Page 10 of Between Love and Loathing
Though Dominic Hardy was an asshole, he was also a genius and a brilliant artist. He didn’t ever talk about his accolades, but he didn’t have to. He was by far the most callous, grumpy, infuriating man I’d ever met but everyone respected his opinion. Even me. You couldn’t argue with perfection. His work spoke for itself, and then everyone in the world spoke for him too.
Magazine after magazine.
Award after award.
His engineering of resorts for the HEAT empire was unmatched.
I was on the side of the building and could see that it took up blocks and blocks. The traffic wasn’t moving, but under the hot California sun, I probably wasn’t going to move that quickly either. My ankles were already swollen from being on my feet so much lately and dealing with the fluid retention I had sometimes.
I sighed and hiked my dress up a bit. I’d thought cream, coral, and beige would have been a nice look. Now, I regretted grabbing a maxi dress to wear when, although light, the material billowed everywhere as I hurried along.
Dripping with sweat, I rushed into the lobby, my small Birkin swinging wildly at my side, in hopes they hadn’t moved past introductions. Of course the revolving door didn’t turn quickly enough, and I slammed into it much harder than I would have liked. Everyone’s eyes flew to me even though they were all seated facing the man of the hour.
Dominic Hardy stood tall and confident in the suit I’d become accustomed to seeing him in when he passed by my bakery. The jacket was expertly fitted, showing off his broad shoulders, the lapels framed his chest well enough to draw attention to the fact that he maintained his physique. He looked classic.
And also annoyed.
His green eyes narrowed on me, and I saw his jaw tick under the five-o'clock shadow that added just a bit of ruggedness. My body betrayed me as I stood there and tried not to drool or get weak in the knees.
“Well”—his voice carried through the lobby, deep and in command—“Nice of you to join us, Ms. Milton.”
Now he noticed me? Great. I hurried over to the seat that Paloma saved for me and sat down, grumbling a sorry.
“Let’s hope there won’t be any apologies from you all on the day our restaurants, stores, or bakeries open.” The shot was warranted. So, I nodded without looking up, hoping that a hole might just appear in the ground for me to crawl into.
Thankfully, he moved on. “Keep in mind, coordinating restaurant hours with one another is ideal. Ms. Milton, please work with your staff and Rita to confirm that your menu and hours will complement the other restaurants. We have seventy-five floors of rooms booked in advance with guests, and I want all five of my restaurants available to them. Our beach strip has the go-ahead to open as soon as you’re ready, hopefully in the next month.”
Paloma nudged my arm excitedly.
Someone raised their hand, but Dominic glared at him, and the hand snapped back down quickly. “I’m not taking questions right now. We’re going to have you tour the hotel, and after, all questions will be fielded by Rita.”
It was 3:03 p.m. and already he was turning on his heel for us to follow him. Casual chat, praise, giving out attaboy high fives after a hard day’s work—none of that was his strong suit. Even if seating had been arranged like we were going to be there for a long speech, everyone got up to flock after him like the sheep that we were.
As we all stood, I blinked and stumbled along as Paloma hooked an arm in mine. I guess that was it. No formal introductions were happening. No “let’s all work together.” No pep talk even. “We’re not going to mingle or …?”
Paloma didn’t seem to mind. She bounced up and down by me like a child who’d just been given access to a candy shop. Her hair swayed with the movement, showing off the shine. It was cut razor sharp and black right above her shoulders, making her appear as lethal as a cute five-foot-nothing woman could. “We mostly all know each other. You’re the one hiding out in that bakery of yours. Anyway, we’ll meet everyone tonight on the beach. Supposedly it’s catered. You think it’s Valentino’s food? I’d die if that guy cooked for me, for real.” Valentino was an attractive man. But Paloma wasn’t done. “Or you think Dominic Hardy will stay and hang out with us?”
She said his name like he was a deity. To her, he probably was. He was co-chairman of the board, along with his brothers, and most people looked at the Hardys as a celebrity family. When they’d bought into my stepfather’s empire at just the right time, they turned the brand around quickly and made it their own. Dominic specifically was the mastermind behind most of the large resorts’ architecture and was said to be ruthless in his pursuit of design excellence. To most, being in his presence was an honor.
To me, well, he was truly the one person in the world I despised.
“Don’t make that face, Clara.” She laughed. “We get it, you’ve been around the man and his brothers for years.”
“Not me. My stepdad. Dominic and I don’t know each other well at all.” And we didn’t get along in the least, either. Dominic Hardy hadn't even texted me after the first meeting we had in LA to say anything nice like "Did you find a good place to live?” or “How do you like LA?” Actually, he’d probably been hoping my plane went down in a fiery wreck so he didn’t have to ever speak to me again. And then he’d happily get to nix my atrocious bakery from his blueprints.
Rita droned on in front of us about the five hundred thousand square feet of elegance Dominic designed, how the high lobby ceilings complemented one of the largest chandeliers in the country hanging above us made of all Tiffany crystal, how the east entrance walkway provided a skywalk and breathtaking views. We walked over the lazy river that wove through one restaurant’s patio with foliage and skylights. I appreciated how they would open up to provide an outdoor feel. Following the lazy river past the restaurant, we arrived at the waterpark on the west end that even featured a wave pool.
Every aspect of the resort had been well thought out, and as people oohed and aahed, I glanced back behind all of us to where Dominic lingered. No smile. No outward display of pride in all he’d accomplished. His eyes scanned the perimeter as if he was looking for defects.
When we circled around to the lobby area and hooked a right to see my bakery, the small smile I’d had in anticipation of showing off my space dropped away like someone had smacked it off me. That’s how it felt.
They’d ripped apart my designs time and time again over the last six months. Black and white was everywhere. The pink seating had been my last hope, the one concession I’d thought I’d been granted. And I’d grasped onto it, held it like a lifeline, and in many ways, it was the one small thing keeping me from throwing my hands up and walking away.
But black leather lined my booths and barstools. “Oh, fuck. Clara,” Paloma breathed, sliding her hand into mine like she could take away my pain, “I’m sorry, babe.”
Rita’s lips spread across her too-white teeth as she announced, “Clara’s bakery is coming along perfectly.” She was essentially waving a damn red flag in front of me, hoping I acted like a bull. She started to drone on about the granite countertops, white and beautiful, the exposed piping that was all black.
“Is it bad that I hate her and this whole resort?” I grumbled only to Paloma, because I couldn’t hold in my anger anymore. “It’s like a sterile hospital with no life.”
