Page 18 of Must Have Been Love

This is Tom’s fault. Or his song at least.

And okay, it’s a little bit mine too.

The only good thought is that I’m pretty sure I’ll never see Hudson Fitzgerald again after that little exhibition. Which is a good thing.

Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

six

SKYLER

Lee can’t stop laughing as I describe my latest encounter withthe man who thinks he rules the island. Which I guess is a good thing, because I expected her to be appalled. To tell me I need to get away from this place before I upset all the rest of the locals.

Instead she makes me describe his expression in full detail as I hear her tapping on her laptop.

“Hudson Fitzgerald,” she says, glee rounding her syllables. “I’ve got him. Ooh, he’s a looker.”

“He’s an asshole.”

“An asshole you practically slept with in your imagination,” she says.

“I didn’t sleep with him. I just refused to back down.”

But Lee is too busy mumbling something to her baby to hear me. Instead she lets out a sigh. “Oh god, that’s so sad.”

“What’s sad?” I ask her. “The fact I practically garroted him with his tie?”

“No, there’s all these photographs of him carrying his daughter and trying to shield her face from the paparazzi in London. God they’re assholes. I’d hate to be famous and live in that country. At least here we all drive around in cars and it’s harder for them to get a picture.” There’s a click. “Ooh, there’s an article about him. He had to fly to London last year to regain custody of his daughter.”

“Custody from who? His wife?”

“No,” Lee murmurs, and I know she’s skim reading. Another of her superpowers. “According to this article, Ayda’s mom died in a car accident shortly after she and his daughter arrived in England. And they weren’t married so it complicated things. Her parents refused to let him have his daughter back after the accident, so he had to fight them through the courts.”

My throat tightens because that is really sad. And also because I feel guilty. The man lost the mother of his child and then lost his daughter and I’ve been calling him an ass. Even if he is, I can feel some sympathy for him.

“She died in a car accident?” I ask.

“Apparently,” Lee says, sounding distracted. I can picture her trying to feed the baby while scrolling through her laptop at the same time as talking to me. She really is a superwoman. And a good girl.

The type of woman that Hudson would probably hold in high esteem. Unlike my messed up self.

“Ooh,” she says, sounding excited. “Wanna know how much his business is worth?”

“Not really,” I tell her, because I’m already feeling inadequate. But then curiosity gets the better of me. “Okay, how much?”

“Fitzgerald Enterprises is made up of a conglomerate of businesses,” Lee intones, like she’s reading off her computer. “Though the exact valuation isn’t known, estimates put the net worth of these enterprises at just over two billion dollars.”

“I bet none of it’s liquid,” I say, trying to make myself feel better.

“Maybe you should ask him what he’ll offer for the bar,” she says. “Make him pay big.”

“I’m going to head to bed,” I tell her, not wanting to think about him getting his hands on this place. “I’m exhausted.”

“Of course you are. All that salty air. Make sure you call me tomorrow.”

She hates when I don’t call. And I’m really terrible at remembering. But then I know if I don’t she’ll call me anyway.

“I’ll try,” I promise. We end the call and I stare at my phone for a moment. Then, in a fit of madness, I open up my incognito browser and type in Hudson Fitzgerald’s name.

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