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Hungry and frustrated, I stuffed the newspaper into my book bag and headed for my cottage, taking the beach path instead of cutting through the lodge.
As I passed the bar, I heard a brusque male voice that I immediately recognized as the man who had been arguing with Amber. I stopped, partially blocked by a trellis. He was standing just outside the ring of tables, his back to the bar, phone to his ear, and clearly angry. Bermuda shorts, sky-blue polo shirt, designer sunglasses. The shirt—the man on the cliff when we were getting off the boat had been wearing the same color. One and the same?
His tone grated on me—the whiny, arrogant lilt of someone who always expected to get his way. If he was in a romance novel, he’d be the heroine’s emotionally abusive ex-husband. The type of guy a girl fell for because of his good looks (and maybe ability in bed), who later made her question her judgment. The manipulative jerk who made the heroine swear off men entirely, until the right guy came along and convinced her that not all men were assholes.
I couldn’t get to my cottage without passing him, unless I wanted to go the long way through the lodge. Which I didn’t, because I really didn’t want to see the honeymooners for the rest of my life—or at least for the rest of today.
“You can’t make up something?” the jerk was saying. “Tell him you can’t reach me? Fine! Put him on, but next time, you’d better come up with a good excuse or you’ll be looking for a new job.”
A second later, his voice completely changed. “Dad? Hey! Yeah, reception isn’t great, but I wanted to talk to you... Spontaneous, I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before that I was going to St. Claire, but Amber and I are trying to make it work... Of course I’ll be at the meeting on Monday... Sure. Anything you need, let me know. Love ya, Dad.”
Silence. I peered through the trellis. He was standing there, looking at the ocean. I couldn’t leave without being seen. Damn. Just do it.
I plastered a half smile on my face and walked briskly from the edge of the bar, down the path that led to my cabin.
“Hello,” I said cheerfully as I passed by.
He whirled around, his face rigid and angry. “Hello.” Gruff, but he relaxed a bit when he saw me.
“You weren’t on the ferry this afternoon,” I said. “Have you been here long?”
“Yesterday,” he said, his voice clipped.
“It’s so beautiful.” I waved my hand toward the ocean on one side, the lush mountain on the other. “I don’t think I ever want to leave, though my boss probably won’t like that.” I laughed while cringing inside. Why had I said that? I wanted a rewrite, but that was the problem when you said the first thing that came to your mind. Sometimes it was smart... sometimes not.
“Oh. Yes. Pretty,” he said vaguely. Then he looked around as if he hadn’t really noticed much of anything.
“I’m Mia Crawford. From New Jersey.” I extended my hand out of habit and wished I could pull it back.
He pumped my hand once, dropped it. “Parker Briggs.”
“Nice to meet you, Parker. See you around.”
I walked away and immediately breathed easier. Okay, at least I knew who he was. He wasn’t just Mr. Asshole. He was Mr. Parker Briggs, Asshole.
I thought about Parker’s conversation with his father. He’d been talking about Amber, about wanting to “make it work.” Did that mean they were together? Like,togethertogether? If he wanted to make it work, why had he been yelling at her? I was nonconfrontational, sure, but if a man yelled at me like that, I wouldn’t be wanting to get back together with him. I had one boyfriend years ago who snapped at everyone—me, servers, his staff. I was so tense and stressed waiting for him to snap some order to get him this or that or do some such thing that I called it quits.
Some people seemed to thrive in those kinds of relationships, the big blowout fight followed by the great make-up sex. Or so I’ve heard. And read. Just not experienced. And honestly? It sounded exhausting, never knowing where you stood with someone.
What had Amber said?
“I said I’d get everything back!”
That didn’t sound like a relationship, but what did I know? Every man I’d dated was notThe One. I had the urge to tell Amber to run far, far away... but it wasn’t my place. Besides, Amber had been rude, certainly no shrinking violet. Ifshewere in a romance novel, she’d be the stalker ex-girlfriend of the hero. Maybe she and Parker Briggs were made for each other.
Still... I wanted to know what was going on between Amber and Parker, and not just because I’m naturally curious. They were arguing about documents, not their love life. Why? What made these two people tick? What split them up? I might notlikethem, but I wanted to understand how their relationship worked—and didn’t work. If I could dissect other relationships, maybe I could fix my own love life.
There I went again, spiraling into worrying about the impending doom of my future as a lonely workaholic, which I’d promised myself not to think about this week.
For now, I should focus on finding answers. Not about my long-term love life or the job that might kill it, but what happened to Diana Harden. Why did she leave, where did she go, and what happened to her?
I also wouldn’t mind finding out if Amber and Mr. Asshole got back together. They deserved each other.
Chapter Six
“Things’ll get worse before they get better.”
—Karen M. McManus,One of Us Is Lying