Relapse In Paradise. Roxanne Smith
pink-tinged sky and a turquoise ocean stretching out forever in front of her. She settled into a bamboo chaise and reluctantly tugged her cell phone from the pocket of the lush robe she’d liberated from the bathroom.
A small part of her hated to disrupt the serenity of the morning with the blurp and beep of her phone. Maybe Boston was on to something with his aversion to technology.
Quinn answered in the flat tone, indicating she had her elbows resting on her desk and her face screwed up in concentration as she stared intently at her computer monitor. Her writing tone.
Sometimes it meant Emily would be lucky to get a full thirty seconds of her sister’s attention. Emily usually groaned and hung up without bothering, but not today. Today, she’d get answers. “I cannot believe you’d send me all the way to Hawaii to get your revenge.”
“Hm…no, that’s not it. I decided to call it Cornered. Remember? Revenge is more suited to the antagonist’s point of view, not so much the victim’s. Since it’s the victim’s story I’m telling.”
“Step away from the manuscript.”
“What?”
Emily went for broke. “I’m getting on a plane back home this very minute.”
“Huh? Emily, is that you? What, you’re coming home? You can’t come home. You just got there! You left yesterday, for crying out loud. You didn’t sleep at the airport, did you?”
Mission accomplished. Emily nestled down into her robe and studied the canopy overhead. The last of the morning’s pink color had morphed into a pale blue, not unlike Boston’s eyes.
Boston. Her sister’s response to a three-year-old wrong. “I’m calling you about the con artist you set me up with.”
“You mean Boston. He’s so great, Em. You’re gonna love him.”
“Am I, Quinn?” A moment of clarity rocked her. “Oh, I see. You went off to London after your divorce and found Jack, so I’m supposed to fall for the first hobo I meet and forget Blake’s and my failed marriage? You amaze me sometimes, you know? My life isn’t some story you can manipulate and bend to your will. Has anyone ever talked to you about your serious case of God complex? Because this would be the ideal time—”
“Slow down. What are you talking about? If you’re attracted to Boston, that’s…weird. I was going to say great, but I won’t lie, Em. It’s weird.”
“I am most certainly not attracted to that rogue.”
“It’s been my experience rogues are most attractive. Although, it’d be nice if you gave me some credit. You and Boston couldn’t be more different. Not in the ‘opposites attract’ way, either. I’m cringing on the inside at the thought.” She let out a small, breathy laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”
Emily ran her hand across the smooth wooden arm of the chaise. “But you said—”
“That you’d love him? Because you will. First, let’s address your initial cause for concern. For the last time, Emily, I’m not out to get you. Neither is Jack. Once upon a very confusing time, you tried to break up our relationship.”
She flushed with shame at the memory.
Quinn didn’t give her time to respond. “Your motives were from the heart. We got it then, and we get it now. And Jack and I are together, aren’t we? You didn’t succeed. It worked out.”
Emily bit her lip but not in time to stop the words from spilling out. “Not entirely.”
“Oh, Em.” Her sister’s voice came across as sad but not pitying. “I was so happy for you when you and Blake married. It seemed like everyone’s prayers got answered at once. Blake… Well, Blake’s an idiot. What can you expect?”
Indeed, what should Emily have expected?
For her new husband to love her instead of hanging onto his feelings for his ex-wife, who happened to be Quinn? “I think I’m the idiot. Two degrees and a resume that shines like gold, yet dumb enough to fall for the old fix-a-guy trope.”
“You fell in love, honey. You weren’t trying to fix Blake. You only wanted him to love you back. It’s the human condition, not some overplayed story arc.”
Quinn had been a professional author for thirteen years. Emily had to yield to her authority on overplayed story arcs.
“Maybe you’re right.” She shook her head and allowed herself a wry smile. “We have the most convoluted family. At least my divorce from Blake is clearing the air somewhat.”
“I’ll admit we struggled with what Seth should call you.” By marrying Blake, Quinn’s ex-husband and Seth’s dad, Emily had gone from aunt to stepmother. “Also, Jack tortured me with a horrific southern accent for months, but I’m sure there’s worse out there.”
“Like marrying your stepbrother?”
Quinn groaned. “Oh, hell, you’re right. So convoluted.”
As if she could’ve guessed their dad would go to London to visit and end up falling for Madeline, Jack’s mother. Emily grinned. “You should write a book.”
“I’m cracking up. On the inside.” Quinn’s dry response was standard-issue. “Since we’ve addressed the main concern, why don’t we get back to the reason you called? What’s your beef with Boston?”
Emily’s lips moved, but words failed to emerge. What exactly was her problem with Boston? Besides, of course, his attire, unwashed hair, and overall smooth-talking attitude. “He’s a beach bum.”
“He surfs if that’s what you mean.”
No, but it made sense. “Why him, Quinn?” Since her first theory hadn’t panned out, maybe she ought to garner some enlightenment from the source. “What’s so great about this guy you’d hire him despite how obviously unsuited we are?”
“Sheesh, Em. How suited do you need to be? His job is to drive and point. When I was in London, Jack taught me great cities have secrets you won’t find without some insider know-how. Don’t ask me how he found Boston, but I know he’s worth every dime. We really hit it off with him. He personifies the island. Relax a little. Give in.”
“Are you paying him enough to buy a new pair of shorts? Either half of them were eaten during a surfing accident involving a shark, or he’s perpetrating the surfer-dude thing to put on a show for his clients.”
Quinn jumped to his defense. “You’re reading him wrong. He’s the genuine article. No gags or gimmicks.”
“Maybe not, but there was something…” Something shifty. Something not quite honest. “I might not know him like you do, but I’m pretty good at reading people, and something’s up.”
“Maybe he picked up on your dislike.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Quinn paused to sigh. “I realize he’s not your usual type of company, but you’ll be glad you gave him a chance.”
Your usual type of company. The words struck Emily right in the gut. Since when did she have a type of company, and how long had her sister thought of her as such a snob? She rose from the chaise, trying not to grunt from the effort, and shuffled to the edge of the balcony, where she gripped the ledge and let the thin silence stretch out while she pondered how to reply and still keep a firm grasp on her dignity.
She realized after the briefest moment of reflection it was impossible. Since she’d met Boston at the airport yesterday morning, she’d been a total snot. To make herself feel worse, she imagined how Jack and Quinn must’ve greeted him—happily and without a care for what he’d been wearing.
Oh, my God. I’m a stuck-up bitch. She swallowed, pride and all. “I think I might owe Boston a small apology.”