Weekend with the Tycoon (8 page)

“I just want my own room so I can work this weekend. I have an….”

“It’s your sister’s wedding, Blake, not a work retreat. And if you’re such a prude, find a couch to sleep on this weekend.”

“It’s not that,” he said, but his mom shook her head and walked away.

His hand gripped the banister. He could hardly tell his mom he needed his own room because Samantha could sue him for sexual harassment. He’d promised her separate rooms. He barely knew her. He felt the beginnings of a headache setting in and consciously tried to unclench his jaw. This weekend was getting out of control. He had to talk to Samantha, to explain, but he didn’t have an explanation.

“Hey Blake why aren’t you getting ready?” His younger brother, Denton, asked.

“Ah, well, Samantha’s using our room, and well, we’re running late, and I didn’t want to bother her, so could I use yours or is your date in there?” Blake asked.

“Sure man, go ahead,” Denton said. “Shelby has her own room. Make yourself at home. We’re the same size so just grab whatever you want to wear and come on down. Can’t wait to catch up!”

Denton was Blake’s favorite brother. While James always treated Blake as a second fiddle – another reason Blake would never join Putnam Industries, he’d always be second in line—Denton was full of respect for Blake and everything he’d accomplished. Blake hurried into his brother’s room. Maybe he could share Denton’s room for the weekend. No, he cut that thought short. His mom would discover his lie, not to mention his brothers. They’d mock him until they were all old enough to have entirely lost their memories.

*

Blake hurried down
the front stairs of the plantation, crossed the grass and found himself at the beach barbeque about fifteen minutes late. He hated being late and he could feel his jaw tense. He’d done his best, but this weekend was getting away from him.

He spotted his younger brother walking toward him and donned his happy family mask. It was the smile he put on for family and business.

“Hey Denton, thanks,” Blake said to his little brother who handed him an ice-cold beer from one of the white buckets filled with ice and beverages. Blake had showered and changed quickly, picking one of Denton’s light blue polo shirts, a navy blazer and a pair of khaki pants. He popped the cap off his beer, took a deep swallow and tried to relax. He owed Denton a genuine smile, he knew that much, and some conversation.

“Your Samantha sure is a looker,” Denton said, smiling at his big brother. He was a junior in college, still enjoying the fun, freedom and lack of pressure that college was. His big plans were to graduate and roll into the family business. Blake grimaced at the thought. Maybe he could change his mind, Blake thought but then shook his head. That was ridiculous. He’d never change his brother’s loyalty or brainwashing, or their grasp on the golden ticket. They’d never take the leap of faith Blake had.

“Thanks! Ah, yes, she is a nice girl,” Blake said.

“Nice? Really? You talk like you’re 80. She’s hot. And it’s great to see you bring your own date instead of ending up with one of those awful society girls from Atlanta that mom always sets you up with,” Denton said.

“Yes, much better than that,” Blake said. “Who’s your date?”

“Oh, Shelby, she’s a friend, a friend with benefits if you know what I mean,” Denton said, giving his brother an elbow to the side.

“Ah, yes, the good old days,” Blake said, remembering college. It seemed so long ago that he was carefree and enjoying life like his little brother. Had there ever been a time he’d been completely carefree, he wondered. He doubted it. He’d blocked out college since the breakup. College to Blake would always equate to a broken heart, a heart he’d never allow to be broken again. A heart buried so deep inside his businessman demeanor, Blake wasn’t sure if it was there anymore.

“Hey Sam!” Denton said as Samantha walked up to them. Denton gave her a kiss on the cheek while Blake held up his beer. “Cheers,” Blake said.

Denton looked at his older brother and shook his head. “Dude, give her a kiss at least.”

Blake leaned forward and planted an awkward kiss on Samantha’s cheek, her cheek was so soft. Something stirred inside him, almost uncurled as if it were alive, and the feeling was something he wanted to keep buried. Samantha looked beautiful. She’d curled her hair, the blonde waves fell softly over her shoulders. Her lips glistened a soft pink, and she was smiling.

“Outfit Two,” she whispered. “Admire the grey booties.”

He couldn’t believe she was joking with him. She should be yelling, glaring, something.

“Admired,” he said.

“Get a room you two,” Denton called out. “Oh wait, you have one,” he emphasized the last word and then laughed.

Blake winced at the reminder.

“What would you like to drink?” Blake said, hoping to have an excuse to put some distance between them.

“Beer is great, thanks,” Samantha said.

“I’ll get it, Blake. I’ve gotta grab Shelby, too,” Denton said.

Once he’d left them alone, Blake leaned forward and, before he could stop himself, whispered in her ear: “You look beautiful.”

*

Her stomach flipped
at the compliment, and an unexpected longing washed over her. She turned away from him just in time to see Denton and Shelby working their way over to them. She breathed in deeply and looked back at Blake. He was smiling down at her, his face glowing softly in the sunset-pink perfect light. She realized their shirts were the same color of baby blue, and she wondered if he had planned that. Around her, everything seemed to be perfection, but inside of her she felt in turmoil. He was getting to her, and he wasn’t even trying. Was she getting to him, too?

“Where did you go? Did you resolve the room?” Samantha asked needing to talk about it.

“I talked to my mother, but it seems the house really is full because of the wedding,” Blake said, finishing his beer before adding, “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out. The room is yours.”

Samantha smiled. “I’m not worried Blake.”

She heard Blake release a big breath, a sigh of relief she supposed. She wouldn’t make the room situation tougher on him. It wasn’t his fault. And he was so handsome when he worried about her. She wondered what he would say if she just shrugged it off and said they could share? Relief or more distance? He was so hard for her to read.

“Shelby, what a lovely dress,” Samantha said, breaking the tension and electricity that had surrounded her and Blake. Shelby reminded Samantha of herself just a few short years ago, before her dad died. Eager to please, comfortable knowing that she was usually the cutest and maybe even the smartest girl at the picnic. Enjoying the attention of every man – and boy – in the room. Samantha wished she could regain that confidence, get a piece back of what she’d lost because of her dad’s decisions and Ryan. Perhaps this weekend would provide the spark.

“Thank you Samantha,” Shelby answered, spinning around in a twirl as the full skirt of her dress flared out and up around her tanned legs, almost high enough to show her underwear, or lack thereof, Samantha thought. “My mamma said I needed to do a lot of shopping to attend a Putnam wedding, and so we did. We tore up Atlanta.”

One of the wait staff rang a silver bell and called everyone to dinner.

“I hope I’m seated by you,” Shelby whispered in Samantha’s ear as they followed the Putnam brothers to the dinner table, “Not by her, James’ girlfriend.”

Samantha laughed. James’ girlfriend and Shelby had gone on a beach walk together, but it had been short-lived. Shelby told Samantha that Melissa was a snob.

“Thank god,” Shelby said, noting her placement on the other side of Blake from Samantha. “Blake, you don’t mind switching, do you?”

“I do mind, actually, and mom will be upset, so you just stay put,” Blake said.

The sun had set and the table was aglow with hundreds of white tea lights in glass holders. The bride and groom to be were seated at the other picnic table, with both sets of parents and a couple grandparents, leaving the other picnic table to the Putnam kids, their dates and a couple cousins.

“You smell good,” Blake said, leaning close to Samantha.

“You do too,” Samantha answered. “I think it’s the soap your mom has, it’s lavender and I love it.”

“Are you cold?” Blake asked, noticing the goose bumps covering Samantha’s arm.

“No, I’m fine,” Samantha said, still reeling from sitting this close to him.

“Here, allow me,” Blake said, standing as he removed his navy blazer and placed it tenderly around her shoulders. As she reached up to her shoulder to help, their hands touched. Samantha quickly pulled her hand away from his, but his touch felt magical, natural and special, all at the same time. He is just doing this, giving me his jacket, to make it look like we are dating. It’s ok, Samantha told herself. Calm down.

She also declined a second beer. Drinking could lower her guard, and she didn’t want to say something she shouldn’t in front of Blake’s family. She was determined to play her role well.

“Better?” Blake asked, taking his seat next to her again, sitting close enough their thighs were touching under the picnic table. Samantha wondered if he felt the current between them, or if he was trying to stay away from Shelby on the other side of him. That was probably all it was, she realized. But still. Even if Blake were a great actor, Samantha’s cheeks flushed because they were touching, and a wonderful warmth spread through her body.

“Thank you for being here,” Blake said.

Samantha’s stomach flipped again. She couldn’t believe the feelings rushing through her body, her instant attraction to her boss. She was panicked. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Blake would be so angry with her. He was being polite and she was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. She felt so ashamed. He was acting, being the perfect date in front of his family, and his brother who sat across the table from her. She was ridiculous.

“Blake,” Samantha said, breathless. “It’s my pleasure.” She was aware of the irony of her words, even as they tumbled out. Samantha tried to move her leg away from his under the table, but she couldn’t. Sitting on the end, she had nowhere to move, nowhere to go. And she wondered, why was he being this nice, this sexy? Was he over doing what she’d asked him to do earlier or deliberately trying to throw her off balance?

“Um, you guys, the toast?” Shelby said loudly enough the entire table turned to stare at the two of them. Samantha jumped.

“Who’s toasting?” Blake asked.

“We are, brother,” James said from the opposite end of the picnic table, grinning like a maniac in Blake’s direction.

“Dude, you got the emails? James sent them to you, right?” Denton asked from across the table.

“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about, James never sent me an email,” Blake said as James stood and began to recite a poem/rap to his sister.

“Your part’s next,” Denton said.

Blake looked at Samantha, his jaw tight. She realized he’d been set up by his older brother. Sibling rivalry. Maybe it was good she was an only. Blake could handle it though. She pulled him to her, holding his head close to hers.

“You’ve got this,” she said, her lips so close to his ear she could almost imagine they were brushing. “Just like a presentation at the office, only more fun. Remember when the meeting went way off topic and you just started telling the story behind your company? Your vision for what it could be and what it was becoming. You had the room in the palm of your hand. Imagine you’re closing the Daycon deal. Only this time, tell your sister the story behind the two of you. Tell her how special she is to you. Don’t worry about James’ script or the fact he didn’t copy you on an email. Give a speech your only sister deserves, straight from your heart,” she said, squeezing his hand for encouragement.

And that was all he needed. Something deep inside opened up and he expressed the deep love for his only sister, a love that had been there all along. Not only did Blake jump into the toast/rap, he added movement, regaling the audience with stories of when they were young, picking Avery up in his arms and spinning her around before turning the last of the toast over to his little brother. There wasn’t a dry eye on the beach.