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The bar was a fish tank, topped with glass so drinkers could watch the occupants while enjoying their overpriced cocktails.
Brett sat at a high-top table in the corner of the resort bar and restaurant, trying not to wax poetically about the sorry state of his affairs and doing so anyway. It was Michel who brought out this side of him, he decided. Michel and his stupid handsome face and amazing body and how much he just fucking cared. Michel cared about him. Hell, Michel cared about him more than he cared about himself most of the time. For God knew what reason, Michel loved him. In spite of his awful family and personal failures and sexual inexperience, Michel loved him. Instead of trusting that love, learning from his mistakes, and being open with Michel, he’d screwed everything up.
His words kept echoing back to him. He wasn’t jealous of Sylvia, not really. He didn’t think Michel was going to leave him for her. Or, rather, his rational faculties didn’t think so. His anxiety, the force that’d run riot back in the room, certainly thought so. Its poison remained, aching through his body, filling him with deep, abysmal despair.
He didn’t even know where to begin to apologize to Michel. Should he even try right now when Michel had told him, in no uncertain terms, he needed space and lots of it?
The ice cubes in his glass clinked as he tightened his grip so much his hand shook with the effort. The liquid in the glass, soda water with lime, was long since gone. Brett contemplated ordering another and this time adding whiskey to the mix. But no, he wasn’t going to backslide completely.
It was early afternoon, and the bar and restaurant hadn’t begun to fill for lunch. A few small groups of guests enjoyed a late breakfast. Outside, the weather was tropical island perfect—sunny, warm, a slight breeze nudging the huge, brightly colored flowers to release their perfume into the air. A sultry day. A day of promise.
A few hours ago, still tangled in the sheets with Michel, Brett would have loved this day. Now he hated it. Was it too much to ask for dark clouds and rain to match his dark mood?
He was so busy glaring at the scene outside the window he didn’t notice his sisters’ approach until they were at his table. When he did notice them, he immediately wished he hadn’t. He glared out the window even more fervently, hoping they’d take the hint and go the fuck away.
“Brett,” Evelyn said, smacking the table with her hand and leaning in so he couldn’t avoid looking at her.
Brett instinctively leaned back, remembered he was sitting on a stool, and caught himself with some abdominal muscles he didn’t know he had. “Evelyn,” he said, matching her intensity, in tone at least.
Few could match her intensity in outfits. She wore a loose, shimmery silver shirt that gleamed in the light of the tropical afternoon, a tight lemon-yellow mini skirt, and tall platform sandals with clear heels that lit up when she walked.
Patience stood behind her wearing all black.
“We’re leaving,” Evelyn said like she was stating the very obvious.
Brett looked down to the floor and saw their luggage, piled high and ready to roll. “Okay,” he said, not wanting to have this conversation nor understanding why they’d bother to seek him out to say goodbye. Last night, they’d been ready to disown him for hiding Michel. “Have a safe trip home,” he said, just to have something to say.
Evelyn rolled her eyes at him. “We wanted to tell you we understand why you didn’t tell us you’re dating Michel.”
Brett was really caught off guard at that. “Oh,” he said.
“Yes,” Patience added. “It will be difficult and embarrassing for you to explain to the family when he breaks up with you. First, you’re giving Evie and Mom this incredible access to their idol, and then you lose it for them when you inevitably fuck up the relationship. It makes sense you wouldn’t want to explain to them why you’re not good enough for him.”
And there it was. But, in the haze of his own pain and misery, their barbs failed to hit their mark. Patience’s extreme, blunt carelessness and the way Evelyn was looking at him like she pitied his sad life rolled off him. Normally, he’d pretend not to be hurt, but secretly his heart would break a little more. But he’d already screwed up with Michel and, compared to that, what else mattered? What did it matter if his family was filled with horrible self-centered people? He had his own family, his own people he could count on.
Later, maybe these thoughts would energize him into action. For now, he was too heartbroken to do more than stare blankly at his sisters. “Sure, that’s it,” he said with deadpan sarcasm.
Evelyn nodded. “I thought so. It’s okay, Brett. We’re still your family, even if you are a complete fuckup.”
Brett didn’t bother listening. “What about the things Michel said to you?” he asked. He wanted to hear how Evelyn rationalized Michel telling her off.
Evelyn waved her hand like she was washing away any memory of Michel’s words. “He’s a passionate man. It’s what I love about him. You never know what he’ll say or do one minute to the next.”
Brett raised his eyebrows and then slowly lowered them. There was no point in contradicting her. Evelyn didn’t want to and wouldn’t change. It was better for her to be wrong about Michel than to have Brett reveal the truths, truths Michel had trusted only him with. Truths he made clear he would only share with his inner circle. Evelyn, no matter how many t-shirts she made or phone cases she bedazzled, would never be in that inner circle.
“Bye, Evie,” he said in response to her announcement she was going to go check out.
She rolled her eyes as a farewell and left with her suitcases, all of which were branded with Michel’s photo.
Brett’s heart throbbed as he watched Michel’s face roll away from him. It was stupid, but he missed his face. The man was right upstairs. It hadn’t been an hour since they’d quarreled and already Brett couldn’t stand it. Had enough time passed?
He didn’t realize Patience stayed behind until she set an elbow on the small table and fixed him with her own intense stare. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her you already lost him.”
Brett jumped and returned Patience’s keen gaze with a scowl. “How’d you know?” he asked sullenly.
“I’m a master observer of human behavior. Never forget that,” she said, not joking even one tiny bit. She turned and started to walk away. Then she stopped, turned back around to him, and said, “Oh, and Brett? Watch your back. Someone on this island has it in for you.”
She was gone before Brett could ask her what the hell she was talking about. He considered running after her to find out more but knew it could be playing right into her game.
A minute later, it didn’t matter. A minute later, the person she was talking about walked into the bar.
If Brett were to make a list of the top ten people who might hold a grudge against him, Lauren Fontile, or whatever her name was these days, would be at the top. Followed by Simon Anton on a bad day, then Simon Anton on a good day. But no matter how much Simon enjoyed making snide comments about him, he was nowhere near Lauren Fontile.
The last time Brett had seen her had been at the film premiere when he’d reunited with Michel and met Lucille. The other events of the evening had eclipsed his meeting with Lauren until this moment. Now, as she made a beeline for him, a knockout in a strapless red dress and silvery blonde hair, he remembered.
“Well, well, well. Brett Jacobs,” she purred as she reached him, her gentle tone hiding thinly veiled daggers.
“Lauren,” Brett said, his voice weak. He tried to pull himself together, to act like one of the Antons—cool and dangerous, unruffled by the appearance of his former agent whose career he’d destroyed. “I haven’t seen you since the premiere.”
Lauren laughed, showing her brilliant white smile, a smile that failed to reach her stony gray eyes. “No, but I’ve seen you.”
“Because”—Brett gulped—“you’ve been spying on me?”
Lauren laughed again, the sound delicate and well-crafted, a piece of artisan mirth. “I hardly call it spying to coincidentally vacation at the same resort. After all, I’ve had this trip planned for months. How was I to know you’d be here at the same time?”
Brett relaxed a little. “So, you didn’t come here because you want to get back at me.”
“No, Brett. My visit has nothing to do with you. What a ridiculous suggestion. Do you think I’ve spent all this time waiting to what, get revenge on you? Who does that?”
Brett sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s been a hard day.”
He didn’t trust her. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again. But it did seem ludicrous to assume she’d been seeking vengeance. Ludicrous and completely self-centered. More of his paranoia. The same paranoia and anxiety that drove Michel away and destined him to be alone on this bar stool, utterly destitute and miserable.
“No offense taken. Now, why don’t you and I have a drink and catch up? Put all of that behind us and get to know each other again?” Lauren leaned into him when she spoke, her eyes softening, her smile back.
Brett leaned away and fixed his gaze firmly on his empty glass. “Um, I’m not great company right now.”
“I don’t mind. I’m a good listener.”
He shouldn’t give in. He shouldn’t agree. But what else was he doing? Michel didn’t want to be around him. He couldn’t leave the island, since they’d arrived in Michel’s plane. It wasn’t like he had to tell Lauren anything. He could have a drink and listen to her talk about her fabulous new life and call it a day. Maybe by that time, Michel would let him back into the room, to get his suitcase if nothing else. What a dark thought.
So, he nodded. “Yes, all right.”
He waved to a waiter. “Another for me and—” He turned to Lauren.
“Banana rum with a splash of pineapple juice, on ice.”
Brett held back his disgust. It had to be the grossest drink order he’d ever heard, and he’d had some pretty gross stuff during his drinking days.
The waiter, no doubt used to tourists ordering anything and everything remotely tropical, just nodded and served the drinks.
“Do you want to sit?” Brett asked, gesturing to the empty stool across from him.
“Let’s go somewhere a little more private,” Lauren suggested.
Brett agreed, not sure what she meant but guessing it was away from the listening ears of the staff. He couldn’t argue there, especially if anything from their past came up during the conversation. He followed her across the restaurant and through a door on the far side of the terrace.
“I thought this was a private event room or something,” Brett said.
“It is.”
That seemed to be all the explanation Lauren was going to give him.
The door led to a smaller copy of the restaurant. A few high-top tables scattered around a smooth, dark, tiled floor. A smaller aquarium bar sat against the wall, equally well-stocked but missing bartenders. Along the opposite wall were full-length windows overlooking the pool and beyond, the ocean. Either the day had turned cloudy outside or the windows were tinted. Brett frowned at them.
“No one can see in from outside,” Lauren said, settling onto a stool at one of the high tops.
“That’s strange,” Brett said, sitting down opposite her and setting his soda water on the highly polished wood table.
“I’d imagine if you were having a private event, you wouldn’t want everyone at the pool staring at you.” Lauren crossed one leg over the other, a feat Brett would have guessed was impossible in her tight dress but one she handled with ease.
Brett nodded.
“So, tell me everything you’ve been up to, Brett. I hear you’re a scientist?”
Brett looked at her, at her ageless face, her shiny, frizz-free hair, and her unreadable gray eyes framed by smoky eyeshadow. There was something off, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Her interest in him, her cheerful, casual attitude, both were certainly odd, but that wasn’t it. Maybe it was the fact she was talking to him at all?
“Are you sure you aren’t upset about what happened with Lou and the contract and the whole blacklisting thing?” he asked before thinking it through. It was a dangerous question, but Brett needed the answer before the conversation continued any further. If she was upset, he shouldn’t be sitting with her in a private room where no one knew he was. Perhaps, though, it was what he deserved. He deserved to feel the force of her anger, to sit and hear her out if that was what she wanted. And it wasn’t like it could make him feel any worse than he already did.
“Not at all. I was upset, but it’s in the past.” She raised her glass. “To new beginnings.”
Brett followed suit. “New beginnings,” he said and took a drink of his soda water. It didn’t taste right. “I think the bartender put alcohol in...”
He trailed off as the poison Lauren had slipped into his glass took effect.