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CHAPTER ONE
Violet
I was promised a relaxing vacation.Some fun by the lake. A full body massage by a muscular bearded Viking named Erik. And some much-needed girl time to hang with my best friend at her family’s lakeside resort in Virginia.
I was also promised that Donovan Fitzroy, Natalie’s older brother and asshole extraordinaire, would be across the country at some stuffy winery. Didn’t care to ask why he was there, I just assumed he was getting a more decorative stick to replace the one shoved directly up his ass while enjoying a glass of wine.
Natalie swore, multiple times, that I wouldn’t have to see his face ever again.
Lies upon lies upon lies.
My relaxing vacation has turned into a trip to the third circle of Hell. You know, the one where your best friend calls to ditch you at the absolute last minute and the one man you wanted to avoid is not in California like she promised, but staying at the same resort. And supposed to be finding you a room.
This entire situation is just… well, it’s fucking outrageous. Absurd. Ridiculous. I’m sure there are so many more words that can describe the shitshow I’m about to walk into, but I’m so flabbergasted I can’t think of any. Flabbergasted. That’s a good word.
If Natalie were here, she’d tell me to calm my tits, but she’s not and that’s part of the problem.
I knew something was up when she told me to head out without her. She promised her hair appointment was running a little longer than usual, and she’d be right behind me. I shouldn’t have ignored that little feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me things weren’t going to be all sunshine and unicorns.
Of course, I couldn’t have predicted that she’d run into her on-again, off-again football playing man friend. Or that he’d invite her to hang out with him before the season started. I don’t blame her for being a little thirsty and itching for some dick. We’ve all been there… but she could’ve gotten laid any other week.
Now I have to deal with suit-wearing Satan because she didn’t have the foresight to actually make reservations, and I don’t know if there’s a place for me to stay. I’m sure if Donovan has anything to do with it, he’ll show me to the coat closet and leave me with a lumpy pillow and an itchy blanket.
He’s very good at leaving me in uncomfortable situations.
I blow out a deep breath and drop forward, letting my head hit the steering wheel with a thud.
What are the odds Natalie will call me back laughing and telling me how this was all some funny prank? Yeah, I didn’t think they were that high either. Nat’s not that funny.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel until my fingers turn numb, but I still don’t loosen them. I need the pain. The pressure. The feeling of pins and needles to remind me why I should turn the key and drive my ass right back to Tennessee.
As I’m about to push away from the steering wheel and start the trek back to Nashville, there’s a hard knock on my window. I jump, fly backward in my seat, and somehow punch myself in the face.
My lip is throbbing—my right hook is superb—and my heart is threatening to jump out of my chest. And, of course, freaking Fitzroy is there to witness it all.
His dark brown hair—hair that I once longed to run my fingers through—is perfectly styled. His dark blue eyes—eyes that used to captivate me—are dancing with amusement. His lips—lips I used to dream of kissing—are twitching as he fights a smile.
He looks flawless in his navy three-piece suit, and my breath hitches in my throat. I hate that after all these years, he’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I hate that my body reacts to him at all.
I want to punch myself in the face. Again.
But I don’t. I do what any socialite would do, I open the door to my BMW and tumble out of the car. My feet catch on each other like I’ve never taken an unassisted step a day in my life, and I almost fall. Almost. So, I don’t totally embarrass myself. Just mostly.
Donovan’s eyes widen, and he reaches his hands out to steady me, but he must think better of it because they just hover near me without touching. I slap them away. The last thing I need is his half-assed pity. If he’s going to help me, then he better be putting his whole ass into it. Not that I want him to.
“Hello, Violet.”
The deep tenor of his voice washes over me and sends a zing of electricity down my spine—which I pointedly ignore. I’d like to say I hate my name on his tongue, but I don’t.
“Donny.”
His stance stiffens at the nickname, one I know he dislikes immensely. So, naturally I’ll use it as often as I can.
“It’s Fitz.” He adjusts his suit jacket and shifts under my gaze.
“What fits?” I prop a fist on my hip and swipe my hair over my shoulder. “I know it’s not your ego, because I’m not sure this entire resort can contain that thing.”
“Hilarious.”
