In Too Deep (Wildfire Lake 1)

When I open my eyes, Levi is frowning at me.

“I’m sorry.” I say. “Let me talk to them, please. Just wait here.”

I pause at the front door and collect my thoughts, then continue down the dock, meeting my parents halfway. They look like they’re going to church, and I’m aware that while I’ve been gone, the conservative dress I’m used to is no longer familiar.

“Hey,” I say as I reach them. “What are you guys doing here?”

As I face them, I’m intensely aware of Levi watching. I’m not ready to cross the introduction bridge. I know how critical they are about anyone I date, and just showing up here is going to throw a wrench into my perfect morning with Levi.

“Oh dear.” My mother is looking around the marina. Or, rather, scowling. “Oh dear, dear, dear.”

My father pecks my cheek. “Hello, honey. Your mother and I decided to take a road trip to see how things are going. You haven’t been answering your phone. We were getting worried.”

The censure in his tone bites. “I’m busy. I’m in the middle of this. It’s a big job.”

My mother is shaking her head in disapproval when she finally returns her attention to me. “Oh, Laiyla, this is so much worse than I expected.”

“That’s because Dad hired someone incapable of caring for the property, and it went to hell.” As usual, my barb doesn’t even stick to my father. “I’ve got a great plan for the place and the best contractor in the area working on it.”

“Pffft,” my mother scoffs. “You’re in the country, Laiyla. How good can the best contractor be?”

This. This is exactly why I didn’t want Levi to meet my parents. And I hope he can’t hear them now.

“You should let us help you with this,” my father says. “The best plan would be for you to sell it to us, like we’ve been saying. Let us take this off your hands. Then you can come back to LA.”

They just never give up. That perseverance benefitted them in their careers, but it doesn't work all that well as parents. “Look,” I say, “I’m sorry you came all this way, but it’s not a good time.”

“Ingrid is struggling with the property manager in Iceland,” my mother says, exposing her real reason for coming. First reason: convince me this job is beneath me and a waste of time. Second reason: pull me back into the company by trying to tell me they need me.

“I’m not surprised,” I tell her. “That guy is a royal asshole.”

“Laiyla.” My father chides me for my language.

“He is. I’ve been telling you that for a year, but you never listened.”

“Well, you found a way to work with him, and Ingrid will have to as well,” my father says. “She could use your coaching to get her through.”

“No one coached me through anything.” I feel built up resentment uncoiling. I’m happy for the first time in years, and I don’t want them ruining it. “You just threw me somewhere in the company and told me I had to sink or swim. Why aren’t you doing the same with Ingrid?”

My mother shades her brow from the sun. “Have you eaten, Laiyla? Your father and I are hungry. Let’s drive into Santa Barbara and find a decent place to eat. Then we can really talk.”

“I’m not going into Santa Barbara.” I keep my voice empty of the frustration rising inside me. Logic, not emotion. I need to remember that. “You two stop for breakfast on your way back home.”

My mother’s gaze returns to my face, scrutinizing intensely. I know the second her gaze lands on my hickey, and I feel my cheeks heat. I automatically reach for my braid and pull it forward.

“You said you have a contractor on this project?” she asks.

“Yes, and he’s excellent.”

“Then you can take a couple of weeks to return to LA and work with Ingrid. It will do you good. I also think it’s important for you to spend some time with Michael. This distance isn’t good for your relationship. A man like Michael isn’t going to wait around while your loyalty is misplaced.”

Oh. My. God. “For the last time, I’m not going back to LA. I’m doing this on my own. I don’t need your help or your approval. I love you guys, but I don’t want you here, and you don’t want to be here, so please go.”

I turn and start back to the boat. The clip of heels signals my mother following, and I stop and turn.

She closes the distance between us and levels her disapproving glare on me. “Are you seeing someone here?”

“That’s none of your business.”