Page 59 of The Paradise Problem

West swallows and then nods. “Good.”

“What about you?” I ask. “If everything goes the way you want this week, will you ever see them again?”

“Occasionally,” he says. “But not regularly.”

“Not even Jake and Charlie?”

He shrugs a muscly shoulder. “I’ll see them, sure. My parents and Alex… no.”

I study him, trying to piece out what sent West running for the hills after his internship.

“Trying to read my mind?” he asks after a few moments of silence, lifting one side of his mouth in a smile. “Just ask.”

Just ask. The two sexiest words ever spoken by an unreadable man.

“You said your dad did something shitty about ten years ago.” West nods, his expression turning guarded. “And then you had an internship that cemented that you did not want to come work for the company.” He nods again. “Will you tell me more about what happened between you two?”

His brows flicker down as he turns to look out at the water, and I take the opportunity to memorize his profile again. This damaged, hot man. Maybe Vivi is right and sex is the answer for everything.

But when he turns back, his eyes seem so troubled that all sexy thoughts evaporate. “He was a really shitty dad. That much is probably obvious. There are a million stories, of course. Him kicking Lego sets we’d painstakingly built because we did it in the hallway in front of his office. Alex wet the bed until he was maybe thirteen or fourteen, and Dad would make him hang his wet sheets outside in front of the house because he thought the shame would fix it. Jake broke his ankle during a soccer match and Dad made him walk through the gravel parking lot to the car because he’d let a goal pass and they’d lost the match.”

“Jesus,” I whisper, finally adding, “And you?”

He shakes his head. “I have plenty of personal grievances, and those alone justify staying far away. But the reason I’m not coming back to work for him isn’t one of them. I don’t like the way my father runs the business. It isn’t one thing; it’s a million things every day. But here’s an example: One of my responsibilities during my internship was to manage the facilities at headquarters in Irvine. Shift schedules for the hourly workers, maintenance, deliveries, et cetera.” Absently, he reaches forward, toying with the tie of my bikini that hangs over one shoulder. And I’m trying to pay attention, but his hands are so warm and the fact that he’s grounding himself with his fingers on me? That feels… incredible.

“There was a manager at the loading dock,” he continues, “a guy named César, who’d been with the company for thirty-five years. He was great. Funny, kind, sort of like everyone’s grandpa, and he knew the delivery system inside and out. He needed a schedule change in order to take the bus to work.” West’s thumb strokes down my shoulder and he watches the movement, lost in thought. “His car had broken down, and he had to walk his grandkids to school and asked for a different shift so he could catch the bus. It was one of those simple requests that turned complicated for reasons that aren’t interesting, but Dad overheard me discussing the schedule options with my assistant and blew his lid because I was wasting my time on something so menial. His solution was to tell César to get his car fixed and figure it out or find another job.”

A breath escapes my lips, and I put my hand over his on my shoulder. “Wow.”

“This man was one of his first hires, and he’s telling him to find another job because we aren’t paying him enough to get his car fixed? Because we can’t move a few things around? Dad wouldn’t ever bother himself with something like that if he hadn’t walked in on me talking it out.”

“Right,” I say quietly.

“It was such a crystallizing moment,” West continues, “because it’s so clear to me that it’s the people who make the company great, but Dad thinks everything that matters is at the top. Without César, that entire department wouldn’t be what it is, the loading dock would be a disorganized mess, and shipments to stores would be disrupted. Moving his shift would prevent all of that.” West shakes his head. “Everything about a good business starts at the bottom. Anyway, that divergence in our philosophies combined with everything Dad and I had been through when I was in college… I didn’t want to stay at Weston’s anymore. But I was inspired to find out whether and how corporate culture can be changed. It’s why I decided to pursue my PhD and what ultimately sent me and my dad into estrangement.”

“It takes a lot of bravery to walk away from the security of an executive position when you’re only, what? Twenty-six?”

He exhales a sharp laugh through his nose. “Nothing about interacting with my dad ever makes me feel brave. It makes me feel placating and restrained and disgusted with myself.”

“I don’t see it that way,” I tell him. “Whatever this loophole is, it’s important enough to you to come here and do what you have to do.”

West meets my eyes, and his gaze clears and then softens. “Yeah.” His attention dips to my lips. “Thank you for reminding me.”

I take a step closer, moving into his space, and I realize the moment he registers he’d been touching me. His eyes go a little wide, and he gently moves his hand from under mine. “The only answer here is to avoid him for the rest of the trip.”

His lips curl in a surprised smile. “Oh yeah? How should I manage that?”

I think it’s because he’s shirtless and sweaty, or maybe it’s because I left my dignity along with my boob prints all over him this morning, but the words bubble right up and out of me: “We could make out the whole time.”

Coughing, West squints out to the side, farther down the row of bungalows. “You might be onto something. Jake confirmed that Alex thinks we’re full of shit.”

“That’s probably because we are full of shit.”

“Well, if he gets wind of what my dad told Forbes, he’ll figure out a way to prove it.”

I angle my eyes over his shoulder and speak of the devil. There, down the beach, is Alex. He’s too far to hear anything we’re saying, but he’s just standing there, looking up at us, watching us interact like tentative strangers having one of their first vulnerable conversations.

There’s something in Alex’s posture, some gotcha! that makes me deeply uneasy.

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