Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Mark is a pampered, privileged man-child, who has already been given far more than he “deserves.”
Maybe that’s why, when I spot the rectangular shadow of a cell phone under the lounge chair to my right, I don’t stoop to pick it up. Or maybe it’s just that I’m eager to get back to the woman in my bed.
The woman whose provocative picture is waiting in Mark’s unread messages…
Of all the things Mark doesn’t deserve, he certainly doesn’t deserve to see Sully undressed. Not now or ever again.
I motion toward the gangplank. “Meet me at the café on Main Street at eight a.m. tomorrow. I can give you fifteen minutes. We’ll discuss my preliminary plans for the company then.”
“Fifteen…” He trails off, clearly rethinking his outrage when his eyes lock with mine. He swallows, shrinking beneath the full weight of my “don’t fuck with me” glare.”
I don’t often utilize this expression with family members—it’s reserved for business rivals and people standing too close on the subway—but I have a feeling it won’t be the last time I’ll need it while I’m in Sea Breeze. The Tripps aren’t a normal family that knows how to behave in a power vacuum. My relatives are more like poorly behaved children, who become even crankier than usual in the wake of a disrupted routine.
Mark clears his throat and casts his gaze down to the planks beneath our feet. “Okay, great. Sure. Thanks.” He moves toward the seating area, but I stop him with a hand on his arm.
“I’ll look for the phone in the morning. It will be easier in the sunlight.” I nod toward the gangplank again. “You should go. It’s been a long day and tomorrow will be even longer.”
Tomorrow, we’ll be packed into a tiny funeral home together with my brother’s body, forced to pretend we’re a loving clan for an hour or two before the claws come back out. I’m dreading it even more than the Sunday morning burial parade through town to the family plot, where Rodger will be laid to rest next to our father and mother.
Mark tenses beneath my touch, but after a moment, he sighs and his shoulders slump. “All right. See you in the morning.” His lips twitch slightly at the corners. “If you’re there before me, don’t order the dark roast. It’s like airplane fuel. Elaina always makes it too strong.”
I happen to enjoy my coffee strong enough to launch a plane, but I nod. “See you then.”
I wait until he’s on the dock, circling around the empty ice cream shack before I bend and collect the phone, tucking it into the pocket of my pajama pants. For a moment, I debate tossing it into the ocean, but that won’t take care of the image Sully’s concerned about. It would still be there, waiting for Mark in the cloud when he secures another device.
Hopefully, his password will be something easy to guess. If not, I’ll just have to make unlocking his phone for me mandatory before we speak in the morning. He might think that’s strange, but I don’t give a fuck what my nephew thinks. He’s going to make my life difficult no matter what I do, might as well get something I want from him before that happens.
Down below, I’m disappointed to see Sully dressed and pacing in front of the small kitchen island on the right of the living area. When I descend the final stair, she spins to face me, her eyes wide.
“He’s gone,” I tell her, casting a pointed glance toward the bedroom. “But you were supposed to stay put.”
“I couldn’t,” she says. “Once I heard Mark’s voice, I was too nervous. Was he here looking for his phone?”
I nod. “He was, but he left without it. I told him I’d look for it in the morning, when the light was better.” I pull the cell from my pocket, pleased to see her expression lift in response. “You have approximately seven hours to crack the password.”
“Yes! Thank you so much.” She rushes forward, collecting it from me with shaking hands. “I won’t need that long. It’s one, two, three, four, five. I made fun of him for it when we were taking pictures of a lobster he caught a few months ago.” She taps at the phone, her shoulders sagging with relief at what she sees on the screen. “He hasn’t read it.” She taps a bit more, then exhales, setting the phone on the island with a soft thunk. “Done. Thank God.”
“Again, the name’s Weaver,” I say, resting a hand against the island. I’d prefer to put my hands on her, but there’s something different about her energy.
The look in her eyes is guarded, too, as she emits a tight laugh. “Right. I caught that. Nice to meet you, I guess?”