The One Real Thing
Page 25

“There you are,” she said with a big grin. “I was worried I wouldn’t catch you.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Nope. Screw it, I said to myself this morning, I’m taking a day off. No one is checking in or out today, there are kitchen staff, waitstaff, and cleaning staff in and out all day if a guest needs something, and I have my phone on me if I’m needed.”
“Good for you.”
“So I thought we could hang out.”
My day was looking up. “I’d love that.”
“Great.” Bailey started leading me out onto the boardwalk. “I cannot tell you how much I treasure my day off.”
“You haven’t found anyone to cover the management job yet?”
“I’m sort of picky.” She shrugged. “I have to feel something from someone . . . you know, like, I can trust them.”
“Sure.” I spotted Hart’s Gift Shop and noted it was still closed. “Damn. Will that shop open soon? I really like the stuff in the window display and there’s a doll I want to get my goddaughter.”
“Dahlia’s?” Bailey smiled. “Sure. She’s on vacation, but she’ll be back soon.”
“You know her well?”
“Of course. She’s one of my best buds.”
“Wow. That must be nice. Working so close to your friend.”
“It is. Dahlia is a great person. She makes and sells her own jewelry. I’m sure you’ll love it.” She touched the silver necklace she wore. It had a long thin chain and the pendant was a beautiful silver cherry blossom tree. “She made this. My dad calls me Cherry,” she explained with a smile and I read the love for her friend in that smile. If I were to go by the craftsmanship and detail put into that little tree I’d say Dahlia loved Bailey.
“It’s beautiful.” I felt a wistfulness come over me. I didn’t have anything like a best girlfriend in my life. Matthew and I were close, but he lived so far away. Fatima was also a good friend but not the hang-out-on-the-weekends or share-deep-dark-secrets kind of friend.
“You okay?” Bailey frowned at me.
“I’m fine,” I assured her with a grin. “Where are we off to?”
“Well, I was thinking we could walk around and then— Oof! Jesus Christ!” Bailey stumbled back when a guy came barreling out from an alley between buildings and straight into her. He caught her, steadying her, and I watched as recognition lit both their faces.
He immediately let go of her and she glared up at him. “Tremaine,” she sneered.
He smirked. “Miss Hartwell.”
For a moment they just stared at one another, animosity pouring off Bailey. It was so the opposite of the version of Bailey I’d been getting to know that I was immediately taken aback and then intrigued to discover who the man was. I studied him as he stared back at Bailey in amusement. I raised an eyebrow as I finally got a clearer picture of him.
Tall, with a swimmer’s build, he wore an exquisitely tailored black suit and black shirt. His jet-black hair was thick and cut well, the dark color in contrast to his startling pale gray eyes. He swung those eyes to me and I found myself snared in them. They were rimmed with thick black lashes that only emphasized how pale they were.
Mr. Beautiful held out a hand to me. “I’m Vaughn Tremaine. I own Paradise Sands Hotel.”
Ah. Bailey’s competition. I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jessica. One of Bailey’s guests.”
“Dr. Jessica Huntington,” Bailey put in smugly.
He just smiled at her pointed comment, albeit with a wolfish, predatory smile that dipped to her mouth and stayed there. “And here you said I would kill your business, Miss Hartwell. Yet a doctor chose your establishment over mine.”
“Well, she has taste,” Bailey said, grabbing my arm. “Now, we’ll be leaving before you storm into me deliberately again.”
“It was an accident,” he said lazily as she started to pull me away from him. “It’s not my fault you’re always in my way. Enjoy your stay in Hartwell, Dr. Huntington.”
“Pfft!” She tugged me forward and I had to quicken my steps to keep up with her.
“Well, there’s a story there,” I said, thinking about how the air had snapped and crackled around the two of them. “Ex-lover?”
“What?” she screeched, drawing to a complete halt on the boardwalk by the bandstand. There was horror in her pretty green eyes. “What would make you say that?”
“Sexual tension,” I answered honestly.
The horror in her gaze multiplied. “Sexual . . . wha . . . pfft . . . huh!” she sputtered. “No! There is no sexual tension between us. Just pure dislike.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t believe me?” She pointed to Paradise Sands. “That monstrosity was a deliberate attempt to undermine my business.”
“Wasn’t it a hotel before Vaughn bought it?”
“Yeah, but a crappy one. Vaughn’s place is affordable luxury.”
“Has it affected your business?”
Bailey shrugged and turned toward the water. She leaned her elbows on the railing and stared out at the beach. “No. But that doesn’t mean he cared whether it would or not. And what is he even doing here?” She glanced at me, frustration mingling with curiosity in her eyes. “He’s this big fancy New Yorker, born and bred in Manhattan. Comes from big money, owns numerous hotels, and he decides to take up residence in the hotel in little Hartwell, Delaware? You don’t find that suspect?”