Troubles in Paradise (Paradise #3)(36)

Cash finds little comfort in these words. It sounds like Tilda has been to the villa in the East End. When did that happen and why didn’t she tell him? And how to explain the makeup and sexy outfit? She didn’t get all dolled up for her parents.

“Did you notice he didn’t eat his dinner?” Cash says. “Not one bite. He asked Jena all those questions and then he didn’t even touch it. He told me he was taking it home for his dog. That short rib cost forty-five bucks. Who does that?” Out of all the uncomfortable moments at dinner, the worst was when Jena dropped off the check and Dunk and Granger fought over it. It felt like a test of manhood, one that Cash couldn’t even pretend to compete in. He’d just looked on with Tilda and Lauren while Dunk and Granger threw down their credit cards, which were radioactively glowing with money.

“He fasts,” Tilda says. “I mean, he drinks, obviously, but he goes for days at a time without solid food.”

“What?” Cash says. He thinks about living in the East End, which is within shouting distance of Lime Out, and denying himself the pleasure of a rum rib taco.

“It’s a willpower thing.”

“He sounds like a sociopath,” Cash says. “Be careful while you’re away, please.”

“I’ll text and call and we’ll FaceTime every morning and every night, and when I get back, we’ll skinny-dip at Hawksnest and go to the pig roast at Miss Lucy’s and get drunk one night at Skinny Legs and do all the things we haven’t done as a couple yet.”

“I’ll miss you,” Cash says. Tilda is a beacon for him, and a buoy. They have gotten so close so fast, he can’t imagine a week without her.

“Awww,” she says. “You’re sweet.”

Cash perks up a little. “The project sounds amazing. I’m honored your parents are including me.”

“They would do anything to make me happy,” Tilda says.

Cash doesn’t love the implication of this statement—that Cash’s involvement on Lovango is due solely to his relationship with Tilda. If Tilda comes home from St. Lisa or St. Roger and announces that she’s fallen in love with Dunk, Cash will be heartbroken, but will he be out of luck on the project as well?

Yes. If the whole mess with Cash’s father has done nothing else, it has prepared him for the worst.





Baker


Every now and then, when Baker is sitting by the pool at the Westin watching Floyd play with Aidan/Nicholas/Parker/Dylan/Maddie/Eli—it’s a revolving cast of best friends for the day when you live at a hotel—he wonders if things are really as bad as they seem. The room—garden-facing with two queen beds and a balcony that is off-limits to Floyd—is five hundred bucks plus tax plus resort fee plus service charge, which is obviously a lot. But if Baker can ignore his mounting bill, he’s able to appreciate the fine weather and all the amenities on offer—the pool, an excellent gym, daily housekeeping, the playground, kayaks and paddleboards, a private beach featuring a water trampoline, and a plethora of organized kid-centric activities, like movie nights and ice cream socials. Temporarily, anyway, Baker and Floyd are living the life.

The villa is gone. Russ was laundering money using offshore accounts and shell companies to hide profits for some of the most evil human beings on earth. According to Irene’s lawyer, Russ’s is the name that shows up most often on the incriminating paper trail, and his boss, Todd Croft, is claiming Russ and the third principal, Stephen Thompson, masterminded the illegal underbelly of his legitimate business without Croft’s knowledge. This assertion is outrageous. And yet, what does Russ have to recommend him in the way of personal character? Zero, zip, and zilch. He had a second family—a mistress, a love child. Plus, he’s dead and not able to defend himself.

Baker’s determination faltered for a moment when he and Floyd arrived and he heard the news. He checked into the Westin thinking he would have to turn tail and run back to Houston. He couldn’t make a life here without a place to live and without a car. Anna had agreed to let him bring Floyd down only because she had seen the villa—and even then, she had expressed reservations.

The second Floyd fell asleep their first night at the Westin, Baker had taken a cold beer (thirteen dollars for a six-pack of Island Hoppin’ IPA at St. John Market, which was nearly the same price as a single beer from room service) out to their balcony and called Anna. She was, technically, still his wife, and she would forever be Floyd’s mother, and Baker couldn’t hide their reduced circumstances from her. He figured Anna would insist they return to Houston or else make a plea for Baker and Floyd to move to Cleveland, where she and Louisa would be living.

But Anna surprised him. “First of all, you need to know it wasn’t me who sent you that text,” she said.

Louisa and I have some concerns about you uprooting Floyd.

“Louisa stole my phone,” she added.

“Sounds like you’re finally in a healthy relationship,” Baker said.

“Please stop,” Anna said. “Weez was concerned. Once I tell her the villa is gone, she’ll go ballistic.”

“You do realize that Louisa isn’t Floyd’s parent,” Baker said.

“I do realize that,” Anna said. “Which is why I’m not going to tell her.”

Baker took a nice long pull off his beer. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was talking to his wife. “Thank you.”