Chapter 3

Amelia

"I'm going to murder him," I sing to Robyn, my assistant, as I waltz through the door towards my office.

"Which him are we talking about?" she asks, hurriedly following me.

"Damian Blake-Garrett."

She hands me a coffee, but there's just something about the smell of coffee that is turning my stomach. It reminds me too much of Jackson. He would have a coffee in his hand every second of every day. If it hadn't been a car accident that had killed him at thirty-one years old, it would have been a heart attack from a caffeine addiction. My empty house is filled with coffee beans and syrups and more contraptions and machines than a café. I haven't managed to look at the kitchen since the night I left it, too scared to go near it.

Robyn gives me a sad smile and takes the coffee for herself, handing me a folder with today's notes. "Can I get you something else to drink instead?" she asks softly.

"No, thank you. I can only stomach water at the moment."

Robyn nods and disappears out of the room, leaving me to wander around my office, reading through everything I need to consider before my day starts. Despite it being a Garrett company through and through, there was enough of a distraction day to day for me to forget about my empty house, my new fear of getting behind the wheel of a car, and the complete lack of Jackson's presence in my world.

He'd sat in this office before I did, much to my bewilderment. He told me that I'd been considered to take Victor's place on retirement, but I just hadn't seemed like a good fit. I was too young, Jackson said as a messenger. He'd seemed as bewildered as I had. Victor had confirmed it a week or so later. I was a little green around the edges. I'd gone home boiling mad and tried to remember that Victor was always going to choose a Garrett over an outsider, despite Jackson struggling to keep above water for most of the two years he was in the role.

No matter how hard I worked, no matter how capable, I was always going to be "too young," "too green."

I was always going to be an outsider.

Well, not anymore.

I stalk back to my desk and open up my email to re-read the email from Damian I got this morning, just to get me fired up for the day. Jackson needed coffee to get through each day. I need good old-fashioned feminine rage.Sugar,

I've decided to let you stay in your job for now. We'll discuss how things are changing at the next meeting.

Speaking of, here are the changes to your schedule from now on:

-Weekly meetings and updates between you and I.

-Each morning, I am to receive a rundown of your day's activities and any meetings or adjustments.

-Each evening, I am to receive the day's financials, including anything with the company or adjacent accounts. If your personal account uses the company card, I'll need that, too.

-I am to approve hirings, firings, and new contracts.

-Any major new company projects are to be run by me first and can only go ahead on my approval.

I breathe out and press my hands against my desk, closing my eyes and focusing on breathing in and out. It eases the slight rolling in my head the smallest amount. When I open my eyes, Robyn is walking towards me, holding a bottle of electrolytes and a chilled glass of water, her face etched with concern.

"Are you sure you're okay? I can cancel the—"

"I'm fine," I say with a tight smile. "I need all this Damian stuff to go away. I'm not sleeping properly with it hanging over my head."

Robyn's smart enough to not say anything about why else I might not be sleeping properly. "You have a meeting at the new hotel location, but after that, I will make every appointment come here to you instead of you going anywhere."

"I am fine, Robyn. I will go wherever I'm needed. And those weekly meetings Damian wants… book them every other week, on varying days, starting more than a week from now."

She nods once and leaves the office quickly. I flop back into my chair and squeeze my eyes shut. Those who said grief eased with time have clearly never lost their husband after only three years of marriage.

I'd been young, sure, but I could stand up to Jackson the second I needed to. I've always had to be assertive with any member of the Garrett family, and it hadn't taken long for Jax to concede that I was independent and wasn't going to take any bullshit from him or anyone. He'd relied on it eventually, letting me take charge and choosing to sit on the sidelines. Other than fighting harder for my job.

The irritation at Victor niggles its way back into my brain, and I grab at the distraction from the grief. Why hadn't I fought back on that? Why had I sat back and let Victor force Jackson to take over a company he was ill-suited to run and terrified of? He'd been a figurehead; a pretty face hiding behind a Garrett name for appearances only.

If it hadn't been for Victor, I wouldn't be where I am now, but I'd let my gratitude cloud my concern for Jackson, and it's a mistake I'll regret.

I loved Jackson with everything I had. His sparkling eyes, his easy-going grin, his somewhat na?ve view on things, his passions. On our first date, he'd admitted that if he had the option, he'd live on a farm somewhere and grow his own food, alone in the countryside with nothing but a garden and the occasional farm animal. Chickens for eggs, a cow for milk. L.A. was an overcrowded big city and hard to switch off from, he'd said.

And it was in that big city, surrounded by traffic, a million lights firing into his synapses, so far away from the peaceful life he'd craved that he took his last breath.

There's probably a pile of Home Country magazines on my front porch. The many lemon trees he planted in our yard are probably dying. The stray kitten he'd seen on his way home from work had died two months before he did and he'd cried more than he did at his grandfather's funeral.

The world was too much for Jackson Garrett, and most people thought he was too much for them.

Not to me.

He was a figurehead, but I was always going to protect him.

But now, it's my time to shine.

I open my eyes, grab the water, set my shoulders, and get ready to win the war Damian wants to start.

The view in front of me is as breathtaking as the moment I first saw it. I'm immediately in better spirits. Especially as the architect for the latest MVM resort, Suzanne Legault, is beaming as I get out of the car.

"Glorious day, glorious spot," Suzanne says with an excited exhale. "I want to say again how thrilled we are to be able to work with MVM on this project of yours, Mrs. Garrett."

"I think once it's more than just a figment of my imagination, everyone will see that too." I study the large plot with the gorgeous view of the mountains in the distance. "It's a new direction for us, but I think it'll pay off."

"Couldn't agree more."

There had once been a little red barn directly in the middle of the boundary line for the new hotel. I plan on rebuilding it the second I'm able to. I'd studied a photo of that little red barn, the beaming bride and groom in front of it, for what felt like ages.

The only photo I had left of my parents. I'd traced Mom's smile, tried to force it on my own lips. I'd touched Dad's eyes and tried to crinkle mine the same way. Every other memory, every story, is just barely kept alive by stories from my sister. Olivia was fifteen when my parents died, I was seven. One little red barn was all that I had left, and I'm going to get it back. I'll put a garden next to it for Jackson. My little family back again in a life that never existed for all of us together.

I blink out of my daydream and turn back to Suzanne, who is unrolling the large blueprints for me to see the vision away from the sterile white walls of either of our offices.

Being here, the fresh air brushing against the edges of the paper and at my hair feels good. It's what Jackson craved. The chance to take a second away from everything to breathe deep into your soul, take the deepest exhale of your life, and let it all wash away.

This hotel, my first ever as president of MVM, is going to provide that escape people need yet don't have the time to go too far away.

As I'm studying the blueprints, matching them to the image I have in my head, I'm aware of my phone ringing.

I sigh when I see that it's Damian.

"Mr. Blake," I say curtly. "I'm not at the office. If you are requesting a meeting, please ring my office phone, not my cell."

"Did you get my email?" His voice is low and muddy, as if he's just woken up. I check the time and frown before trying to forget what he might look like, all sleep-tousled and drowsy. The direction of my thoughts is surprising. I'm not usually one for such hormonal urges, especially not in the middle of the day about a phone call. And, God, Damian Blake. No more direct calls from Damian Blake. I hurriedly push the images out of my mind.

"What email?" I lie. "Your email address must get sent to spam for all MVM accounts."

He chuckles sleepily. "The difference is, Amelia girl, I pay for a service that tells me when people read my emails."

"I'm sure you pay for a lot of services. Shall I request your financials using the company accounts?"

"Ha. So, you did get my email." He sniggers and yawns loudly through the phone. "Look, chicky, I'm just trying to protect us both."

"We don't need to protect us," I growl. "We need to protect the company. I'm not having this conversation with you now. Call my office and request a meeting."

"Fine," he says curtly. "But I thought I'd call first to talk about that plot of land you're currently visiting with the intention of breaking ground within the week, am I right?"

I don't respond.

"Per my email, you have to run new projects by me. So, I'd hold off on setting a date, sweetheart. I've got plans for that space."

The rage boils through my blood at breakneck speed. "No," I say through gritted teeth. "You might own half the company, which is all the control Victor gave you, but I am acting president, which means your demands over email are not my concern. You wouldn't let a waiter tell you what to do in the kitchen, would you, sweetcheeks? Now, run along and play, dear. Don't disturb Mommy while she works."

I hang up and storm back to Suzanne, trying to shake off the anger. "Sorry about that. Let's make a date for breaking ground."

Perfect, I think with a scowl as I walk into my office and spot a man with perfectly styled bleached hair, a dazzling presenter's smile, and a peach suit. Up from Palm Springs, by the looks of it.

"Mr. Bright," I say with a forced smile. "What brings you here?"

Douglas Bright stands up and extends his hand. I shake it firmly and am stupidly impressed that he didn't attempt to overpower my shake with his. Or, even worse, attempt to kiss it.

He follows me into the office, looking around the same way Damian did. "I thought I'd make the trip up. See if you need any—"

"I appreciate the thought, Mr. Bright, but I could have saved you the trip." I sit at the desk and smile. "Why don't I answer on behalf of MVM? No, I'm not outsourcing, resourcing, crowdsourcing, or any other type of sourcing there might be—"

"Ketchup?"

I pause in surprise before frowning and continuing. "I have no need for the president of Bright Hotels and Resorts to offer any support."

He chuckles and wanders over to me casually. "I was good friends with Jackson. I was checking to see how you were."

"If you were such good friends with my husband, why did I not see your face at his funeral?" I raise my eyebrows at him. "Or were you trying to—just like you are right this minute—work your way under his skin to claim nothing but friendliness when you try to whittle away at his resolve?"

Douglas' smile freezes on his face, and he ambles closer. "You don't have a good opinion of me, Amelia."

"Mrs. Garrett."

He clicks his tongue against his teeth and sits in the chair opposite the desk. "I apologize. Mrs. Garrett, I was otherwise engaged at the time of your husband's funeral. I believe you were aware of that."

"I was. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but you were in Cabo picking up the hotel project we dropped at the end of last year, weren't you? Or was it the winter resort we'd had our eyes on in Canada? I think I might have my dates mixed up."

Douglas chuckles. "That's business, sweetheart. Cabo's going well, though. That was your loss."

"Not nearly as well as our Cancun location we opened up instead." I glance at him impassively. "I heard about the hurricane. Hope there wasn't too much damage."

"Minor repairs, Mrs. Garrett," he says cheerfully. "Sweet of you to be concerned."

I fold my hands. "Was there something you actually needed? The locations of our next resorts? Our financials? The names of our contractors?"

"Yeah, if you have them."

I smirk and turn to my computer as the notification of the meeting with Damian comes through. Well done, Robyn. She's set the meeting for a week and a half from now. I turn back to Douglas. "Do you need me to walk you out, or do you know where the exit is? Clever boy like you should be able to figure it out."

He gives me a grin. "You know where I am, Mrs. Garrett. This is our chance to work together."

"Goodbye, Douglas."

Douglas saunters over to the door, chuckling. "I'll see you around. I'll tell you something, though… Victor made a mistake not putting you in that seat earlier. Jackson was better suited elsewhere, I'm sure you agree." He gives me a surprisingly warm smile as he stands with his hand on the door handle. "I was good friends with Jax, that wasn't a lie. It takes a certain type of person to throw a man like Jax into a job he's not ready for, purely to avoid putting a woman in power, doesn't it?"

He leaves without me saying anything, and I wilt back into my chair, the weariness overwhelming me again. He's right, though. Jax only got the job so that I wouldn't.

If Douglas Bright knows that, so does everyone else. So does Damian.

I bristle at the thought and vow to work harder.