her ass for using their real names, and nobody in the mainstream press was covering it,” Connor said. “What else could she possibly be using against us now?”

“I guess we’re about to find out,” Gloria said.

 

 

Jonas’s office was a time capsule. The puddling pink draperies framing the view of the Draco palms outside brought back painful memories of how the hotel had looked in Connor’s youth, transporting him back to a more innocent time before the renovation, before his flight to New York. Connor would have preferred less memory-filled surroundings as he strapped himself in for Sylvia Milton’s latest attack.

Jonas had turned his laptop screen around and was standing behind Gloria and Connor as they all watched.

Sylvia Milton stood behind a microphone-clustered podium on the steps of her lawyer’s modern office building in downtown Phoenix. “This is what we know to be true about this alleged new day at Sapphire Cove. We know that all the members of the security team who worked there while my husband was being blackmailed have not, in fact, been arrested. Logan Murdoch, who worked for years alongside many of the conspirators who destroyed my husband’s final days, is not only still employed, he’s being lavishly rewarded with a very special kind of attention by the new general manager, as we all saw. A general manager, I might add, who claimed to have no connection at all to the previous regime that ran a criminal enterprise. And yet there he was, in a lip-lock with his security director in broad daylight. With children a few feet away.”

Connor winced at this homophobic dog whistle. Gloria reached out and gripped his arm.

“So I ask you,” Sylvia continued, “when Connor Harcourt says it’s a new day at Sapphire Cove, when he assures his guests they will not be subjected to blackmail and a host of other criminal invasions, is he telling us the truth? Or is he telling us what he wants to be the truth because his sexuality has blinded him? This seems clear. Logan Murdoch has very special skills when it comes to avoiding the consequences of actions which happened right over his shoulder, and those skills include casting a seductive spell over his new employer.”

“Blinded by my sexuality?” Connor asked. “Is that actually how she phrased it?”

“Yes.” Jonas, usually placid as a pond, sounded like he wanted to rip his laptop in two.

“All that being said,” Sylvia continued, “I do believe in second chances. And yes, I’ve seen the good work Sapphire Cove is doing with victims of the Palm Fire. And I’m aware the hotel employs many decent, hardworking people who had nothing to do with the Harcourt family’s crimes. But it is entirely unclear if Logan Murdoch is one of those people, and given the compromising positions they’ve placed themselves in, Connor Harcourt is the last one who can make that determination for us. So if he truly wants to declare it a new day at Sapphire Cove, he should begin it without Mr. Murdoch. Thank you for your time.”

And with that, Sylvia Milton left the podium, ignoring questions the reporters shouted at her.

“The Harcourt family’s crimes?” Connor asked. “Is she implying I was in on the blackmail?”

“I’m not sure there’s an end to what she was implying,” Gloria answered.

For what felt like an eternity, none of them said a word.

“Get Lighthouse on the phone,” Connor said. “Right now.”

“Maybe we should handle one thing at a time,” Gloria offered.

“Bet your bottom dollar they’re the same,” Connor said.

As Jonas picked up his desk phone and dialed, Connor tugged his cell from his pocket and texted Logan.

 

Did u see?

 

Yeah. Bad.

 

Come to Jonas’s office?

 

Jonas was talking to an assistant on the other end of the line when Logan’s response came through.

 

In a few.

 

Love you. We will beat this.

 

“Hi, Nicole. It’s Jonas Jacobs. How are you? I’ve got Connor Harcourt and Gloria Alvarez here. I’m going to put you on speaker. Is that okay?”

Jonas didn’t wait for a response from the other end.

“Hi, Nicole. It’s Connor Harcourt.”

“Good morning.” The woman’s usual frost had an extra fringe of icicles.

“So I understand you want to renegotiate the terms of your contract?” Connor asked.

“I’m not sure that’s how I’d phrase it. And I thought we had an understanding certain terms were fluid based on a changing situation.”

“One of those terms, yes,” Connor said. “The cancellation fee. Are you electing to cancel?”

“No, as I said. We simply want to revisit a few things.”

“How many things?” Connor said.

“One,” Nicole answered.

“And it’s not the cancellation fee?” he asked.

“No.”

Connor’s stomach went cold. “Okay. What is it?”

“Logan Murdoch needs to go.”

Connor had felt it coming, but Gloria looked shocked, and Jonas sank into the ornate Louis XIV desk chair in the corner, hand clasped over his mouth.

“So your understanding is that you have a line item in your contract that permits you to make permanent personnel decisions at this hotel?” Connor asked.

“We have a duty to keep our conference attendees safe.”

“And you’re afraid they’re in danger from a man who saves toddlers from drowning,” Connor said.

“We’re concerned management has shown a lack of judgment when it comes to the current security director.”

Took the words right out of Sylvia Milton’s mouth, and barely a minute after her press conference. What a coincidence, Connor thought.

“A lack of judgment. That’s a pretty big accusation, Nicole. Could you possibly be more specific?”

“Our board is upset, Connor. Don’t make this worse than it is.”

“How big is it?” Connor said.

“Our board?”

“No. The donation Sylvia Milton gave you to take this position.”

You could have heard a pin drop. For a second or two, Connor thought the woman might have hung up.

“I’m not sure I appreciate the in—”

“Fine. How about this, Nicole? Why don’t you take the afternoon to see how the world reacts to the fact that Sylvia Milton attacked a ten-year veteran of the Marine Corps who saved a child’s life this week? And that she did it using terms she’d never use to describe a straight couple in a million years. Why don’t you kick back, see how all that unfolds on social media, and then you can decide whether your literacy organization should be dragged into the middle of this woman’s media war?”

Gloria and Jonas were both statue still during the silence that followed.

“Nicole?” Connor asked.

“Let’s touch base this evening,” she said. “When everything’s calmed down some.”

“Sounds good.”

“My assistant will reach out to Jonas and set a time.” She hung up without a goodbye.

Connor rose to his feet, head spinning, shaking with anger. He moved to the office’s floor-to-ceiling window and stared out at its view while only seeing red.

“May I ask what happens if Lighthouse walks?” Jonas asked.

“We can operate out of cash reserves for several months. But if we don’t raise occupancy, and if their cancellation inspires others, a sale is inevitable.”

“Christ,” Gloria whispered.

No one said anything for a while.

“Did I screw up?” Connor finally asked.

As the silence wore on, he figured they might be too horrified to answer, but when he turned, he saw they were both staring at their phones.

“Oh, God,” Connor moaned, “what now?”

“Check your email.” Gloria had tears in her eyes when she looked up at him.

The newest message in his inbox was from Logan. He opened it, saw the other addresses it had gone to. All of the department heads, and Lois at the bank.

The words in the subject line smashed into Connor like a sledgehammer: Letter of resignation.

 

 

Connor was prepared for a fight, a fierce battle of words, or a heated discussion that might push the two of them close to the brink for the first time since they’d declared their love for each other. But he was not prepared for Logan to already be out of uniform, not fifteen minutes after submitting his three-sentence resignation letter. Logan was also calmly removing his blazers and khakis from the penthouse suite’s closet, folding them neatly and tucking them inside his now bulging duffel bag. The finality of this scene tossed kindling on the fires of Connor’s panic.

“What the hell are you doing?” Connor cried.

“What needs to be done.” He avoided eye contact as he continued to pack. “Make Keoni interim security director. He’s a solid dude, and he won’t hesitate to call me if he has questions.”

“You sent a letter of resignation to the bank without talking to me first?” Connor asked.

“I’m making it easier, okay?”

“For Sylvia Milton, maybe.”

He hurled the blazer in his hands to the duffel bag at his feet. “For you, Connor. For you.” Regretting his flash of anger, it seemed, Logan looked to the floor. “What was the 911 from Jonas about?” he asked.

“Logan, we just need to sit down with everyone and figure—”

“The first event’s in three weeks. You haven’t had an urgent text from your special events director since you started here. Why did you get one five minutes before that press conference?”

Connor couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“They’re saying the same thing, aren’t they?” Logan asked.

Connor blinked back tears. All the answer Logan needed.

“And what do you want me to do, Connor? You want me to stick around and be the reason everyone loses their job? After I just redeemed myself in their eyes for a bunch of crimes I had nothing to do with. I mean, how much longer is this going to go on?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said we could beat this.”

“You weren’t lying when you said you thought we could beat this, and I respect that, Connor, I do. But she won’t stop until she has someone’s head. And she’s decided it’s mine, so I’ve got no choice. And neither do you.”

“She won’t stop if you leave. What happened to her husband was wrong and terrible, but it’s turned her into a bully. And bullies never stop. She’ll find something else, and she’ll start hitting at that. And she’ll hit twice as hard if we hand her a victory now. I don’t understand this, Logan. Where’s the guy who broke down this door the other night?”

“That guy is right here, and he knows damn well that sometimes you use a weapon and sometimes you make a sacrifice. And sacrifices are not something you know much about, Connor Harcourt.”

“Wait! Seriously?”

“Oh, I forgot. You ran off to New York to kill time before your giant inheritance showed up.”

Connor felt like he’d been slapped. “I would not call being alienated from my family during the last years I could have had with my father and grandfather killing time.”

“I’m sorry. I…”

“Are you?” Connor asked.

“It’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, Logan?”

“I’m just saying, you could have stayed and fought, but you didn’t.”

“Oh, okay. So which is it? You think I should have made a sacrifice by staying here five years ago and being abused by my uncle on the daily? Or you think I should understand why you’re running away now because you think I ran then? I mean, since you’re making all my decisions for me, why not tell me what to think too?”

“I’m not running. This is not running.”

“Your bag is already packed. You’re quitting with a three-line resignation letter you wrote in ten minutes. What is this if not running?”

“I’m sorry if I don’t have the confidence that comes from having a giant pile of money sitting in the bank because I’m too proud to spend it.”

“I don’t, Logan!”

Connor’s cry forced Logan back a step, but he couldn’t tell if it was his tone or the information he’d just shared that did it.

“I don’t have a giant pile of money sitting in the bank. The reason I never want to talk about it is because it’s not there. I donated it all to charity the minute it came in. Anonymously. I didn’t want a life built by people who didn’t want me around. And I didn’t ever want to be looked at or talked to again like that night when you accused me of having no idea how reality works. I didn’t want to be that kind of person. So I gave it all away.”

“You don’t really expect me to believe you gave away a giant inheritance because I wouldn’t go on a joyride in a Rolls-Royce with you.”

“Here’s what I believe. One, you’re being a real dick right now. Two, you’re an amazing and beautiful man, and in many ways you are more courageous than anyone I’ve ever met. But not when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” Logan said.

“Not when it comes to what other people think of you. You have gone through life looking and sounding like what most gay men either want to marry or be, and if there’s one thing you don’t know about, it’s what it’s like to be in the other room while they come up with new and more sophisticated ways to call you a faggot. So if you want to come at me about family and sacrifice, ask yourself how things would have been with you and Big Chip Murdoch if you’d popped out of the womb talking and walking like me, Staff Sergeant Murdoch.”

“Don’t bring my dad into this,” Logan said.

“I’m just saying, the next time you lecture me on privilege, you might want to factor in yours. I don’t have the option of just not telling people I’m queer. They know the second I walk into the room and open my mouth. So I know a hell of a lot about sacrifices, thank you very much. I sacrificed the last years I could have had with my father and grandfather rather than compromise who I was. And I’m sorry, but I’m tired of you bringing up my financial background every time you’re afraid.”

Logan’s jaw was rigid in a way that said he was clenching his teeth. His nostrils were flaring, and he was glaring at the dining table as if it had given him the finger. For a second, Connor was afraid he might storm out the door. When he didn’t, Connor took a step toward him.

“But I also know what it feels like to be slandered,” Connor said. “And that’s what you were today, and I know how badly that hurts. But if you could have waited at least two seconds and talked to me before you sent that—”

Tears glistened in Logan’s eyes. “Before the world, Connor. Not just my dad and grandfather in a living room. The world. Everyone I ever served with is going to see her calling me some white trash man whore who slept my way into this job after blackmailing people. It’s not about your money. It’s about hers. I can’t go out and buy a new reputation. I have to work with the one I’ve spent years building, and she destroyed it in ten minutes. And she can do that once a week if she wants, with her fancy lawyers and her press conferences and the twenty-four hours a day she can spend on Twitter while the rest of us are trying to do our goddamn jobs.”

“She did it because she’s desperate, and she’s losing the war she started. She did it because you saved a child’s life and that was all anyone was talking about. This is another strike. She’s only destroying something if you leave, Logan. We can fix this. Together.”

“Not if it takes this place over a cliff first.”

“You don’t trust me to do better than that?” Connor asked.

“It’s not about trust.”

“It is, though. It is. I’m five foot four. I’m barely a hundred thirty pounds. I’m never going to be able to break down a door for you. But this? Negotiating with powerful people who think they should run the world. This is what I’ve done for years. This is what I’m good at, and if you won’t let me do it for you, you aren’t letting me fight for you. And I know I might be some little fem twink, but every now and then I’m going to want to save you too. And I can’t do that if you walk away from us.”

“Us?” Logan looked so stunned, Connor wasn’t quite sure what had happened. “You think I’m walking away from us?”

“I meant we’re doing this together. We’re supposed to be partners in this.”

“Or we can’t be partners at all?” Logan asked.

“I didn’t say that!”

“What did you say? Because you’re acting like if I don’t stay here then we don’t stay together.”

“I’m just afraid, okay? We came together when we started working together, and I’m worried that if we lose that—”

“Then we lose each other? You’re afraid that if you don’t have a job to offer me, I’ll leave you? I’m sorry, Connor, but how is that any different from what Sylvia Milton said on TV? I mean, is that who you think I am? Someone who would walk away if you didn’t have Sapphire Cove to give me?”

“That’s not what this is about. You resigned without talking to me.”

“From the hotel! Not from you. But you’re acting like they’re the same, and I don’t even know what to think about that. You sound just like her.”

Logan went for his bag, stuffed the spill of clothes inside the zipper and yanked it shut, then hefted it up off the floor in one arm powered by anger.

“Please, Logan. Please don’t leave.”

Hand on the knob, Logan stopped and turned, but Connor saw only hurt and anger in his eyes. “Five years ago I walked through the front doors of this place with as much fear hanging over my head as I had riding through a combat zone. And five minutes with you and I wanted to chuck it all and walk back out those doors with you in my arms, and by God, I would have done it if it wouldn’t have sent my dad’s life down the tubes. Sapphire Cove has never been the reason I want you, Connor Harcourt, but somehow it always turns into the reason I can’t have you.”

The door slammed.

And by the third time Connor called his name, it was clear that Logan wasn’t coming back.

 

 

His ears weren’t ringing like they had after he was struck by an IED, but he felt just as deafened, and he could barely follow what the two men on the other side of his dad’s office were saying. A different and more painful song was playing in Logan’s ears—the sound of Connor calling out to him as he’d walked off down the carpeted corridor, each time with more fear in his voice. He could still feel the anger that seized his limbs, drowning out the call of his heart, driving him forward. Forward and away. Away from that terrible moment in which the man he loved saw him exactly as Sylvia Milton had described him.

Given how intently his dad was studying him now, Logan could tell he was doing a lousy job of hiding his hurt. How could he hide something he felt in every inch of his body?

“She spent that whole press conference dancing along the line of defamation,” Logan’s attorney was saying. Benjamin Bullfinch had been his dad’s buddy for years and always dressed like one corner of a boxing ring, but he knew his stuff. “Point is, I’d have no trouble pointing out where her feet landed on the wrong side, if you know what I mean.”

It hadn’t been Logan’s idea to meet with his lawyer. Instead, he’d wanted to get down to business with his dad about starting work at Chip’s Kicks. But when he arrived at the Irvine location, his vision wobbly, his jaw aching from grinding his teeth, the lawyer had been waiting for him in his dad’s office, dressed better than he’d been the day he met Logan.

“But she’s got money to burn, right?” Chip said.

“Maybe,” Bullfinch said, “or maybe that’s only how it looks on TV. You find out those kind of things in a lawsuit.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to jump feet first into a lawsuit right now,” Logan said.

“Maybe not a suit,” Bullfinch said. “Maybe just a really good cease and desist letter to shut her up. You can always go for an apology and a retraction without suing somebody.”

“Hold up here a second, son,” Chip said. “You’re saying you and Connor both thought it would be best if you resigned. I mean, how does that prove the lady’s wrong? It makes you look guilty.”

“Conferences were threatening to cancel,” Logan said. “We had no choice.”

We. Yeah, right.

“Look,” Bullfinch said. “I know a lot’s happened today, but let me bottom line this shit. This woman’s sloppy. You don’t go on TV and imply someone’s a blackmailer because you don’t like who they’re sleeping with. It might be easy to shut her down if we strike while the iron’s hot.”

“My primary concern right now is the hotel,” Logan said.

“Where you don’t work anymore,” Chip said.

“Ben, I appreciate you coming over.” Logan got to his feet and extended his hand to the attorney. “I really do, but I’m not ready to talk about all this today. I kinda want to get started with my new work situation.”

Because if I go home, I’ll get so drunk I might drown in my sofa cushions.

“That’s my son.” Chip dropped his feet from the edge of the desk to the floor. “Never a day off.”

Logan shook Bullfinch’s hand, then steered him to the door. Then he and Chip were alone with Logan’s lies hanging over their heads like a smoke cloud.

If Logan didn’t strike first and hard, Chip would own the conversation. He turned to his dad and clapped his hands together. “So I was thinking virtual workouts. Maybe a live streaming thing to add to the YouTube channel. We could roll it out over the next year, beef up your camera equipment capabilities. Maybe hire some new tech guys and—”

“Wait, what are virtual workouts?”

“We can have the trainers do kickboxing classes online. Live stream it. Maybe even charge for it. Like a members’ only thing. Then it archives and we can share it to other social media platforms and—”

“I don’t do other social media platforms. I can’t figure any of them out, and they all make me feel senile. The channel’s fine. And I don’t put the trainers on the channel unless we’re doing session videos, and those are only focused on one exercise. A class is going to last maybe thirty, forty-five minutes. My metrics crash if I do a video longer than fifteen.”

“Well, maybe it’s time to look into some new ways of doing things, new stuff.”

“Why?” His dad sounded suspicious.

“To expand,” Logan said.

“With your tech savvy? All you know how to do on a computer is download porn.”

“I was sixteen,” Logan said.

“Oh, and after that you just quit?”

“Can we focus, please?”

“Is that what we’re doing? Focusing?” Chip’s tone was so pregnant with implications it was about to deliver on the office floor. “I don’t need to expand. My business is fine. Why would I expand?”

“To make more money. Isn’t that the point of a business?”

“The channel makes money when I say crazy shit. The people who care about the kickboxing? That’s like fifteen percent of my audience. Have you even watched my channel?”

“I’ve been kinda busy, Dad.”

“I meant, like, ever.”

My God. What have I done?

“Well, what were you thinking I’d do, Pop?” Logan asked.

“Towel hampers are pretty full out there. You know where the washer is.”

Logan glared at him.

“Or you could stay in here and we could talk about how it really went with you and Connor this morning.” Chip grinned like the Joker.

Logan nodded and stepped from the office, taking care not to shut the door too hard behind him, even though he’d made it pretty damn clear he’d rather swim in dirty laundry than tell his dad how things had actually gone down.

 

 

“Come back later, please,” Connor barked after the second knock. He’d meant it to sound professional, but the frog in his throat had other plans.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, Blondie. Open the door.”

Naser, shit.

Technically, Connor had stayed at work, even if he’d spent every break between frantic phone calls curled into a fetal position under the covers, the same thought blazing through his head as he sobbed.

After Gloria called to tell him Nicole Richter’s assistant had scheduled a call with Connor for that evening, his assistant general manager also made several attempts to lay eyes on Connor. In each instance, he’d put her off. He’d told the staff calls were coming in so fast and furious on his cell he didn’t have time to leave the suite. That was, of course, bullshit. The truth was, after his initial sobs had abated enough for him to catch his breath, he’d pulled off his work clothes and hurled them into a rumpled ball in the corner. Since then, he’d spent the day in pajamas and Wheat Thin crumbs, with crying jags in between frantic business calls. None of the possible scenarios if Lighthouse canceled could be described as remotely good. Harris Mitchell felt Sylvia Milton had gone so far over the line Connor and his mother had no choice but to file a defamation suit. It all came down to four words—the Harcourt family’s crimes. Right now, Connor had about as much stomach for that as he’d had for the black tar smell on his uncle’s hands the night of his assault.

He opened the door a crack, and Naser gave him a once-over, from his bedhead to his bare feet, which he’d done such a terrible job of slathering with lotion they looked like they were shedding melting wax. Naser raised one eyebrow.

“I’m working out of my suite today,” Connor mumbled.

“Really? ’Cause it looks like you’re attending a hoedown with the Keebler elves.”

“Never. I hate those queens. They’re too into meth.”

Naser smiled. “Well, you still have your sense of humor. That’s good.”

“Who called you?” Connor asked.

“Gloria. She said her next call was going to be your mother.”

“Shit. Come in so we can barricade the door before she gets here. Mom canary-yellowed me the other day, and I’m still recovering.”

Closing the door gently behind him, Naser examined the suite as if he expected to find corpses littering the floor. “All right, well, nothing’s broken, so that’s good,” he said. “But you placed nine room service orders for Wheat Thins, which the staff interpreted as a cry for help.”

Connor picked up the nearest open box and held it out for Naser. “Help yourself.”

Connor flounced down onto the love seat at the foot of the bed. With a sweep of the hand, he gestured for Naser to sit anywhere he liked.

“Gloria’s worried,” Naser said. “I’m worried.”

“You didn’t have to leave work for this,” Connor said.

“Connor, it’s five thirty. I’ve been off work for half an hour.”

“What?” Connor sat up, checked the view beyond the windows, and saw the early-evening light that presaged dusk. “Christ, I’ve got a call with the Lighthouse Foundation in thirty minutes. I hope they’re nicer when they’re teaching people how to read.”

Naser sat down on the love seat next to him. “What happened?”

“So did he make some big dramatic exit?” Connor asked.

“No. Gloria said they didn’t even realize he was gone until they checked the lot for his truck.”

“That’s good, I guess.”

“Maybe.”

“I didn’t accept his resignation. And I accused him of giving up without a fight. And of not letting me fight for him.”

“And what did he say?” Naser asked.

“He said I was making it sound like him working here and our relationship were the same thing.”

“Did you?” Naser asked.

“It’s how it came out. Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Naser asked.

“It’s exactly how it came out.” Connor struggled for his next words. “I said he was walking away from us. I want to think I didn’t mean it, but I’m worried it was like a Freudian slip. Only the kind that, you know, destroys a relationship.”

“Why would it destroy your relationship?”

“Because he said if I believe he only sees me as a job opportunity, that’s no different than what Sylvia Milton accused him of this morning.”

Naser grunted softly.

“I know that grunt.”

“Do you?” Naser asked.

“Yeah, that’s the I have something to tell you but I’m not sure if you can take it grunt.”

“Sometimes our insecurities can sound like insults outside of our heads.”

“Deep. I assume the insecurities you’re referring to are mine.”

“So do you want advice?” Naser asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you want best friend advice or ass-kicking therapist advice?”

“Are those really the only two options?” Connor asked.

Naser crossed his legs and sucked in a deep breath. “Logan was right. You’re afraid that if he doesn’t work here anymore, he won’t want to be your boyfriend.”

“Great. So I can’t have a relationship unless I’m sexually harassing someone at work?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you’re still the same guy who brought a Rolls-Royce on your first date with him because you thought you wouldn’t get a second date without it. And you did it to distract from the fact that you have the voice of a kid from a Pixar film and the only thing you’ve ever topped is a bicycle.”

“You’re one to talk, queen.”

“I speak from experience, gurl. There’s gay shame, then there’s bottom shame, and then there’s femme shame. And if we’ve got all three, and we don’t watch it, they’ll work together to destroy our happiness. You didn’t get bullied much in high school, did you?”

“Some. I turned in an English class assignment on bright red laser printer paper once, and Pierre Boston asked if it was perfume scented and the other kids laughed.”

“Devastating. I spent most of sophomore and junior year getting stuffed in lockers by this stupidly hot football asshole who I was also jerking off to every night before bed. My point is, that’s how I got treated for how I talked and how I walked. And it sounds like you had an easier ride. Maybe because they knew who your family was or they were impressed by the hotel. I don’t know. And I’m not saying I wish you’d gone through what I did. But on some level, you have, and you know. You know that the flash and the glam and the money can protect you from the shitty things people think about us for not talking and acting like Logan Murdoch. I know you know because I’ve seen you use it.”

“How?” Connor said.

“Oh, honey. Don’t make me litigate it. It’s just…if we were out to dinner with somebody’s straight friends, you’d always pick up the check. In New York, if some big butch queen was hanging out with us, you’d start name dropping celebrity clients to try to impress him. It’s just a thing. We all wrestle with it. I try to be the best little boy in the world who manages my family’s finances, and sometimes I go too far. And God knows, I don’t love you any less over it. But when it comes to a guy like Logan, your way of wrestling with it, it worries me.”

“How?” Connor asked.

“Even if you’re being generous, if you act like the hotel and everything that comes with it are the greatest things you have to offer the people in your life, all you’re going to do is remind a guy like Logan of all the choices you’ve always had that he never did.”

Naser gave Connor several minutes to digest these hard truths. That was good because he needed them. He also needed Wheat Thins, but he didn’t feel like getting up to get some. Also, he was still nauseated from the last box, so maybe need wasn’t the right word in this instance.

“There was something else Rodney said that night that I overheard him.” Connor wilted into the sofa cushions.

“What?” Naser snuggled in next to him.

“He was describing Logan, and he said, he’s gay, but it’s fine, because he keeps it reined in.”

“Asshole,” Naser whispered.

“But in my head, I thought that meant…” Connor’s tears seized his voice, and the next thing he knew Naser was gripping one of his hands and resting his head against his shoulder. “I thought that meant my dad and my grandfather would have wanted me around if I was more like Logan. If I talked like him, if I sounded like him. I thought it meant I was the wrong kind of gay for my own family. And that was somehow worse than thinking they didn’t like gays at all.”

Naser sat up as if a gun had gone off, but his grip on Connor’s hand tightened, and suddenly they were nose to nose. “You are not the wrong kind of gay, and Logan is not the right kind of gay. There’s no such thing. And you don’t know what your father or your grandfather thought because they didn’t speak up. And that’s on them. But now you know they did want you around. It’s why you’re here, Connor. And if Logan was only interested in you because of this place, he would have thrown you up against the wall five years ago and plowed you three ways from Sunday because that’s when he really needed a job.”

“I’ve never thought about it like that. But I guess I didn’t really know how I was thinking about it. And then today it slipped out. And he was so hurt. It was like I was as bad as she was.”

“Sylvia Milton, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you talked to him since he left?” Naser asked.

“No. I was begging him not to leave. And he did. So I feel like if I call him it’s bullying.”

“All right, well, let him cool off for a bit. It’s been so intense since you got here, and I’m sure you guys are both exhausted.”

“Oh, God. What time is it?” Connor asked.

“Time for your call,” Naser said.

“Could you stay?” Connor asked.

“Of course. On one condition.”

“What?”

“No more Wheat Thins, and we get a real meal up in here.”

Connor got to his feet, and so did Naser. “Deal.”

Naser’s hug was strong and firm.

“You want me to step out on the balcony while you scream at these people?” Naser asked.

“No. Stay close. That way I won’t scream.”

Naser nodded. Connor fetched his phone off the nightstand.

A few seconds later, Nicole Richter answered her direct line.

“Hi, Nicole. It’s Connor Harcourt.”

“Good evening,” she said with her usual lack of charm. “I’m sorry to say our position hasn’t changed.”

“Okay then. How much time do I have?” Connor asked.

“Time?”

“To consider this request.”

“In all fairness, it’s not really a request,” Nicole said.

“How much time do I have to consider your ultimatum, Nicole?”

“Forty-eight hours,” she answered.

“Seventy-two.”

There was a stilted silence from the other end.

“I’ll have to run that by my board,” Nicole finally said.

“Let me know.”

Connor was about to hang up when Nicole said his name, softly and without her usual bite.

“I’m here,” he said.

“Just…I… You’re a very perceptive person. That’s all.”

She hung up, probably because she was afraid of slipping and revealing other details of their internal negotiations.

“Well?” Naser asked.

“I was right. Sylvia Milton made them a donation they couldn’t refuse.”

“Shit,” Naser whispered.

For a while, neither of them said anything. Finally, Connor set his phone down on the nightstand. The bathroom door was half open, and its honey-colored lamps sent a triangle of light across the nightstand’s glass-topped surface. He’d struggled to set foot inside the bathroom that day. The stress of his fight with Logan had made him even more vulnerable to traumatic flashbacks of Rodney’s subtle but menacing assault.

But suddenly, those memories were striking very different nerves.

“I have an idea,” Connor finally said.

“Don’t save a job he doesn’t want, Blondie. That’s not going to be the best thing for you two in the long run.”

“It’s not about the job,” Connor said. “It’s about him.”

 

 

The judge was so furious with Rodney for violating the conditions of his bail she’d ordered him into Orange County Central Men’s Jail. While he’d looked pathetic the night he’d broken into Sapphire Cove, after several nights in the company of accused murderers, Connor’s uncle now looked broken. His yellow jumpsuit was so rumpled it looked like he’d been spending most of his time in his cell curled into the fetal position. No longer shining with product, his hair was a dry mat atop his head, his eyes both haunted and vulnerable. Expectant. They were also clear. Sober.

Connor wasn’t sure if that would aid his agenda or not.

Connor probably didn’t look much better. He’d tossed and turned most of the night, distracting himself from how badly he missed Logan’s weight in the bed next to him, with thoughts of all the ways his plan could go wrong.

A new lawyer was sitting next to Rodney at the meeting room’s metal table, a crisp and professional-looking woman with a Jackie-O bob, a strand of thick pearls, and an expression that said nothing much fazed her. She nodded as Connor took a seat across from them. Because Rodney couldn’t shake hands, thanks to the cuffs that secured them to the table in front of him, none of them did.

“I don’t suppose we can do this alone,” Connor asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” the lawyer said. “And just to confirm, we’re here to discuss the events of your encounter at the hotel this week and not the other charges. Does that continue to be our understanding?”

Connor nodded. The lawyer nodded, and then Connor looked to his uncle. “How are you?”

“Shitty,” Rodney answered. “You?”

“Dealing with Sylvia Milton,” Connor said.

“Yeah, well, maybe when we announce my plea, she’ll back off a bit.”

“So you didn’t change your mind?” Connor asked.

“Why would I change my mind?” Rodney asked.

“Change of heart. Change of blood-alcohol level. That sort of thing.”

“Yeah, well, I meant it.” He studied his handcuffs.

“I had them review all the security camera footage from that day,” Connor said.

“Why? I mean, you had me arrested so…”

“You got yourself arrested, Rodney. And for a lot more than breaking into Sapphire Cove.”

“Still, you know I was on the property. Why’d you need to review the footage? What, you thought I was there to steal something?”

“And again,” the lawyer said, “we’re here to discuss the contents of your conversation at Sapphire Cove this week and not anything—”

“It was not a conversation. Your client prevented me from calling for help and barricaded me in the bathroom while I was half naked. It was an assault, and you should be grateful I’m not bringing charges. May we continue, please?”

“Carefully,” she said.

Connor returned his attention to his uncle. “I had trouble believing you came onto the property just to talk to me. That’s why I reviewed the footage.”

“And now?” Rodney asked.

“I think you’re more capable of feeling guilt than I wanted to believe. A man changes when he hits the end of the road. That’s what Logan said to me the other day. About you. Is it true?”

“It was the look on your face,” Rodney whispered.

“When?”

“In the lobby. When I said that stuff about your dad. The look on your face was…” Rodney swallowed and studied the metal table between them. “I always saw you as just some kid. Maybe that made it easier to push you around. You know, like, you’d eventually grow up and get over anything I did, and so why was it a big deal?”

“A dazzling approach to child rearing.” Connor’s fake smile hurt his cheeks.

“But when I saw the look on your face that day… I knew if I didn’t say something I’d be seeing it every night. In jail.”

Connor hadn’t been prepared for this answer, and apparently that was clear from his expression, but his uncle was studying him closely.

“You believe me, sport?” Rodney asked.

Connor couldn’t fight his wince. “Why do you call me that? It always sounds like an insult.”

“You don’t know the story?”

Connor shook his head.

Rodney smirked, and Connor prepared for a story more insulting than the nickname.

“You were about five years old and we were in the backyard of Dad’s old place in Dana Point, and I was trying to teach you how to throw a football and you weren’t getting it. I was giving you a hard time and Dad came out and said, ‘Knock it off, Rodney. That kid’s already a genius. He’s not going to need sports like you.’ That’s how it always was, Connor. You came along and they let you be whoever you wanted to be, but me, I had to stay in this narrow lane to keep their respect.”

“The luxury resort you had control over for decades would be the narrow lane you’re referring to here?” Connor said.

Rodney nodded.

“You’re making it sound like you never wanted the job,” Connor said.

“It was the only way they’d see me. It was the only way I could exist for them. Without it, I was a fuckup. Your dad was the brains. Your grandpa was the heart, and I was just everything they didn’t want to be lumped into one thing. Person. Whatever.”

“But you stayed on after they died.”

“Yeah.” Rodney’s grin was a leer. “And my love for the place is really shining through now, isn’t it?”

Connor wasn’t there to question Rodney’s version of the past, no matter how self-serving he thought it was. He wasn’t even there for Rodney.

Or himself.

He reached inside his blazer pocket and removed a folded piece of paper he hadn’t touched since the day after he landed at John Wayne Airport. He placed it on the table but kept his hand atop it so it wouldn’t drift open. His palm felt hot. It twisted his gut, bringing this last gift from his father, this private message his mother had guarded and protected for years, within his uncle’s reach. The alternative, he knew, would feel much worse.

“But that’s not the only reason you came back to the hotel the other night, is it?” Connor asked.

“What is that?” the lawyer asked, gesturing to the letter.

Rodney’s wide eyes suggested he knew exactly what it was.

“You wanted me to tell you what my dad said in the letter he left for me. Isn’t that right?”

“Don’t play with me, sport,” Rodney whispered.

“I’m not playing, but I am dealing.”

“What do you want?”

“I will let you read this entire letter, including everything he wrote about you in it. On one condition.”

“I’m listening,” Rodney said.

“This morning I spoke to a producer at CNN who wants to do a live interview with you tomorrow evening here at the—”

The lawyer sat up as if a gun had gone off. “That is absolutely out of the—”

“Let him finish,” Rodney barked.

Once it was clear the lawyer wasn’t going to interrupt again, Connor continued. “And during this interview, you will explain in detail everything you said to me the other night. About Logan. You will tell them that not only did Logan Murdoch have nothing to do with your little blackmail scheme, but that Buddy Haskins wanted you to fire him last year and you refused because he was so competent and skilled. You’ll also include the detail that the day of the raid you were planning to have him written up over bogus charges as part of what would be a larger pressure campaign to drive him out because you knew good and well that you could never make a man as good as him, as loyal as him and as honest as him, a part of your crimes. You will say that clearly and without reservation and you will say it to the world. Is that clear?”

For a long while, no one spoke, and the most haggard breaths seemed to be coming from Rodney’s attorney. She finally broke the silence. “It is my duty as your legal representation to strongly advise you against doing any press or media prior to your sentencing.”

“Maybe some honesty now will play well with the judge when that time comes,” Connor said.

“I’ll do it,” Rodney said. “Just read it to me.”

“After you do it,” Connor said. “Deal?”

The lawyer sighed.

Rodney glared at him for what felt like an eternity.

“Deal,” he finally said.

 

 

Evacuees were departing, returning to homes spared by the fire. Moments of healing for them, but the quiet they left behind exposed the wounds the hotel had suffered and made Logan’s absence echo. As the sun sank toward the ocean, Connor dreaded another night alone in his palatial bed, had even considered changing rooms. But what would it matter? Penthouse suite or closet, it would be another night spent tossing and turning, obsessively checking his phone as he searched for any attempt by Logan to break the silence he’d plunged them into after walking away.

Watching sunset from the very spot at the balustrade where they’d first talked probably wouldn’t help pass the night, but as soon as work had died down, he’d felt a magnetic pull.

Now, he was hit by a blast of Chanel No. 5. Suddenly his mother was next to him, chest up as if she was carrying every single call he hadn’t returned atop it.

“Am I to understand that you actually met with Rodney today?” she asked.

“I did.”

“And you didn’t think this was worth discussing with me?”

“I had a bolt of inspiration,” Connor said, “so I went with it.”

“I want you to step down,” she said.

“You’re not serious,” Connor said.

“I am.”

“It’ll force a sale.”

“Good.”

“Everyone will be out of a job. You want that on my head?”

“No, I want it on Rodney’s head. Where it belongs.”

Her giant sunglasses were heavily tinted, but he was confident her eyes blazed with anger behind them. She quickly returned her attention to the sunset, as if embarrassed by how abruptly she’d snapped.

“It’s not a given a new owner will let everyone go,” she said.

“Mom, this place is consumed with scandal. They’ll clean house in a week and change the name.”

“Then I’ll pull from the endowment and—”

“Your endowment is bringing drinking water to villages fighting famine. I’m not going to have you spend it on a beach resort.”

“Well, I’m not going to have you lose your first love over a beach resort either. For Christ’s sake, Connor, you’ve placed the future of you and Logan in the hands of that monster, after everything he’s done.”

“I haven’t. That’s not what this is about.”

“What is it about then?” she asked.

“I don’t know if I can get Logan back. I’ve never seen someone look at me the way he looked at me yesterday. I’ve never hurt someone that much. I don’t know if you come back from that. I don’t have the experience.”

“You can,” she whispered. “You can come back from that. I do have the experience.”

“The point is, it’s not why I did it. If I have to say goodbye, I want this to be my goodbye and not what happened yesterday.”

His mother placed one hand atop his clasped ones.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered. “There’s no telling what Rodney will do. I mean, it’s a national interview and it’s live. He could say anything. And now he sees how much you love Logan. He could try to use it against you.”

“I have to do something. There’s only one voice right now that will speak louder than Sylvia Milton’s and it’s his.”

“Maybe it’s your voice Logan needs.”

“This is my voice.”

His mother tightened her grip on his hands. “This is all my fault,” she whispered.

“How?”

“I should have explained everything to you on the phone and given you an out when you were still in New York. The private plane thing, I imagine it was a lot of pressure.”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“But the truth is, I wanted you to come back. I thought it would be justice, you taking the reins after the way you were treated. But not if you lose Logan over it.”

The word lose struck him like a blast of cold air in the face. He had to change the subject or the tears he’d been holding back since last night would return.

“Rodney says the only way he could earn respect from our family was if he worked here.”

“Oh, my ass hurts,” his mother growled. “Did he really say that?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Your father and grandfather could not have lost more sleep trying to figure out how to make that man feel loved. I mean, half of the reason your grandfather always stuck around here even after he retired is because he knew he had to make the staff happy to make up for all of Rodney’s weaknesses. Honestly, I think that’s why the benefits are so good here. They moved heaven and earth for your uncle, to give him a place in this world as he left wreckage everywhere he went. And this is how he repaid them. So forgive me, my son, if I’m concerned about how he might repay you tomorrow night.”

It was a chilling prospect, but not an irrational one.

And he’d thought of it himself multiple times.

But the reward, if Rodney came through, outweighed all the negatives.

“Nas is coming for dinner. Care to join us?”

“Well, it just so happens I’ll be around,” she said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. I’m staying at the hotel now that you’ve had a bunch of rooms open up. That way, it’ll be impossible for you to ignore my calls.”

She pulled him close and kissed him on the cheek.

“I wasn’t ignoring them,” Connor said. “I was preparing for them.”

“Likely story.”