Conflict (The Wellingtons Book 3) Page 2

  In fact, not much is actually changing in my life except a lot less time studying and a lot more time spent at my accounting job. During my second year of college, I started interning at one of the most prestigious firms, Wellsley-Callahan, in Atlanta. After earning my undergraduate degree in accounting, I slid right into an entry-level position at the firm. Ever since, my star—okay, it’s still pretty dim—has been rising, and now that I have my MBA, I’m moving six floors up, straight beneath the CFO’s office, ready to rock, roll, and well… account.

  It’s kind of amazing that I’ve been able to work my way up the corporate ladder in a short amount of time—though it felt like forever. It helps that Sawyer Callahan, CFO and heir apparent for the Callahan branch of the company, believes in fostering young talent. It also probably helps that he’s CFO and not even thirty, so he can spot potential where he sees it.

  And thank goodness, he apparently sees it in me.

  Heck, as if I needed any more reason to think the guy was a saint, he gave me a two-week vacation as a bonus, telling me to take time after graduation to relax before I “jump into the big leagues with a desperately needed pair of fresh eyes,” as he called it.

  Part of me didn’t even want to take the time. I’m eager to jump into my career feetfirst. But Sawyer insisted, so here I am, ready for the beach. All that stands between my future and me is Christmas, New Year’s, and two weeks of fun in the sun.

  It’s my last hurrah. My last to-do as no-time-for-fun Alyssa Covington before I become professional Ms. Covington, C.P.A. And I am so looking forward to a week in the sun and sand with my sister. Because, if I think about it, it’s been a long damn time since I had some fun. The past seven years have been spent working at WC or with my head in books, and I haven’t had a vacation since the summer before I started my master’s program.

  I’ve more than earned this.

  “Well, it may be winter break for you, but for me, it’s just a fucking much-needed break,” Ari huffs, her breath sending an errant bang up and out of her eyes.

  The chill in her tone takes me back. Ari, much unlike me, is the prim and proper one of the Covington sisters. Southern born and bred. I can literally count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard her curse, as Mother had drilled into us that becoming ladies did not utter such drivel. It took with Ari. Me? Not so much.

  I study my sister now, really seeing her. She’s wearing rumpled flannel pajamas that hang off her, and I know she hasn’t been eating enough. Getting into wedding shape, Mother calls it, even though Ari didn’t have a single pound she needed to lose. Her usually perfect hair is on the top of her head in a messy bun. Dark circles rim her eyes, and I wonder if she’s been getting any sleep. Apparently, she needs this vacation as much as I do.

  “Ari?” I ask, closely watching her face. “Is everything okay?”

  She clears her throat and looks up at me with what a fake smile. The sight of it causes my blood to boil. It’s the same look I’ve seen on her for the past two years.

  Ever since our father announced her engagement to the utterly dull, smarmy Benjamin, his business partner’s son and the bane of my sister’s existence (though she won’t admit it), Ari hasn’t been the same. I want to shake her, to tell her to stop this charade, that for once in her life she can defy our parents. It’s precisely what I plan to do this week. I’m not opposed to being the one to jump up and protest when Father Jacobs asks if anyone sees a reason for the marriage not to happen, but for Ariana’s sake, I’d rather she stop the wedding before it even starts.

  “Oh, I’m fine. Just…you know how Mother is. She’s a nightmare with this wedding planning. And then add in Benjamin’s? It’s like my opinions don’t matter. You’d think they were the ones getting married. To be honest, I don’t even know why they invite me to these wedding planning sessions. I’m clearly not needed.” She pauses, then downcast eyes meet mine. “I just need to get away for a while.”

  More than ever, I’m happy I was able to coerce her into going on this trip with me. But I can’t hold my feelings in anymore. “Are you… I mean…are you sure you want to go through with it? To marry Benjamin? There’s still time to back out. You have plenty of time to decide.”

  Tears well in her eyes, but she quickly blinks them away and clears her throat. “I…I don’t know. Oh, God, Alyssa, does that make me awful? It’s just, the closer we get to the wedding day, I don’t know… It just feels like something’s missing. I can’t envision a life with him. The other part of me just wonders if it’s pre-wedding nerves and I’m just being silly. That’s why I need this trip. I need to get away from our parents and Benjamin and decide what to do.”

  I wrap an arm around her shoulders and give her a tight squeeze. “Then let’s get packing. A week with nothing but sunshine, sand, and margaritas is exactly what you need.”

  For the first time in far too long, a genuine smile crosses my sister’s lips. “Thanks, Lyss. God, that felt so good to say out loud. I just wish I didn’t have the charity dinner tonight so I could drive down with you today. The sooner I’m out of here, the better.”

  We planned to make the drive from Atlanta to Navarre, Florida, together, but at the last minute, Benjamin needed her for yet another charity dinner, where he no doubt just wanted her as arm candy.

  “I wish you could, too. But hey, I’ll go down, scope out the best spot on the beach, and get the condo stocked so we’ll have nothing but beachy booze-filled days for the next week. How does that sound?”

  Ari’s answering smile lights up her classically radiant features. “That sounds like heaven.”

  Though her smile doesn’t seem entirely authentic, I let it go and silently hope I can talk some sense into her this week.

  The drive to Navarre is rather uneventful. I’m in my red Mustang convertible with the top down, blaring my favorite Stone Sour album—hello, Corey Taylor—and nothing but thoughts about the week ahead going through my mind. Winter break in Florida is treated as a slightly toned-down spring break for Southern college kids, but Ari and I aren’t planning on acting like college students on the loose. No wet T-shirt contests, body shots, or anything of the sort. All we want is an excuse to get away from the city and our parents. I foresee copious amounts of wine drinking, sun tanning, and sisterly bonding. Heck, I’ve been looking forward to it for months. As eager as I’ve been to start my new position at Wellsley-Callahan, this week of bridging my student and my professional lives couldn’t have come soon enough.

  My heart soars as I cross into Santa Rosa County. I can already hear the seagulls crowing, the waves crashing. Memories of spending summers with my cousins here wash over me, and I wonder how my aunt and my uncle could’ve ever left this place. While I love living in the city, the panhandle of Florida is the closest thing to heaven.

  After checking in, grocery shopping, and getting a bite to eat at a local biker bar my cousins introduced us to a few years ago, I throw a bikini on, cover it with shorts and an unzipped hoodie jacket, and then head down to the beach to enjoy my solitude in the moonlight. Even though it’s a chilly December night, the beach is busy under the full moon. With my exceptionally classy Lime-A-Rita in a can—hidden by a coozie, of course—I walk in the opposite direction of the frat boys chugging beer after beer.

  When I’m far enough away from the crowd, I use my feet to flatten a place in the sand and plop down. After an intense seven-year program to get both my M.B.A. and C.P.A., relaxation on the beach is definitely what the doctor ordered. With the waves crashing in the distance and the full moon reflecting off the water, I’m at peace for the first time in far too long.

  I grab my phone and turn my favorite Grace Potter album on loud enough for only me to hear. I rest back on my elbows, enjoying the sound of the waves and the soulful, bluesy music coming from my speakers. With my eyes closed, I relish in the relaxation. God, a girl could really get used to this.

  I have no idea how long I sit there. However long it takes for Grace’s The Lion, The
Beast, The Beat album to reach completion and for me to finish my drink. Feeling happy and slightly buzzed, I rise to my feet and make my way back to the condo, ready for a quick dip in the hot tub and then a glass of wine before bed. I’m happier and more carefree than I’ve felt in far too long.

  After grabbing a drink from the bar near the pool, I’m delighted to find the hot tub empty. I’m not opposed to a beach hookup (i.e. I’d love one), and to be honest, it’d probably be easier to do so before Ari gets here, but after hours in the car, I’m ready to relax my achy muscles in hot water and then fall into bed.

  My cell rings just as I’m finishing up crunching the yearly numbers for our newest acquire, a cozy resort in the even cozier beach town of Navarre, Florida. While Wellington has properties all over the world, this is one of my favorites. It’s a pet project of mine, the first my father let me handle on my own. And even though, as CFO of the Atlanta Wellington branch, I could have my employees handle this portion of the business, it’s my baby and I want to be as hands-on as possible. That’s also why I’m making the rounds, learning every job, not just the financial aspects. I’ve found that you earn respect when you’re willing to dig in deep, get your hands dirty right along with your employees.

  So far, it’s been working.

  When I see my dad’s name on the screen, I don’t hesitate to pick up. He calls to check in at least once a week. Not because he’s my boss and wants to micromanage, but because I’m his only son and we’ve always been close. I answer and we shoot the breeze for a few minutes, talking shop and making plans for the upcoming holidays.

  Usually, our families take turns traveling, and this year, it’s our turn to head up to Belle Meade to spend Christmas with Uncle Knox, Aunt Amelia, and their three boys. Mom’s been in a tizzy ever since Knox, who’d been estranged from the other side of the family, came back into the family fold. It’s our first family Christmas with him and Mom would kill me if I missed it.

  It’s been a decade since Knox and Branson had their falling out. A decade that I’ve known the truth. A decade that I’ve kept the promise Branson forced me to agree to. I’ve been torn between wanting to heal the family rift and not wanting to risk Branson’s wrath. And since I’ve been the only person in Branson’s corner for far too long, I wouldn’t ever do anything to betray him.

  Now, however, since his brother’s back, happy, and apparently with the love of his life, I’m hoping he and Branson can finally find common ground and put the misery that was Megan Caldwell behind them.

  “You’ll be there, right?” Pops asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  “I’ll be there, Pop. I just have another week or so here to wrap things up and I’ll head back to Atlanta. If I don’t catch you and Mom, I’ll drive up separately.”

  He chuckles. “You may as well plan on driving. Your mother’s been on the phone with Amelia, gossiping about Knox’s new gal. Your mother’s itching to get there a few days early to meet her. I fear poor Charlie won’t know what she’s walking into until it’s too late. Though your mother says it’s the Wellington males’ faults, since neither of us produced girls.”

  I laugh because it’s so true. I’m an only child, and my aunt and my uncle had three boys. For years, Aunt Amelia and my mother lamented over not having daughters, and for years, they’ve been trying to get their boys to settle down.

  “Kid, I’m proud of you. I hope you know that,” he says.

  “Thanks, Pops. Now, if you and Uncle Knox would retire already, Bran and I would be forever grateful.”

  Silence echoes from the other end of the phone, and I already know what he’s thinking.

  “Speaking of Branson, have you seen him lately?” Pop asks. “Amelia’s told your mother that Megan’s being a pain in the ass when it comes to the divorce.”

  I think back on the last time I saw my cousin. It was Thanksgiving, and while Branson was seemingly on his best behavior, the best behavior for Branson lately isn’t even the worst of others. “Not since the holidays, but I’ll check in.”

  “Do that, son. I love my brother, but I never agreed with the way he pitted Branson and Knox against each other when they were growing up. That being said, I need my nephew to get his head out of his ass so I can leave the office for good and spend the rest of my days chasing your mom around the house.”

  I groan, which is precisely what he was going for.

  We chat for a few more minutes, and when we get off the phone, I try Branson. He doesn’t answer, which is unusual for him. So, against my better judgment, I try his brother.

  “Shane,” Knox clips with a gruff voice, saying nothing more.

  “Hey, man. It’s been a while,” I say. “Uh, look, I know you aren’t his biggest fan, but I was just wondering if you’ve seen Branson lately.” Silence fills the air, and I’m quick to continue. “If I’m out of bounds, my bad. I’m just… I want to make sure he’s good, ya know.”

  He clears his throat. “You’re not outta bounds, man. I’ve learned a lot these past few months about my brother. About myself. About Megan. I hold no grudges and I’m right there with you. Branson and I may have a long road ahead of us, but I remember he’s my brother and I want him to be good, too.”

  I can practically hear the smile in his voice. “That’s good to hear, Knox.”

  “You know what they say about the love of a good woman and all that.”

  “I know what they say, but I can’t say I’ve ever experienced it,” I remind him.

  He laughs. “Don’t worry, Shane. It’ll hit you when you least expect it.”

  I pause, realizing that this is weird. Knox and I have kept in touch throughout the years, even when he was estranged from his parents, and I’ve never heard him sound like this. He’s…happy. There’s a lightness in his voice, as if he’s been set free from whatever proverbial chains have been holding him back for so long. I’m thrilled for him and only hope his brother can find the same peace.

  “Branson?” I ask again.

  Knox’s heavy sigh fills my ear. “He’s drinking—heavily,” he says, surprising me.

  Since before we even turned twenty-one, Branson’s never been more than a casual drinker. He’s a control freak, unwilling to give up a clear mind in exchange for a good time.

  “I don’t think he’s sad about the divorce. I just think he’s…exhausted. Drained. And for the first time in my life, I’m getting a glimpse of the future I’m so glad I escaped.”

  “Well, I guess you can now say your big bro took a bullet for you,” I tell him.

  He chuckles. “In the form of Megan Caldwell, he absolutely did. Not that it makes me feel any better about the situation. I’m trying, man, but after he tried to hit on my girl, it’s hard not to want to punch him in the face every time I see him. If it weren’t for the fact that she had him in an armbar, I probably would have.”

  “Yeah, pretty sure Cohen’s going to be telling that story for years,” I say. Then I switch gears. “I’ll keep trying him, and if I don’t get in touch, I’ll be up there by the end of the week. Maybe I can talk some sense into him. Or maybe we’ll just throw him in the ring with Charlie and let her knock him around a couple of times.”

  “I know you’re not supposed to beat a guy when he’s already down, but I’d pay money to see that. Let me know when you’re on your way up. It’ll be good to see ya.”

  I promise to do so, and we make our goodbyes. One more time, I try Branson, and once again, I get his voicemail.

  I’m exhausted from a long day’s work and right now, all I want are a beer, a shower to wash the sweat of the day off, and a warm bed. I settle for the beer and the hot tub, two sweet primers for when I fall into my bed later on. Spending my days working at the resort and my nights crunching numbers leaves me exhausted. It’s hard work, though rewarding, and there’s nothing like slipping into a Jacuzzi with an ice-cold brew.

  My solitude, however, is quickly interrupted, and oh, what an interruption it is.

  The girl is g
orgeous. Simply put, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman. I take that back. On closer look, I see she’s the woman I’d spotted at the check-in desk earlier, and as she approaches, I can’t take my eyes off her. Long, dark hair hangs in a loose knot at the nape of her slender neck, and her eyes are nearly as dark as her hair. When she removes her clothes, I see a tight, little body with tits just big enough to be called a handful. I rake my eyes over her as she sinks into the water until only a hint of those breasts is above the water. I’m staring, I know it, and I can’t fucking help it.

  I want to fuck her even though I know I shouldn’t. There’s a devil on one shoulder, telling me that, since I don’t always work here, fucking a guest is just fine. The angel on my other shoulder is a hell of a lot quieter, insisting that shitting where you eat is a terrible fucking idea.

  The devil—and my cock—wins the argument. Instead of leaving, I stay, unable to take my eyes off her. When I finally get her attention, we make small talk, and I hope to charm the bikini bottoms right off her.

  And by the interest I see in her eyes, I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be such a difficult feat.

  HELLO, GORGEOUS.

  What was it that I was saying about being ready for bed? Because, yeah, that thought has flown out the window at the sight of the man before me. A man who I can tell, at just one glance, has the power to throw a wrench into my plans in the most delicious way.

  I’m stopped in my tracks just a few feet from the hot tub to study the lean, extremely fine-looking man throwing a towel on a lounge chair. My eyes are drawn to a tanned, muscular chest with nipples pebbled from the chilly winter breeze.

  I’m pretty sure I lick my lips, and I’m pretty sure he sees me doing so.

  I’m torn between trying out how to finagle a taste and going back to my condo to avoid him and anyone who may join him. A girl doesn’t need rejection on her first night, am I right?