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‘You really need a life,’ he muttered, still smarting from her stinging judgment of him.
‘I need a life?’ She laughed again, all high and shaky. ‘This from a man who wears a freaking suit to the beach.’
‘I got the first flight I could,’ he said. ‘I went straight from work to Heathrow. I know it’s hard for you to believe but there are other people in this world just as dedicated to their jobs as you are to yours. Although I think manic obsession probably fits better in your case.’
‘The Tropicana isn’t a job. It’s our legacy,’ Claudia snapped.
Luke shook his head as a storm of frustration and disbelief raged in his gut. God, her doggedness was infuriating.
‘It’s not our legacy. It’s just an old-fashioned relic from a different time and everybody’s moved on but you. You’re not in Dirty Dancing, Claude, and this—’ he threw his arms wide at the destruction before him ‘—isn’t freaking Kellerman’s. Johnny Castle isn’t going to drop by and demand that nobody puts you in a corner.’
Claude blinked. A pain flared in the vicinity of her heart as he took everything she believed in and crushed it into the hot, white sand. Yes, she was sentimental and a romantic and she not only believed but had proved that there was a market for the style of resort he was so disparaging of. She just hadn’t realised he’d thought so little of the things that were important to her.
It made her feel small. Insignificant. Unvalued.
And so very sad. For her and for him. His divorce sure had made him cynical.
And it was her undoing. Her vision blurred, the emotion she’d been holding back for days coming now whether she liked it or not. A solitary tear spilled down her cheek.
Luke saw the tear threaten, then fall and wished he could cut his tongue out. He’d been angry and frustrated and his words had been harsh and ill considered. Strands of her blonde hair had loosened and blew across her face, sticking to the wet tear track and her mouth.
‘Claudia.’ He took a step towards her.
Claudia shook her head and held up a hand to ward him off, swiping at the tear with the other, angry that he was a witness to it, that she was being weak and sentimental in front of him. ‘Just go back to London, Luke.’ She turned away, marching off, needing to get away from his toxic disregard as more tears ran down her face.
Luke watched as she turned away, marching back up the beach, her spine straight, her ponytail barely bouncing as she held her head high. He cursed his insensitivity.
That went well. Not.
TWO
Avery, Jonah, Isis and Cyrus looked up from the reception desk that had been turned into a mini war room as the glass entrance door was yanked open and a red-eyed, tear-streaked Claudia stalked inside the cavernous lobby. Jonah looked at Avery with a question in his eyes as Claudia steamed straight past them.
‘Claude?’ Avery called after her, her American accent echoing around the large, deserted foyer. Claudia didn’t stop or reply.
‘Claudia.’
This time Claudia hesitated slightly before throwing an, ‘I’m fine,’ over her shoulder and, ‘I just need some time alone,’ before hitting the wide elegant staircase that would have been perfectly at home in some maharajah’s palace.
There was a worried silence as four sets of eyes watched her beat her hasty retreat to her first-floor suite.
‘What was that about?’ asked Cyrus, a young local guy employed at the Tropicana as a bellhop.
‘I don’t know,’ said Isis, his sister, who usually worked Reception.
The siblings, products of hippy parents, were uncannily similar with their striking red hair and freckles.
‘I think I do,’ Avery said, her eyes narrowing as Luke strode up the wide front steps.
Luke, his shoes and jacket in hand, glanced at the reception desk as he entered the lobby. None of the people behind it looked very receptive.
He made his way across the expanse of mosaic tiles swirling together to form a tapestry of rich sandy tones. He diverted around colossal rugs, cushy lounge chairs and potted palms. Huge beige columns rose to the two-storey ceiling and bordered the domed mural on high. It showcased a midnight sky twinkling with stars, the edges decorated with palm leaves.
As a kid it had fascinated him endlessly; now it seemed just another relic of yesteryear.
‘Luke Hargreaves,’ Avery said, her voice full of accusation as he approached the desk. ‘Did you make Claude cry?’
Luke glanced at Jonah, standing behind Avery, who was sending him run away now signals with his eyes. Jonah knew as well as Luke that Avery was Claudia’s fiercest champion.
