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She laughs at something he says, and that’s the final straw. “Excuse me,” I mutter, brushing past my unwelcome leech. “It’s past my daughter’s bedtime.”
I stride toward Brooke and Cari, planting myself between Cari and the guy. “You’re drinking?” I ask, my voice harsher than I intended.
Cari looks startled, her eyes wide with confusion. “It’s a virgin piña colada. No alcohol.” She sounds defensive, and she should be. I’m acting like an ass.
“That’s right, Jett.” Jacques blinks at me, his voice smooth. “It’s a virgin cocktail.”
“I wasn’t asking you,” I snap, glaring at him.
“I’ll catch you later,” he mutters to Cari, walking off, tail between his legs.
I turn back to Cari, my frustration bubbling over. “You’re supposed to be looking after Brooke.”
From my periphery I see Brooke lift her head up at me. She’s still holding Cari’s hand. “What’s wrong, Daddy?” She detects my tone.
Cari’s expression hardens, and she thrusts the drink toward me.
“Nothing’s wrong, sweetie,” Cari answers, reassuring my daughter. “Daddy’s confused.” She lifts her chin up at me, defiance blazing in her eyes. “I don't drink when I'm working. It’s a virgin cocktail, Mr. Knight. Here. Taste it. Or maybe you’d rather have it tested.” I deserve every bit of her biting, sharp tone.
“There’s … there’s no need for that.” My thoughts are all over the place. I can’t focus. My body is reacting in ways that are anything but rational. I shouldn’t have stepped in. What was I thinking?
“Are you sure?” Her words hit me like a punch, and I’m about to fire back, but then I see Brooke. She’s standing there, looking at us with wide, innocent eyes. I stop, my anger dissolving.
“It’s time to go,” I say quietly, guilt twisting inside me.
We gather our things, say our goodbyes, and head to the car. Brooke falls asleep almost immediately, but the silence between me and Cari is deafening.
I glance over at her, her face turned toward the window, lost in her own thoughts. I’ve made a mess of everything. And now, we’re both stuck here, too close for comfort.
CARI
The ride back to the house is silent, painfully so. The tension between us is thick, and every second that ticks by feels like an eternity. Jett carries Brooke inside, her little arms wrapped around his neck, and even in sleep, she looks peaceful. Meanwhile, I’m anything but.
One of the house staff steps forward. “Shall I take her up, sir?”
“No, I’ll do it,” Jett replies, his voice clipped. He doesn’t even glance at me.
I follow behind, still reeling from what just happened. He humiliated me in front of everyone. I feel like a schoolgirl who’s been given detention. It cuts deeper than I want to admit.
One moment he’s kind and caring, like in the plane when I got scared, and the next, he’s storming over and accusing me of drinking on the job. I was too shocked to even respond at first.
I can’t do this. It hasn't even been one night, but I don’t think I can suffer this man any longer. I can’t see how I’ll survive a few weeks of this. This trip is nothing like I imagined. It’s not an escape. It’s torture. Being here, in paradise, with Jett Knight, is my personal hell.
This has been an excruciatingly long day and we walk up the stairs in silence. The quiet between us is heavy, suffocating. I open the door to Brooke’s room, watching as Jett gently lays her down on the bed, his movements surprisingly tender.
“I’ll take care of her,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I just want this night to end. I want to be out of these sandals and this dress, out of this whole situation.
“I need to explain what happened back there,” Jett says, his voice low as I step into my room.
A familiar knot of frustration tightens in my chest. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want his explanations. “Just leave it,” I mutter, kicking off my sandals as I yank the earrings from my ears.
But Jett doesn’t leave. He stands there, hovering in the doorway. “I don’t want to leave it. We need to clear the air.”
There’s something in his voice that makes me stop. Something personal. Something deeper than his usual detached tone. It’s unsettling, and my body tenses, instinctively on edge.
“No, we don’t.” I face him, crossing my arms. “I know why you’re mad. Brooke gets in the way of your love life, and so do I. You could have stayed at the barbecue. I’m perfectly capable of watching her without you hovering over us.” I gesture toward Brooke’s room, then turn away, desperate to end this conversation. “We’re home now, safe and sound. You can go back there. I promise not to get drunk while I’m watching over Brooke.”
“I don’t want to go back there.”