Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Skylar

The glare on my windshield made me squint. Too bad I didn't have my sunglasses—and not only because they'd shade my eyes. I wanted to hide .

It had been three weeks since I'd left my boyfriend and two since I'd been out of my parents' vacation house in the Ozarks at all.

But I couldn't tell Dad that when he called to check in. If he knew the truth—even a fraction of it—he'd come charging in and take over my life.

I didn't want that. Not ever again.

So I told Dad I was fine. Great, even. So great I could check in on his investments while I was here. As predicted, Dad had jumped at the chance to get me more involved in his business.

I flipped down the sun visor and continued driving through the quiet streets of Swallow Cove. Most folks around here traveled by boat, so there was plenty of parking. I swung into an empty spot in front of The Rusty Hook.

It wouldn't open for another hour. I could have a quick look around and give Dad an update without hassling anyone trying to do their job. Once he saw I was functioning and not hibernating, he'd back off.

And I could go back to licking my wounds.

Because, okay, I had a few. I wasn't in total denial.

I climbed out of the car, and the slick silky fabric of my underwear shifted on my hip. A reminder that I was my own man. That I was strong.

Blaize hates lingerie on me.

The thought snuck in, making my chest tighten. I took a breath and forced it away.

I didn't dress for him anymore. I dressed for me.

He no longer had a say in my choices.

I pulled out the set of keys Dad kept at our house, each carefully labeled, and tried to ignore the way they jingled in my shaking hand as I unlocked the front door.

I'd left my boyfriend weeks ago, and thoughts of him still rattled me far too much.

I slipped inside and slumped against the door. Why was it so hard to simply leave the house? I'd never been a social butterfly, but this was ridiculous. It made no sense. Blaize had been an asshole, yes. He'd been too controlling. But the one time he'd put his hands on me in anger, splitting my lip, was the last time he ever got to touch me.

I was almost glad it happened. Because it gave me the wake-up call I'd needed to pack my bags and leave.

Yet here I was, nervous and jumpy and wanting nothing more than to climb back into bed and cuddle with my cat, Freddy. He was the only male I trusted these days—and I included myself in that list.

The pub was blessedly quiet. I wandered between tables made from wooden barrels, ducking lanterns suspended from the ceiling. Boat oars and fishing rods decorated the walls, giving the place a certain lakeside charm.

It was better lit inside than I'd expected, with wide windows on one wall showcasing the lake just behind it. I crossed the room to gaze out at the view. It was beautiful here. Peaceful before all the partiers got out on the lake. There were boats already out there, of course. The anglers headed out early. A few family cruises too. But not so many that the lake was awash in noise just yet.

I soaked in the peace, finally settling in my skin. Maybe leaving the house wasn't so bad.

"Who the hell are you?"

A deep voice boomed across the room, making me startle.

I gasped and spun around, my hand pressed over my racing heart.

A man emerged from behind the bar. He pulled a shirt over his head of dark brown hair— wet hair—as he stalked toward me. Had he come in from the lake?

He tugged the hem down, covering a scarily broad chest, and crossed his arms, biceps bulging.

I swallowed hard and took a step back.

This man was well over six feet tall, stacked with muscle, and could break me in half. His expression was none too friendly either, a scowl fixed on what would otherwise be a handsome face.

"We're not open."

"I know."

"Freaking tourists," he muttered. "Look, leave now, and I won't report you for breaking and entering."

"What?" I yelped. "I didn't break in."

"So, how do you explain being in here? I know I locked up last night."

He took a step toward me, and I stumbled back, keeping a good six feet between us. He stilled, cocking his head.

"I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding," he said, his tone a little gentler. "Right?"

Then he took a big step back. Giving me space.

Could he see me shaking? I didn't want him to know how much he unnerved me.

I drew a breath and straightened my shoulders. Lace pressed into my shoulder blades. Its presence, my tiny rebellion, calmed me.

At last, I found the words to explain.

"I have a key. My family owns this place."

"You're an Addison."

His tone had gone flat, but it was better than the pity that had leaked into it when he sensed my fear. And far better than the anger that had come through when he first discovered me.

"I'm Skylar Addison, yes." My voice was steady, and my next words came easier. "I was just stopping by to check on our investment property."

"I see."

"I thought coming by before the pub was open would be less disruptive…"

He snorted. "What? Don't want to see your cash cow at work?"

"Um."

"Stupid question. Why would you want to understand how we operate, or take input from the people who actually work here, right? I'm the bar manager, but I bet you don't even know my name."

"No, I'm sorry. What is it?"

He paused, looking thrown. "It's Brooks, but that's not the point."

His name was nice. Calming. Like the water outdoors. Though Brooks himself struck me more like the rapids, all choppy currents.

It should frighten me, but…

He took a step back to put me at ease. He can't be so bad.

Not that I could trust my judgment. I'd lost that right.

"Are you listening?" he asked.

"Yeah, sorry. Go on."

"The point is that all you care about are your nice fat profits. We do all the work, and you rake in the rewards. It must be nice to be an Addison."

"It's not like that."

"Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

I was privileged, yes. I knew that. But for some reason, I couldn't leave with Brooks thinking I was shallow and greedy. There was so much conviction in his voice that he'd half convinced me, and I was the guy he was railing against.

I took a step forward, blurting, "We're not worried about profits. We want to invest more. We could expand, even."

It wasn't remotely true, but I thought it would make Brooks happier. I'd have to come up with a good reason to convince my father, but that was a problem for future Skylar. That Skylar could stand up to his dad, even though it had never happened yet.

That Skylar wasn't afraid to leave the house either.

Damn, I really wanted to be that Skylar.

Brooks scowled harder. "You've got to be shitting me. That's the last thing I need."

"Well, it's not a sure thing," I backtracked. "You would know best."

He raised his eyebrow. "You got that right."

"My father wanted me to come by," I admitted. "If I could just have a quick look around—"

The back door banged open, and two voices drifted in.

"Hey, Brooks, are we doing the trout special tonight or the surf n turf?" a female voice called.

"Shit." Brooks raked a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that made it look even better. Damn, the man was gorgeous. Now that he wasn't glowering at me, I could appreciate nature's work. "I'll be right there, Vera! Give me a minute."

He turned back to me, but my dismissal was written all over his face. "I don't have time for this. I've got to get the pub ready to open. I can't stop you from looking around, but stay out of the back. There's nothing but storage, and I don't need you messing up my system back there."

"I won't get in your way," I promised.

He gave me a once-over, and not the sexy kind. More like he was judging my worth, and I came up short.

"Too late."

He headed for the kitchen, and I circled the room. I stepped behind the bar, tentatively taking stock of the boxes of liquor and kegs of beer. It looked clean and organized, but what did I know about running a pub? Maybe Brooks was right to be so disgruntled that I'd show up and pass some kind of verdict on the place.

He managed this business, not me. He should be the one reporting to Dad. Not that I imagined he would relish that either.

There was a door behind the bar, which must have been where Brooks entered while I was gawking out the window. But was it the office or the storage room Brooks wanted me to avoid?

I'd just take a peek.

I put my hand on the door handle, turning it.

"Hey." Brook's sharp tone made me freeze. "Didn't I say to stay out of the back?"

"Sorry!" I backed away, my heart racing. "I-I was just checking. I wouldn't have gone in."

"There's nothing there for you to see," he said, coming closer. His scowl had grown fierce. "And I don't have time to fucking babysit you while I'm trying to work."

"That's okay. I've seen more than enough."

I fled toward the nearest exit from the bar, the one he wasn't blocking.

"Wait, Skylar—"

I weaved between tables, walking faster, banging my hip into a chair in my rush to get away.

"Shit," Brooks cursed.

I reached the front door and shoved it open, gulping a deep breath of fresh air as I stepped outside. Squinting once more.

And far too visible to Brooks, who followed me outside.

"Skylar, hold up. I didn't mean to be an asshole."

I didn't want him to see me fall apart over a gentle reprimand. I carried on down the steps, not looking back.

"I'm fine." My voice was thin and strained. "I just have to go."

"Okay." He sounded uncertain. "Well, come back whenever you want. I'll try not to be such a dick. I'm just stressed today."

I reached my car and opened the door. As I slipped into the driver's seat, I caught his gaze, full of worry. But for me or for him?

Brooks had just run off the owner's son. Maybe he thought I'd rat him out to my dad. I had no desire to get my father involved in Brooks's business.

Not even whatever was going on in that back room. Because one thing was for sure. No one was that protective of a storage space.