18. Cole

CHAPTER 18

COLE

I f Cole’s bank account weren’t in the red, he might have considered cancelling the contract with Dr. William Blaylock. Passed it on to another operator, if one could be found. Blaylock captaining a boat himself wasn’t an option—San Gallicano had strict rules about that.

But with the Nebula Holdings balance sheet firmly negative, Cole couldn’t afford to take money from the business, which meant he had to earn cash elsewhere if he wanted to eat. Dr. Blaylock had never quibbled over his rates, and the three-week charter would pay Cole’s bills for half a year if he was careful.

And while he was in San Gallicano, he could prep his home for rental on Airbnb. Give the place a good clean and pack up his belongings to store in Yolanda’s garage. It didn’t look as if he’d be leaving the Galaxy any time soon. Perry was nervous enough about running the place for a month while Cole was away; anything more permanent would drive the man to Xanax. No joke. Nancy said he’d been popping pills like candy after Uncle Mike died.

Perry was personable and great with detail, but he didn’t have the hard edge needed to survive in the cutthroat world of business. Neither did Cole, not really, but he’d discovered that when the chips were down, he could fake it. He figured he had his father to thank for that. About the only thing the old man had ever done for him.

A month ago, he’d have dreaded the prospect of staying in Vegas for another year, but now he saw the advantages. Advantage. And her name was Bella.

“Want to go out for breakfast?” he called up the stairs. “We’re out of milk.”

“Sure.”

Bella was still talking about this being over in two days, but why did it have to be? Heat sizzled every time their auras touched, and although work had been busy for both of them these past few weeks, that wouldn’t be the case forever. Cole had spent most of his time at the Galaxy, trying to put in systems and controls that would ensure the staff could make it through the next month without him at the helm. Not that he knew what he was doing, but he’d been watching a lot of YouTube videos from people who did. And his financial situation would improve soon. He could take Bella out to see a show. Get to know her better. Build on the chemistry they shared. Every time she came near, he felt it, a fizzing under his skin that made his lips twitch into a smile, no matter how hard the day had been.

She hopped down the stairs, steadying herself on the bannister, hair damp from the shower. He’d given up trying to help her. Bella was fiercely independent, and she waved him away whenever he offered a hand.

“Fancy pastries or fried everything?” he asked. “Or do you want to go for the healthy option?”

She wouldn’t choose the healthy option. Bella had been comprehensively fucked last night, and a smoothie wasn’t going to cut it. If he had to guess, she’d pick eggs over easy with hash browns and a vat of coffee, black, no sugar. She might have had a healthy appetite, but she didn’t have a sweet tooth.

“Fried everything.” Called it. “Where are we going? And who’s driving?”

“I’m driving, and it’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” she grumbled.

Grumpy was her default operating mode, and it was strangely endearing on her. And he liked her “no bullshit” attitude. She was the yin to Gretchen’s yang. Everybody had loved Gretchen’s sunny disposition and bright smile, and she’d lit up every room she’d walked into. Including his best friend’s bedroom, it turned out.

Running from that storm had led Cole to a life in San Gallicano, so there had been a glimmer of a silver lining in the thundercloud, but being stabbed in the back like that still left twinges of pain he wasn’t sure he’d ever manage to escape.

“We’re going for eggs and hash browns. Not much of a surprise.”

“What if I mix things up and order French toast?”

“I’ll pass you the maple syrup.”

Bella seemed twitchier than usual today, the way she kept fidgeting with her phone. Probably messaging the girls in her writing group again. She’d let a few personal details slip, such as the fact that it was an in-person writing group, and as the only participant with a dick, Marcel was an honorary member. An eclectic bunch, she said. Her bread and butter was writing obituaries, mostly private jobs, but occasionally one would find its way into the newspaper, under a pseudonym of course. Her real dream was to publish the spy thriller she worked on in her spare time, and Cole felt a little guilty that she’d written zero words in the past two weeks.

Marcel, meanwhile, wrote gay romance, took a method acting approach to his stories, and had zero filter .

It was good that she had friends.

But where would Cole fit in when he returned from San Gallicano?

“You okay?” he asked when she leaned forward to peer into the side mirror.

“Fine. Just thought I had something in my teeth.”

“Need to take a better look?” He reached for the rear-view mirror, but her hand shot out and grabbed his. Damn, she had a firm grip.

“I said it’s fine.” Her grip loosened, thank fuck, and she brought his knuckles to her lips. “Can we take a left here?”

“Why?”

“Because if we’re having fried potatoes, the home fries at the Sunrise Diner are the absolute best.”

“What about the Woodstock Grill? They serve great coffee there.”

“Ugh.”

“You don’t like the whole Flower Power thing?”

“I don’t like their hygiene standards.”

“They have poor hygiene standards?”

“One of Marcel’s friends used to work in the kitchen there, and…” Cole glanced to the side in time to see the face she pulled. “I guess the coffee’s okay. Not much will survive being boiled alive, and the filter will catch anything with legs.”

“Take a left, you said?”

“Right.”

The turning came up fast, so Cole stomped on the brakes and swung onto the side street, ignoring the honk from the car behind.

“No, I meant right, take a left.”

“Next left?”

“No, the left back there.”

“I’m confused.”

“Okay, sorry, I should have said ‘correct’ instead of ‘ right.’ Just take the next right, then the next one, and the one after that, and then we’ll end up back where we started. Then take a left.”

“Should I turn on the satnav?”

“No, we’re good.” Bella settled back into the seat. “We’re good.”