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I put my hand on Todd’s hand apologetically. He turns away. The server brings me my salad and Todd’s fries. She wraps his food.
“I am not hungry,” he says pitifully.
I feel like I kicked a puppy.
“I don’t usually eat in the limo, but I’ll have those fries – no sense in wasting delicious junk food,” says Nick, and he lays down a hundred-dollar bill towards Todd.
Todd lifts his sad eyes to the driver and accepts the money. I down my Hibiscus.
“So,” Todd says wanly. “I guess I am not catching waves at your place anymore.”
“It’s not her place,” Nick says matter-of-factly. “The Calypso Inn is property of Red Hawk Realty. Mr. Houston is simply allowing Brynne to stay there for a few more days.”
“Days?” I squeal. “Nuh-uh," I argued. I filed a complaint. He got served. I have until the hearing.”
“I am going to offer you a lift to the inn one last time,” he says politely. “And then I’ll report to Mr. Houston that you refused.”
“Uber, here you come,” Todd says coldly.
“I’ll take the ride,” I say, rising from the table. “When is Jack out of that meeting?”
I touch Todd’s shoulder. “Thanks for everything,” I say gently.
He places his hand on mine. “Sure,” he grunts.
Nick holds the door to the limo for me like I am an executive and not a total beach bum. I dust off before I slide in on the buttery soft interior of the limo. I feel like a jerk leaving Todd there after all he did for me.
“Did you break his heart?” Nick asks.
“Definitely not your business,” I reply. “When does Jack’s meeting break?” I ask again.
“He’s going to call,” Nick says. “Apparently, you’re full of tricks, and whatever you pulled this afternoon put a bee in the bonnet of one his biggest investors. They are kissing her ass as we speak. I can tell you he hates this woman.”
“I thought I was doing him a favor,” I say, staring at the window, pretending to be interested.
I am grateful that Dove Point isn’t very far away. Nick and I clearly dislike each other, making for an awkward and painfully silent ride. I know by the landmarks whirring by me that it won’t be long before I will be dropped off at the inn.
Soon enough, Nick is smoothly taking the curves of the winding drive that peels off Pacific Coast Highway and leads directly to the inn.
“Here we are,” he says.
“You don’t have to get the door,” I say.
“I have some information I am supposed to make sure you know,” he says ominously.
“Okay,” I say.
“Like I said,” he continues. “You have a couple of days here, tops. After that, the utilities will be cut off. And there will be armed guards here round the clock. You may have fudged a temporary stay of demolition, but Mr. Houston owns this property.
“Out of the goodness of his heart, he has tasked Gretchen to work on a suitable accommodation for you and to arrange for movers to pack up the interior. And, also, out of the goodness of his heart, he is not prosecuting you for trespassing.”
I drop my head and sob. I can no longer hold it in. “Are you finished yelling at me?” I demand.
“No. One more item. He explicitly asked me to convey that you are never to fuck with his business again. Whatever stunt you pulled today was the last straw.” Nick admonishes me. “Are we clear?”
Something about Nick’s city accent makes the warning he issues shake me to the core.
“So, all that nice stuff,” I finally manage. “Was it just an act?”
