Page 41 of Beautiful Desire (Blossom Beach #3)

Georgia

G race: Hey, are you able to stop by when you’re off work?

Me: Yeah, I’m just about to leave. Come to the bakery or your house?

As I’m waiting for her response, the sound of heavy footsteps pulls my attention from my phone. My lips tug into a grin as Fletcher strolls into my office, like he owns the place. “Ever heard of knocking?”

“The door was open,” he drawls, shutting it behind him before sitting on the corner of my desk. Meeting my gaze, his eyes dance with mischief as he flashes me a flirty smirk. “I’m bored. How about you bend your fine ass over and let me fuck you against this desk.”

I choke out a laugh. “How about no.”

“Why not?” he scoffs, face scrunched up.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re on the clock?”

“You never let me fuck you in here.” He groans with an eye roll. “And besides, I’m off in five minutes. For somebody who owns the place, you sure never know the schedule.”

“Is that why your father exiled you?” I ask, gaze narrowing as I sit back in my chair and fold my arms over my chest. “Because you were fucking everybody in your office?”

Fletcher gasps and clutches his metaphorical pearls. “No, that’s not why,” he murmurs. “And I didn’t fuck everybody in my office.”

“But you did fuck in your office?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Well, yeah, but not everybody .”

Gritting my teeth, I refuse to put a name to the dark and bitter feeling slicing through my chest. “Then why?” I ask, realizing he’s still never told me the reason.

Heaving a sigh, Fletcher says, “I fucked up some paperwork on a pretty big deal, and we almost lost it.”

“Sorry?” My face twists up. “He’s punishing you because you made a mistake ? Is he aware that you’re human, and humans make those from time to time?”

“Yeah, Alden St. James doesn’t make mistakes, Peach.” He huffs a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “And besides, it wasn’t the first time I’d fucked up, and we almost lost one of our biggest clients because of it. He had a right to be pissed.”

The closer I get to Fletcher, the more I despise his dad. I already didn’t like him before all of this, but he could stand to learn a little empathy. Especially for his own son. “What caused you to fuck up?” I ask.

“It wasn’t any one thing.” He shrugs. “I was careless and not paying as much attention as I should’ve, and I don’t know… I never really believed he’d do what he did.”

“Guess you fucked around and found out.” I chuckle when he scowls at me. “Why’d he cut you off, though? Sending you here as punishment for fucking up at work is one thing, but to cut you off too?”

Fletcher groans and wrinkles his nose. “I may have been a tad frivolous, according to my father.”

“A tad?” I huff a laugh. “How so?”

“I enjoyed taking weekend trips a lot. You know, work harder, play harder? And when you go to these places, it adds up. Flight, hotel, food, drinks, VIP at the clubs.”

“And you weren’t splitting the cost with the people you went with?”

“Well, Reese would often come with me, and he’d pay for his own room and stuff, but then we’d meet girls while we were there “

“Ah, and you’d spend money on them,” I deduce, not liking where this is going.

“Yeah, I mean, obviously,” he quips. “My dad insisted they were taking advantage of me because they knew I had money, which is ridiculous, right?” He chuckles. “I would offer. But when I bought my car without consulting with him first, that was his final straw.”

“Well, I may have to agree with Alden on this one,” I murmur. “Just because you have money doesn’t mean you have to blow it, and it certainly doesn’t mean you need to pay for everyone else around you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he drawls. “I’m starting to kind of realize that, okay?”

Not that I would ever say this to him, but I’m starting to think Fletcher’s lonely, and that’s why he does—or did—these extravagant things, like throwing money on random trips and women.

Sure, he has Reese, but they can’t be that close, because I hardly hear about Fletcher talking to the guy since he’s been here.

And given how he’s an only child, and I know now that his father wasn’t very present in his upbringing, it would make sense for him to be lonely and look for ways to fill that.

Remembering Grace was texting me, I glance down at my phone. “So, you’re off now?” I ask him.

“Yup. Sure you don’t want me to bend you over and give you this dick before I leave?” He grins, and my stomach dips as a shiver rolls down my spine.

“I am positive,” I murmur, biting back a smile. “I have to stop by Grace’s really quick, but then do you wanna go to Taylor’s for dinner with me?”

Wagging his brows, Fletchers says, “Are you asking me on a date, Peach?”

“Not a chance.” That’s not what this is. Sure, we often go out to eat after roller skating, but it’s not a date…right? Standing up, I push that out of my mind and pin him with a look. “Yes or no, rich boy? I don’t have all day.”

“Yes,” he chirps, hopping off the desk. “But I’m going with you to Grace’s. I know she’s got something good to snack on.”

Chuckling, I say, “Whatever, let’s go then.”

It doesn’t take but a few minutes to get to her house from the bookstore.

Pulling into the driveway, I notice Gemma’s car parked next to hers.

Climbing out, we walk up to the porch and knock on the door, finding it locked.

As we’re waiting for her to open up, Fletcher leans over and says in my ear, “Your ass looks fucking sexy in those pants, Peach, and I will be bending you over before the night is over.”

Turning my head, I meet his gaze. “Knock it off,” I mouth, a grin spreading up my face just as the front door opens.

My sister looks from Fletcher to me, her face paling. “Oh, lovely,” she mutters under her breath before crossing her arms over her chest. “What is he doing here?” The bite in her tone takes me by surprise.

“Wow, I’m happy to see you too, Grace,” Fletcher quips, giving her one of his signature cocky grins.

“Is everything okay?” I ask when she still doesn’t move out of the way to let us in.

Before Grace can respond, Gemma appears behind her, pulling the door open wider, and as soon as she sees us, she blurts out, “Oh boy.” Her gaze bounces between the three of us before she adds, “I’ll get the wine.”

“What’s going on, Grace?” Panic rises in my chest. “Are you mad at me?”

“What? No!” Blowing out a breath and meeting my gaze, she says, “I need to talk to you about something, but I didn’t really want to do it in front of anybody else.”

“Pretend I’m not here,” Fletcher chimes in as he shoves past her into the house. “I’ll be in the kitchen, minding my own damn business, if you need me.”

She scoffs. “He has no freaking manners.”

“Grace, what’s going on?”

Bringing her gaze back to mine, my sister shifts between her feet, and she almost looks nervous. “Come in,” she murmurs, stepping to the side. “We can go out on the back porch with Gemma.”

A million things race through my mind as I follow her out there. Is the bakery in trouble? Money problems? Is she sick? Are the kids sick?

Jesus Christ, I’m going to be sick if I don’t find out what this is about.

Gemma’s already out here when we walk out, and she hands us a glass of wine as we all sit down.

“Please tell me nobody is dying,” I blurt out, my heart racing. I’m not one to jump to conclusions, but I have nothing to go off of.

“What?” she hisses. “No, Georgia, nobody is dying. Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re being fucking weird!” I snap. “What the hell is going on?”

“I’m being weird, because this is kind of an uncomfortable thing to talk about, and I don’t want you to feel like we’re not in your corner, because we are. We’re always in your corner, Georgia.”

My brows pinch. “I know that, Grace. One of you just spit it out already, my god! I’m going to have a damn heart attack.”

Grace heaves a sigh, takes a huge gulp of her wine, then says, “Okay, you know how the side of the bakery has been graffitied a couple times over the last few months?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it happened again this week, and I was bitching to Gemma about it when she stopped by for lunch this afternoon because I had to cover up the graffiti again last night. Gemma asked if I saw anything on the cameras I have outside the bakery, and I had not because— go me —I completely forgot they were even there.”

“Okay…” Where the fuck is she going with this? “Did you find anything?”

“We went back a few weeks, and um, well…we certainly found something ,” Grace squeaks, and as her cheeks darken and she glances over at Gemma, realization hits me in the chest, knocking the wind right out of me.

No.

This cannot be going where I think it’s going.

“What did you see?” I ask, already knowing the answer, but praying I’m wrong.

Grace looks exactly how I feel, like she wants to rewind and never finish this conversation. Her face is a dozen shades of red as we stare each other down. “Georgia, did you… Are you…”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Gemma mutters. “Georg, did you and Fletcher have sex against the side of the bakery the night we all went out?”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, movement catches in my periphery, and all three of us look in that direction at the same time, finding a wide-eyed, frozen Fletcher standing in the doorway.

My hand comes up, covering my mouth, and I have never wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole more than I do right now.

“Oh, um…” Fletcher’s gaze bounces between us, his face nearly as red as Grace’s.

“Uh, I’ll just…go,” he mumbles, hiking his thumb over his shoulder before he nods and breathes out an awkward laugh.

“Yeah, I’m gonna head home.” Not waiting for a response from any of us, Fletcher turns and heads back into the house, where I’m sure he hightails it out the front door.

My hand still covering my mouth, I turn my gaze back to my sisters, nausea churning in my gut as I ask, “How much did you guys see?”