Page 29 of Fake Dark Vows
He glances at me with an expression I can’t fathom. “Do you have a better suggestion?”
I take a deep breath—the man is so infuriating it’s no wonder he came to his own father’s birthday celebrations with a business associate. Single-minded. Arrogant. Obnoxious.
“Rose, what’s swell-fare?” Georgie asks, dragging me out of the seething pot of angry words bubbling inside my head and back to the moment.
I smile at her, angry at myself for not taking control of the situation. A glance at the jetty and I can see Kelly and Ruby following us despite the sunglasses covering their eyes. Ruby turns away and heads back to the house first, leaving Kelly behind with her other two daughters.
Do they think I manipulated the situation to get close to Brandon? What has he said to them? I wish I knew because at this rate, I might not even have a job to come back to at the end of the day.
Georgie tugs at my top and I peer down at her wide eyes and pink cheeks. “It’s a life vest,” I say. “Want to help me find them?”
She nods, her eyes growing even wider. “I wear a yellow vest when I go to swimming lessons. Can I find a yellow one? Can I?”
“We’ll see, shall we?”
On our hands and knees, we rummage through the storage box, trying to find a vest that will fit Georgie; fortunately, the boat is equipped for children as well as adults. I slide her arms into a yellow vest, while she beams at me widely, no doubt convinced that I somehow managed to produce it using magic like Mary Poppins.
After zipping up my own vest, I find one to fit Brandon, my eyes instinctively drifting to his broad shoulders and narrow hips. I sit Georgie on a bench and take the vest to him—it’s not much of a peace-offering, but I refuse to spend the day dodging the barbs of his spiky comments all day. It isn’t fair on her.
“Here,” I say, holding the vest at arm’s length.
He blinks at me when he turns around as if he’d forgotten I was even there, and my stomach reflexively sinks. Is he so intent on beating his brother that Georgie and I are inconsequential, a distraction he could’ve done without?
“I don’t need it.”
I swallow the lump rising in my throat and lower the vest out of his line of vision. “Will you at least call Kelly and tell her that I’ll keep Georgie safe?”
He keeps his eyes fixated on the ocean, a tic appearing on his jawline. “Call her yourself. I’m busy, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
I breathe deeply, counting to three on the inhale, and barely making it before exhaling shakily. The boat is all blue lines and clean ocean smell, not that Brandon would ever notice with his tunnel vision and his eyes on the result. Jeez, when was the last time he looked up and remembered there’s a sky up there above his glass tower?
“I don’t have my cell phone.”
He puffs up his cheeks and lets out a long breath. “If you’re not bringing anything to the table,” he says eventually between gritted teeth, “I suggest you sit down and stay out of my way.”
When we dock at Key Largo, I feel scoured clean by the sea breeze, at least on the outside. Inside, I feel like a ragdoll with all its raggedy stuffing bursting at the seams.
“Damon’s already here,” he says, securing the boat to a free bay.
I don’t answer. I realize that I’m being petty, following his orders to literally stay out of his way, but I refuse to pander to the whim of a spoiled rich man.
During the boat trip to the northernmost Key, I talked myself in circles. Switching between cold determination to find another way back to Ruby Island with Georgie, and playing along with the treasure hunt challenges to help Brandon win in the hopes it will improve his mood. Now that we’re here, I wish life wasn’t so complicated and I could blend in with the tourists and enjoy the sights.
Brandon must not have required a response. He slides his cellphone out of his pocket and stares at the other boats and the tourists strolling along the walkway, while he calls Julia and asks her to find him the number of a guy called Artie.
He offers me his hand to climb out of the boat—which I don’t accept—and then scoops Georgie up into his arms and sets her down on the wooden walkway.
“I thought you were in a hurry to beat your brother.” I guess I still haven’t learned when to keep quiet.
“I am.”
Brandon’s gaze drifts lazily between me and Georgie who, I realize a beat too late, is standing precariously close to the edge. I take her hand and pull her away, resting a hand protectively on her shoulder. Even three-year-olds understand their uncle’s disinterest in them.
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” he asks while he waits for Julia’s response.
“No.”
I turn away to watch a man selling souvenirs at the end of the boardwalk. He’s comfortable in khaki shorts, white T-shirt, and sliders, his tousled hair bleached blonde by the sun.