Chapter 6

Damian

My entire kitchen staff is gobsmacked by my accusation. "Food poisoning?" Campbell says, his voice rising several octaves. "Here? Absolutely not. Not in my kitchen. Every meat purchase is stored at the correct temperature from reputable sources with E. coli security checks. We prepare everything to well above health code standards, and we've never once had a food poisoning accusation until now."

I furrow my brow. He's right. I've been a stickler for food safety since the very start. There's no way that only one person got food poisoning when we were booked out that night Amelia was here.

Gabby lifts her chin. "My bet? Either this so-called case of food poisoning is actually just being a little too heavy-handed with the bottle."

"Or they were allergic to something and didn't tell us," Kelly says helpfully. She'll always assume the best about people, which is why she's a pleasure to be around. Gabby's the opposite. Unless she's standing out in my restaurant, Gabby could accuse a potato of being a rock and win.

I nod once and dismiss everyone. "Don't stress about it. I'll figure out what is going on. Back to work, everyone."

I head back out to the main floor and wander around the room. Whatever happened with Amelia the next day had nothing to do with me. I can almost guarantee it. I have searched my cool rooms to check for mold, I have read disease outbreak reports till my eyes were forced shut, I've questioned our suppliers, our patrons, those in charge of the wine… not a hint. Even when we went back to my house, nothing I'd done could have made her vomit twelve hours later.

Amelia didn't even drink that much. She made it seem like she had, but we'd only shared one bottle between us, and I had tilted the percentages in my favor to avoid her getting too drunk. I'd assumed she was a messy drunk, but knowing that she's a horny drunk, maybe I would have given her more.

Her moans still ring in my ear. Her face is loose and relaxed with pleasure as she jumps over the edge to an orgasm. Her gorgeous thighs around my ears. How tight she felt around me.

I brace myself on the table we'd sat at and have the sudden need to readjust the front of my pants. I want her back in my bed, as soon as possible. She's in my fucking dreams. Every night. I've never craved a woman so desperately. Did not know she had any feelings for me.

The sound of the front door shutting brings me out of my thoughts, and I frown as Alicia Grant storms through the restaurant, her jaw clenched in anger.

Uh oh. I know that look. I'm about to get slapped.

She gets within reach and, sure enough, there's a stinging slap to my cheek. I should be used to these by now.

"Hello, Alicia. You're looking lovely."

"I'm telling the press you gave me chlamydia," she hisses before spinning on her heel and thundering back out.

"Sounds fair," I mutter.

Gabby materializes next to me. "The pretty ones hit the hardest."

"Tell me about it." I rub my cheek. "Although, I don't even know what I did this time."

Gabby raises her eyebrows and gets to work setting up the tables near me. "What do you mean? You slept with her sister and her mother."

"At the same time?"

She doesn't justify that with a response.

"Wait, who is Alicia's mother?" I follow Gabby, straightening up the cutlery on the tables as I go. "Did I really sleep with her?"

"Elena Jenkins."

"Elena Jenkins is Alicia Grant's mother? Holy shit. Yikes. I didn't know that."

"Evidently. You're also gross and a pig."

"And your boss. I'll fire you."

"You wouldn't dare," Gabby says flatly. "I am too good at being your lackey. You should promote me to being your wingman. I'd probably enjoy the benefits more."

I chuckle and sit at the bar, watching as the room starts to sizzle with energy in preparation for another booked-out night. Noises in the kitchen get louder, glasses clink as the barman gets ready, the soft music blinks to life over the speakers, and the squeaks of waiters' shoes sound on the tiles.

It's one of the only places I feel at home. There's peace in knowing where everything goes and what's supposed to happen. There's peace in the chaos too. The doors will open, and the first string of patrons will flow through. There will be chatter, laughter, occasionally some tears. We have proposals and first dates and last dates.

People get drunk, people get laid, people get heartbroken. The circle of life. And it all starts here.

I've met every one of my ex-wives here. And the one that never made it down the aisle, too. Vanessa Duncan. An absolutely adorable sprinkling of freckles across her nose, a spot just behind her ear that would make her wet for me without me having to do anything, and the ability to let anyone who noticed the adorable sprinkling of freckles know about the spot just behind her ear. Found her on her knees with Victor's best friend's dick in her mouth. I'd dumped her, punched him, and was kicked out of the fucking family for it the second the coward ran to Victor. That"s the real story of what happened with Victor four years ago. Nobody other than Victor knows. The family thinks it was because I did something. I"m past caring.

The door opens again, and I brace myself for another woman to come in and slap me, but it's just my mother. She hasn't slapped me before, so I doubt she'll start now.

"Mom," I say with a small smile, getting up from my chair.

"Hello, darling boy. I come with good news."

I frown at her and gesture her to sit at a table. She places her bag delicately on the table and beams.

"Amelia Garrett. Eleanor let it slip the other day that Amelia can't go home since Jackson's death. Terrified."

"I thought you said good news."

"I'm getting to it." She reaches into her bag and pulls out an envelope. "I've found proof that Jackson only had the place on loan from Victor. With Victor and Jackson's deaths, the house is not Amelia's."

I gesture with my hand. "Get to the point, Mom."

"Claim the house as part of your share of the inheritance. It gives you an advantage in assets. That's the angle Amelia is trying to take. You don't have the assets, she does. Eleanor does. It's why Eleanor can't leave her mansion because otherwise, she gives up everything Andrew worked for, but I don't think Amelia knows that. If she doesn't live in that house, another Garrett has to. My dad was a crafty, untrusting old man. He didn't like outsiders. By corralling Eleanor and Amelia into one house, we're honoring Victor's wishes by putting a Garrett back in control. According to this document, she has a month left of not living in it to be considered fair game." She leans over the table and takes my arm firmly. "Put your house on the market. You're the only one not in a MVM property already."

"Brooke's not." It's a tactic to get her off my back. I'm not sure I would even want to be in a MVM property. They've done nothing for me so far. Why would I want that to change? I know better than to tell Mom that, though, so bringing her attention to either of my sisters is my usual go-to. It works.

"Brooke married a military guy," Mom grumbles. "Against my wishes. You know that. She doesn't live anywhere." She slumps back in her seat. "You know she said she's going to go wherever Gavin goes. She needs to be thinking about settling down. This is her second marriage. If she doesn't start having kids soon, she's going to run out of time."

I give her a vague smile. "Maybe she doesn't want to have kids. You think of that?"

"Don't insult me, Damian. I did not put all three of you on this earth to be childless. At least your older sister has done her bit, although she's old now. Anything from you yet? Really, Damian. You're in your forties now. The least you could have done from any of your disappointing, ill-suited marriages was give me at least one grandchild."

"Unfortunately, all my disappointing, ill-suited marriages ended before the birth control did. And what a relief that is." I lean over the table and kiss Mom on the cheek. "I will let you know if I am expecting a child any time soon, but I would advise you to not hold your breath." I walk towards the kitchen before calling back over my shoulder. "And don't read any tabloids! It's all wrong!"

"You continue to disappoint me, Damian Garrett!"

I wave a hand at her over my shoulder, leaving her to her own scheming.

I unintentionally arrive late to the ceremony. As I approach the scene, I stifle a smirk. Amelia is stabbing a shovel into the ground. It's a weak attempt at showing the public that we do this work ourselves.

The ceremonial shovel is lying abandoned by the time I reach the crowd, and Amelia is answering questions in front of a series of reporters. I notice Rachel is there again, but not a part of the fray. Rachel had made the most logical sense to add to my growing list of ex-wives. She'd come to review the restaurant, wore me down with her dead stare and sharp tongue, and I'd eaten her out in the restaurant's office. She'd left just after, leaving me panting for her and sexually frustrated. Her review of the restaurant was scathing, and her personal review of my oral skills had been even worse.

But she came back. And she kept coming back until even I was surprised when she accepted my proposal. She was like me; kicked out of a rich family by the crusty old patriarch. My family is hotel-rich, but her family is other-rich. So rich they don't even have a term for it. While Rachel got kicked out because of her whistleblowing on a lot of the shady dealings behind her family's doors, all I had to do was punch a guy.

I wander over to her. "You're not recording this?"

"No," she murmurs. "Just observing."

Uh oh. That can't be good. An investigative journalist just observing? I try to look at what scent she might be following, but whatever it is, she's following information she's picked up elsewhere.

She gives me a calm smile as a reporter raises his hand. Amelia calls on him by name, so she's seen him before.

"Mrs. Garrett, we've heard rumors that this site was once a sacred burial ground for the local Native American tribe. I assume the bones will be exhumed and transported, or have you been in discussion with any tribal leaders about the possession of the land?"

My mouth drops open. So that's the scent. Big scent. Fucking big scent. It's clear Amelia hasn't heard a single word of this. She freezes and glances briefly to a man in a suit standing off to the side, but he looks just as bewildered. "I'm… uh… can you repeat the question?"

"It wasn't that hard of a question, Mrs. Garrett. Are you in talks with the local tribe chiefs to safely relocate the bodies buried here?"

Amelia clears her throat. "There have been no indications in our ecological surveys to suggest that this land was already in use by Native—"

"Come on, Mrs. Garrett," another reporter says in disdain. "You can't expect us to believe that. It's like this project was rushed, and several important steps missed out."

Another reporter raises his hand. "If you were planning on building this without tribal approval, does this confirm the story from twenty… uh, fourteen about the MVM Everglade Resort in Thailand that was continued despite adamant suggestion it was on sacred land to the locals?"

Amelia breathes out heavily, forcing a smile. "I can assure you, that was not my intention. I will be in discussion with tribal leaders, archeologists, and people from my team about what we can do next in the situation."

"Do you think Victor left this plot blank for a reason, despite having it in his possession for the last five years? Maybe rushing a resort your first time on the job isn't the best idea, sweetheart."

I frown and sweep past them to join Amelia in front of the crowd. "I promise, we're working as best we can to get the best product for everyone involved. Mrs. Garrett and I are working together on all future acquisitions, and we're committed to making sure MVM succeeds into the future generations, which includes making sure that we take into account problems and issues that will arise." I smile briefly. "No questions. We'll release a statement when we have a better idea of what our next movements are. I promise that all work will stop on this site until we have a clear contract for any future construction. Thank you."

I place my hand on the small of Amelia's back and lead her back towards the car.

She leans into me, and I think it's in gratitude until she talks through a gritted smile. "Take your fucking hand off me," she spits. "Or you'd better pray to God that you can withstand the pain that I will inflict as I skin you alive and turn it into my new fucking office chair."

"Christ, that's graphic." I drop my hand quickly. "I w—"

"Get in the car," she hisses, climbing in first.

I diligently follow. I'm terrified she might actually be serious about turning me into her office chair.