Chapter 16
Lucy
Present Day
“Stupid, pompous asshole,” I mutter angrily to myself as I stomp along the sidewalk through town.
I don’t even care if people are sitting outside watching me talk to myself. Let them look, let them see the shit that they are constantly talking about behind my back. If they see that I am irritated beyond belief at my ex-husband, maybe they’ll get it through their heads that I don’t want anything to do with him. I cannot believe he had the nerve to bring up the fucking money. He makes me let my guard down by getting me to laugh and then he throws that shit in my face. And really, why in the hell does he have to look so good? He distracted me wearing that damn wet suit, rolled down to his waist with his bare chest hanging out for the whole world to see. I can’t walk around with my shirt off, and it should be illegal for Fisher to do so, as well. Sweet Jesus, that man is hot. He was always in good shape because of the Marines, but I swear to God, he must have done nothing but crunches and drink protein shakes for the last thirteen months. Where he used to be bulky and huge, now he’s lean and cut. His bare chest is nothing short of a miracle and it took everything in me not to lick his abs and the indents at his waist when he sat down next to me. I hate myself for staring at him when he walked over and blocked my sun, but good Lord, I felt like a dying woman in the middle of the desert and he was the only glass of cold water left on earth.
It’s not fair. It is so not fair that he can look so good and piss me off so much at the same time.
I’m so lost in my own irritation, staring at my feet and cursing Fisher as I walk, that I don’t pay attention to what’s in front of me until I slam into someone and stumble backwards. Hands come out to grab my arms and steady me and, when I look up to apologize, I let out an audible sigh.
“Ms. Butler, how nice to see you.”
Jefferson Fisher, Jr., my ex-father-in-law and the bane of my existence for fourteen years, towers over me, smoothing down the front of his navy blue three-piece suit like a brush with me just made him dirty. He looks the same as he always does, and it surprises me that this man never seems to age. As tall as Fisher and just as good looking, but with salt and pepper hair and more creases around his forehead and eyes, Jefferson Fisher, Jr. looks like George Clooney. You know, if George Clooney never smiled and always spoke to you in a condescending manner and gave backhanded compliments out like they were cookies.
“How are you doing, Ms. Butler?”
The way he annunciates my maiden name with a touch of a smirk makes me want to punch him in the mouth, right here on Main Street. The day my divorce from his son was final and I went back to my maiden name was probably the happiest day of his life. God forbid someone like me continue walking around, tainting the Fisher name.
“I’m fine, Mr. Fisher, how about yourself?” I ask politely. Politely only because I’m not about to make a scene in the middle of town and further validate his theory that I’m poor white trash who only latched onto his son for the last name and money.
“Very well, very well,” he replies distractedly, still trying to brush off the imaginary dirt on his suit coat. “I’m actually glad we ran into each other. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about Butler House.”
Pulling the strap of my purser higher on my shoulder, I paste on a fake smile and nod for him to continue. He’s always made it more than clear at town meetings that he thinks the inn is outdated and an eyesore on the island. He’s been wanting to either tear it down completely or sell it off to someone else who can update it and turn it into something more worthy of his vision of Fisher Island. I’ve told him several times that he can shove his opinion up his arrogant ass, nicely of course. It’s not very easy when Fisher’s Bank and Trust holds the mortgage for Butler House Inn. If I have another round of problems at the inn like the ones I had this winter, problems that emptied out my savings account and then some, causing me to fall behind on the mortgage, they are going to swoop in like a pack of vultures and take it right out of my hands.
“As you know, we’ve had several interested buyers for that property over the years and you’ve never expressed any interest in working with them before. I know you’ve met Stanford Wallis and I’ve heard that you two have been spending time together lately.”
The disapproval is loud and clear in his voice. He almost sounds more irritated that I’m with Stanford than he was when I was with his son, and that just pisses me off for Fisher. His father never appreciated him, never saw the passion behind the choices he made for his life and did nothing but badger him about not following in his footsteps.
“Stanford is a very intelligent young man with a good head for business. I’m quite proud of the work he’s been doing for me lately, and he’s shared with me that he’s been doing some consulting with you on the side. The ideas he has for Butler House and its future on this island are nothing short of amazing. We need to step it up into the next century, give it an update, make it more appealing to the young people who frequent the island looking for the newest trends, the hottest nightspots and the most stylish décor,” he explains.
What he’s saying isn’t news to me. Stanford has been completely open and honest since day one about his desire to buy Butler House from me and turn the place into an elaborate resort, complete with waterpark, nightclub and day spa. He knows how much I adore my family’s inn and how I can’t imagine changing anything about it, so he doesn’t push it. That doesn’t stop him from throwing out ideas now and then and attempting to change my mind, but at least he’s not rude or pushy about it like Mr. Fisher.
“As you are aware, Fisher Bank and Trust holds the mortgage to Butler House and I’ve been reviewing the data Stanford has been compiling regarding your financial situation and putting into a spreadsheet for you. Let’s be honest here, Ms. Butler. The inn is not doing as well as it should. As well as it could. You’re sinking, and you’re sinking fast. You may well have lost the inn to foreclosure had spring weather not come early this year and brought vacationers to the island before summer season. You’re a young woman, and you could potentially make hundreds of thousands of dollars on the sale of this property. It’s in a prime location right by the ferry and it’s the first thing people see when they step off the boat and onto the dock. You could retire at the age of thirty and live a life of relative leisure. The business is struggling and you’re in over your head. I think it’s high time you reconsider the ideas that Stanford has, especially if the two of you are seriously going to make a go at this relationship.”
I hate the sound of disgust in his voice when he mentions my relationship with Stanford. It’s none of his business who I choose to date and, regardless of the fact that his bank owns my loan, it’s none of his business what I do with the inn as long as I’m not late again with my mortgage payments. It’s been touch and go for a while now, but I’m making it work. I will do whatever it takes to make it work and he needs to back the hell off.
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Fisher, but Butler House has always been a part of my family and that’s where it’s going to stay,” I tell him in the nicest voice possible and try not to grit my teeth. “I think it’s about time you worry about your own family instead of what I’m doing with my life. Maybe if you concentrated on the intelligent man that is your flesh and blood, you wouldn’t have so much free time to worry about what I’m doing.”
It feels so good to tell this man what I think of him that I don’t even stop to think about someone overhearing. I’ve held my tongue for so many years out of respect for Fisher, but now that we aren’t together, I don’t have to do that anymore.
“You have a son who is smart, honest, creative and has a very good head on his shoulders. Just because he did something different with his life than what you planned for him doesn’t give you the right to shit all over him and pretend like he doesn’t exist. Fisher is a better man than you’ll ever be on his worst day, and it’s nothing but sad and pathetic that you can’t even see what is right in front of your face. All these years, he’s done everything you’ve asked except work in the family business. He’s lied for you, put up a front for you for everyone in this stupid town and you’ve never once thanked him. Hell, your son served this country for almost thirteen years and you never once told him you’re proud of him. No wonder he can’t stand this place and everything it represents.”
I finally stop to take a breath, noticing a vein sticking so far out of Mr. Fisher’s forehead that looks like it’s about to pop. His face is so red that I’m surprised there isn’t smoke coming out of his ears.
He takes a menacing step towards me and sticks his finger right in my face.
“How DARE you speak to me that way. You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side ever since you sunk your claws into my son when he was a teenager. You and your poor, trashy family honestly think you belong on this island? The only reason my son and someone as smart as Stanford want anything to do with you is because they are easily swayed by loose women who spread their legs for—”
“That’s enough. Get your finger out of her face before I remove it for you.”
A low, furious voice from behind me cuts off Mr. Fisher, but I don’t bother turning around. Even without recognizing the voice, the heat from his body radiating against my back and the light smell of his cologne combined with the salty ocean water that always sticks to his skin would have given him away immediately.
“Put your ex-wife on a leash, son,” Mr. Fisher snarls through clenched teeth.
“I said that’s enough!” Fisher shouts this time. “If one more word about her comes out of your mouth I will sweep the fucking sidewalk with your face in front of everyone in your precious town.”
The barely concealed fury in Fisher’s voice sends chills down my spine and goose bumps pebble my skin even as the bright, late afternoon sun shines down on us. The chills aren’t from fear or worry that Fisher might do something crazy, they’re from pure, unadulterated lust. He’s always defended me to his father, but it was always in a quiet, pleading sort of way. This is straight up, alpha male, I-protect-what’s-mine shit going on and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
This is not good. This is SO not good.
“Fisher, I—”
“Not another word,” Fisher growls, cutting him off. “Lucy, how about you head home now?”
Going by his quiet, firm voice, it’s really more of a demand than a question. I don’t really appreciate him ordering me around, but I’m not stupid. I’m smart enough to know when to walk away, and right now, I need to walk away.
I don’t say a word and I don’t look back at Fisher as I bypass his father and continue heading in the direction of the inn. I refuse to consider that Fisher could have been standing there all that time, listening to me expound on his virtues. He doesn’t need anything else feeding his already inflated ego, but it had to be done. I’m so sick and tired of my ex-father-in-law thinking he can push everyone around because he has more money than God.
I quicken my steps and make it back to the inn in record time, rushing through the front doors and into the living quarters without a word to Ellie and Trip, who are still in the front room, shooting me questioning looks as I brush right past them. I need a cold shower. A really, really long, cold shower. Maybe that will erase the sound of Fisher’s voice and what it did to me from my mind.