“We’re ready to order,” Tyler said.
I placed my palm against his face, my face falling, tears filling my eyes. “It’s going to be okay, Tyler. The dripping will stop after a couple of rounds of antibiotics, and the itching will go away.”
Chelsea made a face, looked at Tyler in disgust, and then stumbled over her next words. “I’ll, um … be … I’ll be right back.”
Tyler looked at me, mouth hanging open.
Zeke chuckled. “She warned you.”
Sterling poked around on his plate, tuning us out.
Tyler glanced back at Chelsea, who was whispering to the other waitress and the cook. They were looking at our table, repulsed. “Wow. You just sunk my battleship, Ellie.”
I used my fork to cut into my omelet and took a bite, quite pleased with myself.
“Maybe I just want to be friends,” Tyler said.
“Guys like you can’t just be friends with someone who owns a vagina,” I said.
Zeke nodded. “She has a point.”
Tyler stood, gesturing for his crew to stand with him. They did, their chairs whining against the tile. “We got rid of all the idiots trashing your house last night, and this is the thanks I get?”
I smiled up at him. “Under the douchebag fa?ade, you’re actually a nice guy. I was drunk last night, so my radar was a little off, but I can smell you from a mile away. I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want to reminisce about that one-night stand we had that one time. I don’t have time for nice guys, Tyler, and I can’t imagine a more powerfully dirty hell than to be forced to spend time with you sober.”
He nodded to Sterling. “He looks like a nice guy to me.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I was being the meanest I knew how, and Tyler was acting like we were trading pleasantries. “Sterling is a self-loathing, wretched piece of shit.”
“She’s right,” Sterling said casually. “I am.”
Tyler’s team traded glances, and then Tyler watched me for a long time. “Enjoy your eggs.”
“Will do,” I said, making sure not to watch him leave.
Sterling waited a second or two before leaning in. “You must like him. I’ve never seen you so brutal.”
I waved him away. “He might be an overconfident prick, but he’s not a bad guy. He shouldn’t get mixed up with us.”
“True,” Sterling said, shoveling another bite into his mouth. He patted his mouth with his napkin, and then looked at me from under his manicured brows. “Since when are you accountable?”
“Oh, honey … I hope your day is as pleasant as you are.”
He chuckled quietly, and then took another bite.
CHAPTER THREE
Finley ruffled her mink coat and tossed her Chopard Grey glasses on the marble entry table. Finley wasn’t careless; she just wanted everyone to know that the six hundred dollars she’d spent to shield her eyes from the sun didn’t concern her—never mind they would likely be knocked off a leased yacht into the South China Sea the next week.
She turned her diamond nose ring one-quarter turn counter-clockwise, and then popped a mint into her mouth. “I’m going to have to charter from now on. Even first-class has become filthy. And the airports … ugh.”
Marco, filling out his charcoal Henley like a Banana Republic model, set their luggage down in the foyer, greeting Maricela and José in Portuguese when they came to collect the bags.
“They speak Spanish, Marco,” I deadpanned.
Marco took off his glasses, grinning at me like he knew a story or five he would tell me later, in front of Finley, when we were all drunk. “It’s close enough.”
I glared at Finley. “You brought him,” I said in an accusatory voice.
“He’s staying in a hotel,” Finley said, barely noticing that Marco was removing her coat. He bent down to untie her fluffy snow boots.
I cringed. “Stop. Marco, stop. Right now.”
Marco slipped off her second boot and set them perfectly side by side, standing up and waiting with want in his eyes—not the sort of desire a woman my age would want an exotic, gorgeous man like Marco to have. He was waiting to oblige me, please me, take care of any need I had, and not for me—for Finley. He didn’t simply take pride in indulging his employer and anyone who surrounded her—it was his obsession. Appeasing Finley and her entourage at once was his specialty, and he loved to show off his talents.
“Could I just,” he began, reaching for her bags.
“No, no you can’t,” I said, slapping his hands away. “Take your luggage and find your hotel. Finley will be able to breathe for herself this week.”
Marco fidgeted, unsure how to grant my demand.
Finley smiled at him with feigned patience. “It’s fine, Marco. Go on. Enjoy your vacation.”
He nodded a few times, both confident and unsure, clearly unsettled at leaving Finley to her own devices for more than a few minutes.
Marco kissed her hand. “Should you need anything, Miss Edson, I’ll be here within ten minutes.”