Stormy Paradise

Jessie

The ocean waves rolling over the sands and then retreating. The wind passing through my open-air veranda in this picturesque Hawaiian seaside cottage. A bottle of 21-year-old scotch sitting on the kitchen counter. A gift from myself I picked up at the duty free shop. A gift I’ve already drunk half of and it’s not even the early evening yet.

Even if I came to paradise alone, I’ve got no reason t

o feel sorry for myself. After all, this was all my choice.

I’m the one who took off the moment the deal closed. Didn’t even stay for the after party. No one’s going to blame me for that either. The past three months have seen me putting in 18-hour days. My office sofa has become my bed. My secretary, Elaine, may as well be server, maid, and substitute mother all in one.

Again, I can’t even complain about the job. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I studied finance. And when I chose my dream job right on Wall Street over my long-time girlfriend, that was also my choice. No one was twisting my arm. No one but a huge pile of money, all the respect I could ever hope to earn, and the fulfillment I was so sure achieving my dream would bring.

Only somewhere along the way, I lost something.

Something. Or someone.

Either way, I chose Hawaii as my getaway. And not the hotspots with the high-rise hotels. I’ve had enough of those traveling for the investment firm. Besides, Holly used to go on about how the moment we’d saved up enough money, that she wanted to fly to Hawaii and stay somewhere remote. Close to the mountains and the beach, far away from all that touristy stuff. She’d talked about it so many times, showed me pictures on blogs, and teased me with island music that the idea ingrained itself in me. So when I finally had the chance to get away from the city, to go absolutely anywhere in the world, I chose the backside of the big island.

And I didn’t even bring Lacy. Or Steph. Or Meredith. Or any of the other half dozen girls who’ve warmed the other half of my bed the past few months when I actually found the time and energy to rouse myself to the task. They would have leapt at the chance for a free trip to Hawaii. And I would have been guaranteed wild sex every morning and night, as long as I kept them entertained and fed and touted around to all the high-end shops.

But I didn’t invite any of them. Which leaves me alone on this gorgeous beach, nothing but my scotch to keep me company as I somehow manage an ample heaping of self-pity.

That’s when I feel that odd sensation of being watched. A tingle on the back of my head that has me turning around to confirm what I’m sure is just half-drunken paranoia.

And there she is.

“Holly?”

I don’t place my glass of whiskey down. Don't look for my sandals. Anything that would take my eyes off her silhouette for even a fraction of a second is discarded as I walk in a trance across the perfectly manicured backyard and through a gate that leads to her yard of weeds and sand and miscellaneous shells and cigarette butts.

And no matter how close I get, this mirage doesn’t evaporate.

On the other hand, I don’t think she’s taken a single breath since our eyes locked. It’s only when she’s right in front of me that I place my glass on the rickety handrail of her tiny terrace and use my now free hands to grip at her upper arms.

“What are you doing here?” I ask in a tone that couldn’t possibly be misunderstood as anything but awestruck.

That doesn’t prevent the slap that shakes my alcohol-steeped brain about in my skull. When I recover, my hand coming up to rub my left cheek, she goes for its counterpart. This one I block, but she strains against my hold on her wrist, growling through gritted teeth, “What are you doing here?”

Her face is pure betrayal as her arm quivers in my grip. Her every fiber is straining to attack me. Because I can see as plain as the Hawaiian sunlight that there’s not a single iota in this woman’s body that doesn’t loathe me.

I don’t allow it to show on my face, but I didn’t expect this level of resentment. Which is stupid, because if I were sober, I would have known to expect this. In fact, I might have been smart enough to not come over here at all, because I should have known that there is no variation of this scenario where I get what I want.

Because what I want is the one thing I can’t have anymore.

Holly.

Chapter 3

Holly

I don’t know how he did it, but Jessie calmed me enough that when he lets go of my wrist, I don’t immediately pummel him. In fact, he manages to get me to sit on the lumpy sofa. He hasn’t said anything, which means he hasn’t answered my question.

“I asked what you were doing here. Aren’t you supposed to be in New York, trading stocks and sipping cocktails at the Plaza?”

Jessie sits back on the corner of the bed, which is just across from me. With his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, he stares at me like I’m some long-lost treasure he thought he’d never see again.

“I’m here because of you.”

My eyes go wide at this. “You’ve been stalking me? After you left me high and dry in South Carolina?”