Page 24 of Clock Strikes Paradise (Island Escapes #4)

Chapter Nineteen

Elise

The silence that settled over the cottage after Clay left was heavier than I expected.

Heavier and more… intimate. I wandered toward the pool, then just as quickly turned around.

A wave of heat washed over me, the memory of Clay’s kisses, his touch, his words…

still tingling on my skin. A swim wasn’t going to cut it—that only brought thoughts of our first kiss.

What I needed was a distraction, and a long, hot soak sounded like the perfect antidote.

The bathroom beckoned, a sanctuary of marble and chrome. I filled the smooth white marble tub, adding a generous amount of lavender-scented bath salts. As I sank into the warm water, the fragrance enveloped me, soothing my muscles.

This trip had been incredible. From the thrilling dive, to the unexpected kayaking adventure, to Clay and I becoming…

whatever we were. It was more than I had ever dared to dream of.

I’d finally seen the man behind the CEO fa cade, the man who could laugh and relax, the man who had opened his heart to me .

I closed my eyes, willing my mind to quiet, but a familiar voice whispered in the back of my mind. It was a voice I'd learned to trust, the voice of hard-won experience: If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. And Clay Harmon falling for me definitely fell into that category.

What could I possibly offer a man like Clay? I was just an assistant, a cog in the vast machine of his corporation. The disparity between us yawned like a chasm, and I felt myself teetering on the edge.

With a frustrated sigh, I sat up, water cascading off my shoulders.

This bath, intended to soothe my troubled mind, had only intensified my anxieties.

As I stepped out of the tub, my reflection caught my eye.

The woman in the mirror looked lost, vulnerable—everything I had promised myself I would never be again.

Clenching my jaw, I was determined not to let my fears consume me.

I would face this head-on, just like every other challenge in my life.

“I need a drink. Preferably an alcoholic one.”

Perhaps a change of scenery and a glass of wine would help clear my head, give me some perspective on my whirlwind romance with Clay.

As I approached, the vibrant atmosphere washed over me.

The bar pulsed with life—vacationers letting loose and several locals enjoying the music.

A lively band on the small stage filled the room with irresistible tropical rhythms.

Making my way to the bar, I caught the bartender's eye. “Chardonnay, please,” I said, raising my voice just enough to be heard over the music. He returned moments later with a glass of golden liquid that sparkled invitingly in the warm lighting .

As I sipped the rich wine, I let my gaze wander around the room. The joyous energy was infectious, and my worry about Clay eased from my mind. My eyes settled on a corner table, and I blinked in surprise. Camille sat deep in conversation with Monica, the yoga instructor.

I hadn't realized they knew each other. They were clearly having a great time, heads close together, punctuating their conversation with bursts of laughter. For a moment, I considered joining them, but they looked so engrossed in their chat that I decided not to interrupt.

Instead, I turned my attention to the band. The lead singer's voice was sultry and smooth, weaving through the instrumental beats like silk. My foot tapped along to the rhythm, and a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

I took another sip of wine, savoring the flavors as they danced across my tongue. The rich, heady notes seemed to harmonize with the music, creating a perfect sensory melody. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the lively atmosphere envelop me.

The band had just finished a particularly lively number when I felt a presence at my elbow. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up before I even turned to look.

“Well, well. If it isn't Clay Harmon’s little... assistant.”

I knew that voice. Smooth as silk and twice as slippery. Laurent DuBois.

I turned slowly, steeling myself. His cream-colored linen suit was pressed and impeccable, his hair artfully slicked back, and he held a snifter of cognac in one manicured hand.

His lips were curved in what I suppose he thought was a charming smile, but to me, it looked more like a predator baring its teeth.

“Good evening, Mr. DuBois,” I said, proud of how steady my voice sounded, and hoping the formal address would send him on his way.

He tsked, wagging a finger. “Come now, we're all friends now. Call me Laurent.” He leaned in, his expensive cologne drifting over me. “I must say, I'm surprised to see you here alone. Trouble in paradise already?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Only that I never expected you to let Clay out of your clutches.” He arched a brow. “When I saw you two earlier, I noticed he had his arm around you, and naturally assumed the mighty billionaire found someone new to play with.”

My heart stuttered to a stop. “Excuse me?”

His eyes glittered with something I couldn't quite name. Malice? Amusement? “I wonder, my dear, if you truly understand the... nature of your relationship with our dear Clay.”

My grip tightened on my glass. “I don’t see how any of this is your concern.”

Laurent chuckled, the sound grating on my nerves. “Oh, come now. Surely you don't think... No, you're a smart girl. You must know that men like Clay Harmon don't fall for little nobodies.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You're a distraction, nothing more. A pretty little toy to pass the time.”

His words hit me like a physical blow, voicing every insecurity I'd been battling. Reinforcing every statement my inner voice had been screaming at me. I opened my mouth to respond, but he continued, his tone dripping with false sympathy.

“Don't take it personally, chérie . It is simply the way of things. When this deal is done, he'll move on to the next shiny object that catches his eye. Best to enjoy it while it lasts, non ? ”

I wanted to argue, to defend myself and Clay. But Laurent's words had found purchase in the cracks of my confidence, widening them into chasms of doubt. I sat there, speechless and my mouth agape, as he raised his glass in a mocking toast.

“To fleeting fancies,” he said with a wink, before sauntering away and leaving me alone with the bitter taste of insecurity on my tongue.

The music continued to play, the crowd continued to laugh and dance, but suddenly, I felt completely and utterly alone.

I stared into my half-empty wine glass, Laurent's words echoing in my mind. The bar's cheerful atmosphere now felt like mockery. I was considering jumping in the ocean fully clothed when a gentle hand touched my arm.

“Elise? Are you okay?”

I glanced up at Camille, her face etched with concern. I tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace.

“I'm fine,” I lied, my voice coming out in a waver.

Camille's eyes narrowed. “Bullshit,” she said flatly. “Nate pointed that guy out to me—the Frenchman. Said to watch out for him. And from what Monica and I just saw, he looked about as charming as a shark with a toothache.”

A surprised laugh escaped me at her description, breaking through the fog of my distress.

“Come on,” Camille said, tugging gently at my arm. “Monica and I have a table. Join us.”

Part of me wanted to decline, to retreat and lick my wounds in private. But Camille's warmth was like a lifeline, and I found myself following her to the corner table.

Monica greeted me with both a smile and a creased brow, but her calm presence still eased my frazzled nerves. Camille signaled a waiter, ordering a round of drinks I didn't catch the name of.

“So,” Camille said once we were settled, “What did that creep say to you?”

I hesitated, then the words tumbled out. All of them. Every disgusting, terrifying thing he’d said

Camille's eyes flashed with anger. “That slimy, arrogant...” She took a long, cleansing breath. “Elise, honey, don't listen to him. That guy wouldn't recognize genuine attraction if it slapped him across that smug, French face of his.”

My heart hardened, and I could imagine armor plating encircling it as I shook my head.

“I learned to keep my head firmly on my shoulders growing up. In just a few days, I seem to have completely abandoned that. Laurent might be a Grade-A asshole, but I can’t deny what he said makes sense.

Clay could have anyone. Why would he choose me? ”

Monica leaned forward, her voice soft but firm. “You understand him, don’t you? Camille was just telling me that you’re the only assistant who hasn’t quit—he sounds like he appreciates a strong woman.”

Camille nodded emphatically. “Exactly. I've known Clay for years, and he’s different this trip. Nate keeps remarking on it.”

Their words were comforting but doubt still gnawed at me. “I just... I don't know if I can trust this. It all seems too good to be true.”

Camille's expression softened. “I know the feeling. Love often does.” She took a drink of the Calypso Breeze. “And my farfetched romance with Nate worked out, didn’t it?”

I shook my head, refusing to be soothed. “But Nate's a very different kind of man than Clay, isn't he?”

Camille hesitated, then sighed. “You're right, they're very different. Nate was a notorious playboy before he met me, but that was never him. It was more of a cry for help—he just wanted someone to accept him.”

“Clay just assumes the world does what he wants!” I hissed, trying not to raise my voice. “I don’t think he even knows the word unsure.”

Monica cocked her head. “Are you sure about that? Maybe he’s afraid to let anyone get too close. We all talk about how incredible it would be to be extremely wealthy, but I’m sure it comes with its fair share of problems too.”

I sighed. I’d known Clay for three years, and what I’d glimpsed in the last few days contrasted drastically with the man I’d come to know. But which was the real Clay Harmon? “Guys, it’s not just a broken heart we’re discussing here. I could be jeopardizing my entire career.”

Camille’s supportive smile vanished. “That is definitely something I never had to worry about. And it’s an extremely valid point.”

I inhaled a lungful of air and placed my hands flat on the table.

“I’m taking an insane risk here. He’s not.

We were even discussing promotions for me—because I’ve earned it, not because I’m his…

whatever. If I walk this back now, I can probably salvage everything.

But if I just give in to my heart and let things work out, I could lose it all. ”

Monica reached over and patted my hand. “Or gain everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

But only you can decide that. I've seen more budding romances here than I can count. Some flourish, some wither. But the ones meant to be? They find a way, against all odds. Trust your heart, Elise. It knows the truth, even when your mind doubts.”

I slid my chair back and stood. “Thanks, you two. You rescued me at just the right moment, but I think I’ll head back now.

” I met Camille’s eyes. “I really like seeing you and Nate together. It’s obvious you’re perfect for each other.

But the situation with Clay and me is so, so different.

This is real life, Camille. I’m not Cinderella, and there’s no glass slippers in sight. ”

As I walked with wooden steps, the path back to the cottage stretched before me. Each step was heavy with trepidation as Laurent’s taunts ricocheted off the inside of my skull.

A pretty little toy. A fleeting fancy.

As much as I wanted to dismiss his words, they echoed my own fears. I couldn’t deny the growing feelings I had for Clay, but I was also terrified he didn’t share them. We had a connection—that was undeniable. But there was a giant, yawning gulf between connection and love.

I felt so stupid.

How could I have allowed myself to become involved with him, risking my career in the process? And worse, it was much more than physical. I’d fallen for him—in just a few days! Then I stopped in my tracks and exhaled a deep, long, miserable sigh.

“Time to be honest with yourself. Own up to it.” I trudged on, my steps leaden.

I’d been half in love with Clay Harmon for years, despite his cool aloofness at work. Despite his icy reserve. Hell, that was half the attraction—he was so unattainable! Therefore, it was completely safe to worship him from afar.

Here in this heady, sultry tropical paradise with him, it hadn’t taken much to tip my poor heart over the edge.

I paused at the cottage door, my hand hovering over the knob. Clay’s cottage, not mine. I was merely a guest. For the first time in my life, I wanted to believe the fairy tale! I wanted Prince Charming to sweep me away. Was I making a mistake in deciding to pull back from the precipice?

After opening the door, I entered and crossed the floor into my bedroom.

My eye fell on the angel on my dresser. After shutting the door, I marched over and picked it up—maybe this figurine I’d carried around for years would help guide me.

It was warm in my hand, familiar. A very hard lesson I’d learned at an early age.

Was I in the process of learning another one?

But Clay and I were so good together! More similar than I’d ever imagined.

As I transferred the angel to my other hand, it slipped.

I gasped as it hit the marble floor and cracked into half a dozen pieces. Broken.

A sob escaped me as I stared down at the empty promise. The reminder that I couldn’t afford to believe in tall tales. The sweet angel who had one final lesson to teach me. With tears sliding down my face, I raised my eyes to the shut door.

Beyond that threshold lay a conversation I dreaded. One that would shatter the fragile dream I’d allowed myself to embrace, if only for a brief, perfect moment. With a long sigh, I prepared for bed. Come tomorrow, I’d be ready to confront the fairy tale before it shattered me to pieces.