Page 79 of Beautiful Desire
“You ladies thirsty?” he drawls while slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me into him. Pressing a kiss to my lips, he asks just for me to hear, “Like what you see?”
Breathing out a small chuckle, I say, “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“You ready?”
“Yeah, let me grab my bag.”
This afternoon, Fletcher texted me that he’s taking me somewhere once he gets off work. I have no clue what it is, and the curiosity is killing me. Climbing behind the wheel in my car, because I refuse to ride in that Porsche of his—love him, donotlove that car—he drives us to our favorite trail. He pops the trunk, handing me my skates before grabbing his own.
“When did you put these in here?”
“This morning. Knew you wouldn’t let me take my car, so I snuck them in before you left for work.”
“Smart man,” I muse with a chuckle. As he slips off his loafer, my brow furrows. “You’re going to rollerblade in a suit?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“Maybe because it’s expensive as hell?” I snort, kicking my shoes off and tossing them in the trunk.
Flashing me a toothy grin that makes my stomach do a flip, Fletcher says, “Eh, so what? Not like I can’t afford another one.”
I roll my eyes, biting back the smile trying to come through. Since getting his trust fund back and opening the Blossom Beach location, Fletcher’s been smart with his money, for the most part, but that doesn’t stop him from pretending like he’s going to drop a ton of cash on something frivolous.
After he slings a backpack over his shoulder, we set off. It’s a beautiful evening, the air warm, but not uncomfortably so, and while the sun is still bright in the sky, it doesn’t beat down on us, thanks to the trees covering the trail. With the remodel and getting his office up and running, we haven’t had very much time to rollerblade together the last few months, which sucks, but I get it. Fletcher’s been working so hard, and it’s finally starting to pay off.
Finding our favorite spot in front of the water, we kick off the skates and Fletcher pulls a blanket from his backpack, laying it on the ground for us to sit on. Then he pulls out two tiny bottles of champagne, handing one to me.
“What are these for?” I ask, my mouth curving into a grin.
“You’re about to find out, Peach.” He waggles his eyebrows in a way that makes me wonder if he’s about to try to fuck me in this park.Wouldn’t put it past him.Reaching into the backpack again, he pulls out a white envelope and hands it to me.
My pulse kicks up as I take it from him. “What’s this?”
Breathing out a small chuckle, he says, “Stop asking so many questions, woman! Why don’t you open it and see for yourself.”
Butterflies flutter around my stomach as I glance at the unmarked envelope in my hand. It’s sealed shut, and I have no idea what could be inside. My heart is in my throat as I tear it open. Peeking inside, my head snaps up, the air sucked from my lungs.
“Fletcher, no.” I shake my head, shoving the envelope and the check inside into his chest. “I can’t take that from you. What’s that even for? I don’t need it. Do you think I’m struggling?”
Chuckling, he offers it to me again. “Would you calm down and really take a look at it before assuming the worst.”
“No.” My head feels dizzy, and my skin tingles. “I don’t need to look at it again to know I cannot accept that from you.”
Not bothering to hide his smirk, Fletcher pulls out the check and turns it around for me to see. “Look at the name in the corner,” he murmurs. “It’s not from me.”
Pressure builds behind my eyes, and before I even look, I somehow already know what it’s going to say. My hands are trembling, and I bite down on my molars as I do what he says. Allowing myself to really look at it this time, I forget how to breathe as I do. A cashier’s check made out to me in the amount of fifty-three thousand dollars, and the account holder…Timothy Kelly.
Timmy.The blood drains from my face, body turning ice cold.
Fletcher, the man I love, is holding a check, for me, from my ex-boyfriend. The man I once loved, the man who broke my heart and screwed me over.
“Why do you… Where did you…” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “How do you have this, Fletcher?” Eyes stinging, I blink, but before I can stop it, they fill up to the brim with moisture before spilling over and cascading down my cheeks. I'm so confused; none of this makes sense.
Fletcher smiles and reaches over, wiping the tears away with his thumb. “When I was in Charleston for graduation, I asked Reese for some help finding him.”
My heart drops. “What did you do?”
“Not what I wanted to do.” He snorts. “After we found out where he was, Reese did his attorney thing and basically threatened to sue the guy—legally, or at least, mostly—if he didn’t pay you back everything he stole from you, plus a little extra for”—using air quotes, Fletcher says—“emotional distress compensation.” Handing me the check, I finally take it. “I know this isn’t the full amount, but it’s a start. Lucky for you, he’s grown a pretty hefty 401k and savings account since skipping town. With a little guidance from Reese, he emptied the latter and took out a loan against the former, and every six months, he’s to deposit money into an account I set up for you, that only you will have access to, until the amount discussed is paid in full. I have the log-in information now, but once you change the password, I will no longer have access.”
