Three Years Ago
Based on the sound of a voice at the end of the hall, it seems my sneaking suspicion that my secretary wasn’t heeding the shelter-in-place requirement mandated last week and is still coming to the office was correct. I hear her excited chatter the second I step off the elevator on the twenty fifth floor of my office building in Lower Manhattan and shake my head at the sound.
She’s speaking into the telephone at her desk when I stop in front of her, giving her my best ‘just what do you think you’re doing’ scowl.
“Teresa, you’re not supposed to be here,” I tease, knowing this place wouldn’t run without her.
“Um, I don’t—” Whatever she was saying dies on her tongue as she looks up at me. “Sir, is the Long Caye house vacant at the moment?”
I furrow my brow in confusion. Why would she ask me that? She would know better than me, but who would be asking to stay there right now?
“Who’s asking? No one is traveling right now.” The pandemic is surging around the world, and not only are businesses closing, but the borders are shutting down.
Teresa places a hand over the receiver and hits me withwords I long ago gave up on hearing, “It’s your wife, sir.” Shock has me rocking back on my heels. My heart stops and restarts again. The feeling is foreign in my chest. Anticipation thrums in my blood. I haven’t seen her in years. Haven’t spoken to her in almost as long. I used to call—in those early months and years after she left—but she never once returned a call.
Holding my hand out for the phone, I steady my breathing as I bring it to my ear. “Taylor. Five years of silence and you call my secretary?” The curtness in my tone has Teresa giving me a pointed look to tone it down. She knows how long I’ve waited for this call, but I’m not a puppy that my wife can string on a leash anymore. Desire, heartbreak, and anger swirl inside of me.
All emotions only Taylor Baker can pull out of me.
“I need the house on Long Caye for a month for a client who is stranded in the country. Teresa would arrange it anyway, so I didn’t see the point in involving you.” Taylor responds, false bravado and all. She may think she sounds like a no-nonsense businesswoman making a deal with the devil, but when the devil knows your tells, you can’t hide anything. It also reminds me of how weak I still am where she’s concerned because for a moment, I thought Taylor was callingfor me. No, she’s only calling because she needs somethingfrom me. After years of waiting for her to come around—to come back to me—it’s like she’s taken a knife to my barely healed heart and cut it open for a second round.
“You didn’t see the point in involving me—the person who owns the house you’re asking to borrow.”
She takes a deep breath, and I can picture her readjusting her position in a chair, squaring her shoulders and preparing for a fight. We always were fire and ice. With a sugary sweetness aimed to lure in her prey, she says, “You seem to forget, technically, half of that house is mine.”
Knowing it was coming does nothing to the blow it delivers. She may be my wife on paper, but that paper is old and tattered now.
“Who’s the client?”
“I can’t divulge that information.”
“Cut the shit. You called asking me for a favor, for my house—one you haven’t stepped foot in sincethattrip— so I want to know who will be staying there before I entertain this idea of yours.”
Bringing up our wedding trip is a dick move but the hurt I feel at her trying to claim the island house that’s been in my family for decades taints the good memories I have of the place. Even when it all fell apart, we promised Long Caye would remain free of the carnage.
She breathes out a sigh, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. My best friend, Ivory, is the client,” she says, like I wouldn’t remember her closest friend is Ivory Crenshaw, also known as Hollywood’s Sweetheart. “I talked her into going to Belize to get away for a while. She’s been staying at the Mayan Escape but they’re closing down, and she needs a place to go. Her flights keep getting cancelled, and I can’t help but feel like she wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me. Trust me, this is not the phone call I wanted to make but you’re my last resort.”
I know they’re closing because The Mayan Escape is one of my resorts. I launched my hospitality company fresh on the heels of my baseball career ending and marriage imploding. Since then, I’ve grown Stella Holdings to an international conglomerate in hospitality and mixed-use sports complexes. Taylor wouldn’t know that, though. She only knows the Davenport name. I didn’t open any hotels or resorts under that name. Instead, each property had its own distinct name and fell under the larger hospitality umbrella of Stella Holdings.
“Is she alone?” I ask, already knowing the answer. My staff at the hotel told me there were only two people on the premises and we can’t justify the expense of keeping the resort operational, especially with the uncertainty ahead. The irony of one of those people being Taylor’s best friend from college feels like kismet.
“She met a man there. They didn’t travel together but now they’re stranded together. He’s also looking for a place to stay and having the same luck, I think. You actually may know him—Preston Fields.”
Of course I know him. Preston Fields is a veteran second baseman for the Tampa Tides. He’s well-known and well-liked in the league. He has a reputation in the league as the golden boy and a rule follower so the fact that he’s out of the country when he should be in Tampa waiting on the league to lift the season postponement has me intrigued.
“Coach Crenshaw is probably losing his mind right about now,” I say referring to Tampa’s manager, who I personally know. I’m sure he is livid about this development.
Taylor chuckles. “I doubt he’s happy, that’s for sure.” Coach Mike Crenshaw also happens to be Ivory’s father, and Taylor’s practically part of her family from what she told me years ago of their friendship. Taylor and I met after she graduated from New York University, and I never had the opportunity to meet her friends in person before our relationship fell apart.
“Fields can stay too if they decide to stay together. When do you need it?”
“Two days?”
“Is that a question or a fact?”
“It’s a fact but a question as to whether that timeframe works.”
“It has to, doesn’t it? Last resort and all that?” I swipe at her. The salt she poured in the wound still burning.
