Waking Up with the Boss (7 page)

Carol questioned him further, piecing his past together in her mind. “Did Garrett and Max know what you were doing?”

“Yes, but they didn't say anything to me about it. They had enough problems of their own.”

“What happened after you got arrested?”

“I was put on probation. But I stopped stealing. Not because I got busted, but because my caseworker said that if I didn't get my act together, I would be moved to a group home, where the setting would be much more restrictive. And I didn't want to go someplace where I would be separated from Garrett and Max.”

She sipped her orange juice. “So in a sense, they saved you? Just by being there?”

“They definitely did. We had our heritage in common, too, which also helped us stay together. We were placed in Native American foster homes, and there weren't all that many, compared to nonnative ones. The only way we were likely to be separated or never see each other again was if I screwed up and went to a group home.” Jake had a thoughtful expression. “Soon after that, Max came up with the idea for us to band together. To work toward becoming megarich someday.”

Carol considered the situation. “Max came from a really poor environment, didn't he?”

“Poor. Abusive. The works. He had all kinds of motivation to want to be rich and respected. So did Garrett, with how badly he wanted to keep a roof over his mother's head and keep her well. But me...? There was nothing I wanted, except my family back. But then I figured there was nothing wrong with having fancy houses and fast cars.” He looked directly across the table at her, flirtation alive in his eyes. “And beautiful women, of course.”

Heat unfurled in her loins. “Yes, of course.”

“Sex was always an outlet for me. I was fifteen the first time it happened.”

“The same year you got caught shoplifting?”

He nodded. “I was already sleeping with the girl I nabbed the necklace for. She was my first. What a rush that was, having a girl want me like that.”

Carol wasn't surprised that he was having sex at such a young age. She had waited until college, with her first serious boyfriend. “And you've had lots of lovers since.”

“Being rich helps.”

“Your money doesn't matter to me,” she told him. “That's not why I'm here with you.”

“I know. But mostly women want to date me because I'm rich, even the ones who are trying to heal me. But you won't try to do that because you're already broken, too.”

She didn't know whether to be offended by his assessment of her or impressed that he knew enough to call himself broken. To combat her uncertainty, she said, “You and I aren't going to be together long enough for me to try to do anything, except get through this weekend without those condoms running out.”

He grinned and topped off his orange juice. “Touché, Miss Lawrence.” When she furrowed her brow, he stopped smiling, the abrupt change hardening his handsome features. “Come on, Carol. Don't be upset because I said you were messed up, too.”

“Did I say I was upset?”

“No, but I can tell it bothered you.”

She gazed out at the pool. It was still vacant, the water rippling on its own, the chaise longues and chairs empty. Suddenly the entire island seemed lonely, even the parts she couldn't see. “Your opinion of me is confusing.”

“Why? Because you think that you're handling being orphaned better than I am? No one gets by unscathed. No one,” he reiterated softy. “Not even you.”

Seven

L
ater that day, Carol and Jake gathered on the beach with Lena and Mark and a slew of other couples. Lena had suggested that everyone pitch in to build a sandcastle, which had morphed into a whimsical fortress, surrounded by sculptures of dragons and dolphins and mermaids. So far, the results were spectacular, but this was a creative crowd. Some of the attendees were set designers and special effects artists, and they were spearheading the project, offering help where it was needed.

Jake and Carol were on one of the mermaid teams, sitting off by themselves, shaping the sand. Their mermaid wasn't half-bad. In fact, she was rather pretty, with her curvy figure and flowing hair.

Jake glanced up at Carol, but she averted her gaze. He was molding the mermaid's breasts, and she was working on the tail, giving it texture. She was also thinking about what he'd said about her being broken. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't seem to forget his unsettling opinion of her.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied.

“You seem preoccupied.”

“I'm just trying to focus on this.”

“Are you sure that's all it is?”

She decided to come clean. Otherwise, it would keep affecting her mood. “Do you really think I'm messed up?”

He stopped molding the mermaid and sat back on his haunches. “I didn't mean it in an offensive way, Carol.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

“I was just saying how losing your family was as traumatic for you as it was for me.” He squinted at her, the sun shining in his eyes. “It's unfortunate, too, that neither of us had any extended family who could take us in. Or I assume that you didn't or you wouldn't have been placed in the system.”

“You're right. There was no one. Both of my parents were raised by single moms, and they were gone by then. Well, actually, my dad's mom was still around, but she had cancer and was too sick to step in and help. She died about a year later.” Carol sighed, pushing away the tightness in her chest. “I also had an uncle on my dad's side, but he was a young man in the military, so he couldn't raise me. He used to write me letters after my parents died, keeping a connection going, but then he was killed in Iraq.” Another death that had destroyed her all over again. “But I managed to get through it, just as I got through losing everyone else.”

“How? By being overly good and proper? How is that any better than me running wild?”

Irked by the comparison, she defended herself. “I'm not being overly good and proper now. I'm here with you, on this island, sharing your damned bed.”

“My
damned
bed, huh?” he mimicked her, a slow and sexy smile spreading across his face. “Is this our first fight?”

She rolled her eyes. She even smiled a little. It was silly to make a fuss over it. But that didn't stop her from being caught up in the past. It didn't stop Jake, either, apparently.

He said, “I had Garrett and Max to help me through it. I had Garrett's mom, too. But who did you have, Carol, especially after your uncle was gone?”

She kept her response light, determined to stay strong, rather than dredge up all of that old pain. “Some of my foster parents were really nice people. Of course, some were indifferent, too. So mostly I just learned to do it on my own, to not rely too heavily on anyone else.”

He wiped his hands on his swim trunks. “Yes, but how?”

“By doing everything that I thought was right. By studying in school and getting good grades. By being respectful to my elders. By being as responsible as I could.” She stared straight at him. “I wanted to do the kinds of things that would make my parents proud. I wanted them to be looking down on me from heaven, saying, ‘Look how far she's come.'”

“That's nice. Really, truly it is. But it sounds lonely, too. Didn't you ever want to rebel? To scream and rage?”

“No. Staying calm kept me sane.”

“That would have made me crazy.”

There were plenty of times that she'd cried herself to sleep. But she'd refused to take her grief out on the world, the way he had. “What's the deal with your extended family? Why wasn't there anyone who could raise you?”

He returned to the mermaid, absently running his fingers over the areas he'd already shaped. “My dad was an only child, and his parents died before I was born, so that ruled them out.” He spoke slowly, as if he were plucking the memories from his mind. “My maternal grandfather was still around, though, and so was my mom's sister. Grandpa lived in Ohio, where my mom was originally from, and my aunt was in Arizona, where she'd relocated years before. But at the time of the accident, she was going through a divorce, and the last thing she needed was another kid. She already had two little boys of her own and was struggling to raise them. One of them was a baby, three, maybe four months old, and the other one was a toddler, just barely out of diapers.”

“What about your grandfather?”

“He said that he couldn't afford to accommodate me. Granted, he was just a working-class guy, but it was more than a money issue. He just didn't want to get saddled with one of his grandkids. He'd already raised his daughters by himself.”

“When your grandmother died?” she asked, curious about the rest of the story.

A muscle ticked in Jake's jaw. “She didn't die. She left him for another man, abandoning him and their daughters when the girls were still pretty young. It tore everyone apart. Grandpa resented being left with the kids, and my mom and my aunt bore the brunt of his anger. They suffered from their mother leaving, too, of course. They were crushed by what she'd done.”

“That's awful.” Carol couldn't fathom a woman walking out on her children.

“Needless to say, they weren't a tight-knit family. Even when my mom was still alive, Grandpa rarely came to see to us. We hardly ever visited him, either. He remained distant with my aunt and her kids, too. He didn't help them when they needed it.”

“Where is he now?”

“He has Alzheimer's, so he doesn't remember any of this, anyway. He's in a treatment center that looks after him. He's too far gone to be on his own.”

“Who pays for that?”

“I do.”

She figured as much. Jake didn't seem like the type of person to turn his back on someone, even if they'd turned their back on him. “So your mom and your aunt weren't close, either?”

“No. But my mom made up for her upbringing with how loving she was with us. With me and my dad and my sisters,” he clarified.

Carol knew what he meant. “How did your aunt react when your mom died?”

“She was devastated, and guilty, I think, because they hadn't kept in better touch. She apologized at the time for not being able to take me in. But I understood how bad things were for her. She could barely feed her own children.”

“How is she now?”

“She's doing fine. I encouraged her to get a real estate license, and now she works for an associate of mine who flips houses in Arizona. I'm putting my cousins through college, too, so they'll have a chance for a promising future, without being burdened by student loans.”

Carol was still paying on her loans, but she had a good job and a generous boss who provided a discount on her rent. Without Jake, she wouldn't be making it as easily as she was. “That's nice of you.”

“Thanks. My aunt appreciates everything I've done for her and her kids. But we haven't bonded, not in a way that feels like blood.” He shrugged it off. “Maybe someday we will. But what matters most to me is my foster brothers. They're my true family.”

Carol nodded. After hearing the whole story, she understood more about his loyalty to them.

“I still can't relate to how you handled being orphaned,” he said, bringing the discussion back to her.

She took a moment to think about her response, to delve deeper into her history. “Being responsible is in my nature.” She couldn't change that about herself, nor did she want to. “But being creative helped, too. I felt better when I learned to quilt. One of my foster mothers and her neighbors used to make quilts, and they showed me how to do it, too. The first one I worked on with them was a scrap quilt, made from fabrics they traded with one another. Some quilters collect scraps like trading cards.” She paused, then added, “But the main reason quilting became so therapeutic for me is when I started making them by myself I would choose fabrics that reminded me of my family. It was like piecing together my memories and keeping them alive.”

Jake watched her work on the mermaid, almost as if he were imagining watching her sew. “Did you make a quilt that represented your hopes and dreams, too? Did you put fabrics together that embodied your future husband and the kids you were going to have?”

Stunned by how spot-on he was, Carol met his gaze. He was keeping a close eye on her. So close it made her feel like a ladybug under a microscope. “What makes you think I did that?”

“It just seems like something you would've done, with how you used to fantasize about your wedding.”

“You're right. I did make a quilt like that.” She wasn't going to pretend otherwise. “I used a fancy white fabric to symbolize my dress. To showcase my kids, I used baby prints—pink teddy bears for a girl and blue dinosaurs for a boy.”

“What about for your husband? What did you use to represent him?”

“A shiny black tuxedo material.” She'd never really pictured what her groom would look like, other than that he would be dressed in formal wear. “I used a red rose pattern, too, because those are the flowers I envisioned in the ceremony.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Yes. I saved all of my old quilts.” She had them tucked away in her room. They were an important part of her childhood, of her heart, of the person she'd become. “Do you still think I'm broken?”

“Yes, but in a really sweet way.” He sent her a teasing smile, even if he was still watching her just as closely as before.

“Okay, Mr. Juvenile Delinquent.” She reached into the sand, dug around and found a shell, intending to throw it at him. But she held on to it instead, thinking how pretty it was. “You and your stolen jewelry.”

“Thank goodness I got caught, huh? Or I might have become a cat burglar instead of the privileged playboy that I am today.”

Privileged indeed. He'd carved out quite a life for himself. “Someday my dreams are going to come true, too.”

His expression changed, his smile fading, his tone much more serious. “For a big white wedding?”

She glanced at the shell. She was still holding it, the chevron shape fitting delicately into her hand. “I want a family. I always have.”

“Just be happy, no matter what you do.”

“I will.” She placed the shell in the mermaid's hair, using it as decoration.

“That looks nice,” Jake said. “Should we collect more of those?”

Carol nodded, and they both sifted through the sand, together yet somehow still alone.

* * *

At dusk the guests had dinner on the beach, prepared by the chef and his team. Although vegetable skewers and salads were available, the main dish was a seafood boil, lightly seasoned and served with a traditional tartar sauce or a spicy salsa, if you preferred your food with a bit of a kick.

Tons of fires had been built, either for large groups of people who wanted to socialize or for couples who preferred to be by themselves, which was what Jake and Carol had chosen.

While they ate, they sat on a big fluffy blanket at their own cozy little fire. He couldn't think of a nicer way to spend the evening, especially with how mesmerized Carol seemed.

“Look how enchanted everything is,” she said, gazing out into the distance.

He followed her line of sight. The completed sandcastle had been decorated with hundreds of candles, creating an otherworldly effect. The majestic architecture presented soaring pillars, domed archways and flying buttresses. The detail was magnificent, even from across the beach.

She spoke softly, reverently. “I can see our mermaid from here.”

“I see her, too.” Their sculpture was surrounded by twinkling lights.

“I feel so protective of her. The way she's beckoning the sea with her beauty.”

Jake turned to look at Carol, impressed with how beautiful she was, too. She wore a shiny mesh cover-up over her bikini, and her hair was pinned loosely on top of her head, a few silky strands falling about her face. “Don't worry. She can handle her own.”

“Not when the tide comes in. Everything will be gone then.”

“That's part of the magic. Nothing is supposed to last forever.”

“Like this weekend?” she asked with a faraway sound in her voice.

“Yes, like this trip.” As he admired Carol's profile, he realized that he'd neglected to share an important part of his past with her. “You're never going to believe what I forgot to tell you.”

“What?” she asked, finally turning toward him.

“The Choctaw mermaid legend.” Of all things to forget, he thought, after they'd spent half the day making one.

She shifted on the blanket, like an eager child settling in for a ghost story, her food half-eaten. “You can tell me now.”

Jake collected his thoughts, recalling the story as it had been told to him. “They're called ‘white people of the water' because they have pale, trout-like skin. They live in the bayou, in the deepest part of the water. But where it's clear, too. They aren't murky creatures.”

Firelight shone in her eyes. “Are they beautiful, like our mermaid?”

“I don't know, exactly. But I'd like to think that they are. Thing is, though, that if you accidentally fall into the water, they'll capture you and take you to their world.” He paused for effect. “And if you're there for more than three days, you can never return to land again.”