CHAPTER SIX
Hart
I’M NURSING MY third bourbon when Kevin barges into my office without knocking.
‘Thought I’d find you here,’ he says, helping himself to a double shot and joining me in the leather armchairs around the coffee table.
‘Not a great deduction on your part, considering I’ve been sitting here every night for the past two weeks.’
‘You’re a sarcastic bastard.’ He raises his glass to me before tipping it back and draining half in one gulp. ‘Your grandfather was the same. The great Ralfe Rochester took shit from nobody.’
My throat tightens, like it does every time anyone mentions Pa. It has been three long weeks since the funeral here on Gem Island, his favourite island in the Whitsundays, four since he died—without me beside him. Pa wasn’t just sarcastic; he was a stubborn old bastard too.
He should’ve called me; should’ve told me about the ongoing heart-valve problems. But he didn’t and he dropped dead before I could tell him half of what I should’ve. Like how much he changed my life. Like how much I owed him. Like how much I loved him despite doing my best to prove otherwise since he found me.
He died not knowing how I felt about him and that’s something I’ll have to live with every single day.
‘He’d be proud of what you’re doing here.’ Kevin gestures around the monstrous office, with an entire glass wall overlooking the resort and the ocean beyond. ‘This hotel has always been his favourite.’
I know. It’s the only reason I’m stuck on this godforsaken island and not back in Buenos Aires or Brooklyn or Bangladesh, working behind the scenes to set up infrastructure for foster kids. Those kids need me like I’d once needed Pa. He found me at sixteen, took me in, nurtured me. He gave me everything. And what did I do in return?
Pretended I didn’t need him. Acted like an ungrateful prick every time he reached out. Did a lame-ass job with the role he assigned me in the company.
Abandoned him.
I should’ve been here when he died, held his hand and given him whatever comfort I could. Instead, he died alone, his heart giving out just like the docs said it would. Yeah, Pa was stubborn to a fault. Guess I know where I get it from.
‘I intend to get this place noticed.’ I swirl the bourbon, staring at it until my eyes blur. It’s easier than looking up and meeting Pa’s right-hand man’s eyes and seeing pity. It’s a wasted emotion and I don’t stomach it, never have. That’s one of the things Pa first said to me, how he admired my resilience, how I didn’t wallow in self-pity.
I didn’t tell him that feeling sorry for myself had been belted out of me in the first foster family I’d grown up in. Attacks I’d deliberately provoked to prove my defiance meant more than their disdain. Fuck ’em all had been my motto growing up. Still is.
‘Do you want me at the meeting with the new PR firm in the morning?’
I shake my head. As
