He started, then opened his mouth and closed it. Opened it again, looked at the irate Roxanne, back to Paloma, who was certain the humiliation was all over her face, and then gulped, seemingly making some kind of decision, and blurted:
“Deryn Crowhart…”
Paloma stilled and was acutely aware of her own stillness.
Damn. Damn, damn, damn.
No, she’d need stronger words.
Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.
Why was Deryn Crowhart still on the island? Why didCrow’s Cawhave to be right about everything? Paloma had considered all the angles of her reckless one-night stand, and yet again she marveled at the idiocy of having made this miscalculation. Why was this woman, who never stayed anywhere by all accounts, lingering on Dragons? Why was she at the Astronomy Resort? Paloma balled her hands, the cold skin almost painful.
The silence stretched a bit too long, and now both Lachlan and Roxanne were giving her strange, wide-eyed looks.
“No way, Paloma. Deryn Crowhart? The baker? The one who fucked half of L.A.? Like, I know tons of people she’s slept with! You absolutely did not get with her… You, Miss Prim and Proper,and that fuckboi? No way she even considered you, what with her reputation for fast and fun…” Roxanne’s words vacillated between what sounded like envy and mockery. Paloma closed her eyes. She’d have to sever all ties with her ex-wife, business interests be damned. Teasing her was one thing, but humiliating her in front of her employee? Absolutely unacceptable.
Paloma realized that Lachlan had kindly chosen to stare straight ahead and not show that he had heard anything. He had been remarkably sweet since she hired him. Then he spoke again, and Paloma reconsidered every single thing she thought she knew about him. He made a sweeping gesture and loudly announced, “Your girlfriend is here, ma’am.”
A pin could be heard dropping. The proverbial mouse—if any would even dare to live in her pristine resort—would be completely silent as well. The damn mouse would probably be just as stunned as she was.
¿Qué carajo?
Years later, if asked, Paloma would say that it was the look on Roxanne’s face—the absolute jealousy, the malice and not a little resentment that came with it —that sealed the deal and the fate of everyone in the room. Pettiness wasn’t something she often gave in to. It was bad for business. It was bad for relationships. It was bad…
Hell, it was supremely satisfying.
“Show her in, Mr. Vesely.”
Her voice was rusty and tenuous to her own ears. Her steps, as she took them in the direction of her desk, were tentative and shaky, her four-inch heels suddenly unsteady. And yet the closer she came to the Louis XIV beauty, the stronger she felt.
“Roxanne, I won’t be needing you anymore this week. In fact, I won’t be needing you at all. I’m not going to go forward with the Seattle property, so your advice is unnecessary. As is yourpresence. The next ferry leaves in twenty minutes. You will make it if you leave now.”
“A girlfriend? Since when? Paloma! I’ll be damned?—”
“You will be if you don’t leave. Now, Roxanne.” One look, and Roxanne lowered her head and moved to the door. Paloma nodded. “Mr. Vesely, I’ll let you know if we need refreshments.”
“Of course, Ms. Allende.”
In the doorway, Roxanne and Deryn almost bumped into each other, and Paloma was struck by how similar they were. Same height, same build—the tall, lanky runner’s body. The undercuts. One redhead, one blonde. Same swagger. Roxanne exaggerated hers, a peacock showing off, Deryn a bit subdued, no doubt wondering who this ridiculous woman was. And then the dark green eyes met hers, and Paloma felt the connection slam into her solar plexus like a lightning bolt—painful, electric, deadly. And all fire. The chill in her fingers evaporated, and she felt suddenly too warm.
The memory of those hands, covered in ash at the site of the burning Atelier, intruded, and the same sensation of unquenchable thirst for this woman, for her touch, filled her. Paloma could berate herself a thousand times over, but she simply couldn’t have resisted her back then.
She remembered seeing the sisters in the immediate aftermath of the blaze, Rhiannon on the ground, held by Ceridwen, Seren running away to summon the firefighters, and Deryn staring the flame dragon down, seemingly daring it to rise again.
Paloma fully believed that if it had, this woman alone would’ve beaten it back down. She had witnessed enough to know it. To feel it.
Amidst fire and soot and rain and wind, amidst the skies opening up above them and the earth shattering beneath their feet, Deryn Crowhart would’ve been the one left standing,victorious. Something in the blaze and the wind whispered in Paloma’s ear, and she was never one to question omens. To question the voice. Her heritage came with a belief, and Paloma, who had forsaken much of her roots, had never been able to forsake this.
Moreover, why would she have resisted? Voices, signs, premonitions, and age-old fairy tales aside, Paloma knew who this was. Her vast information network had taught her all about the major players on the island well before she set foot onto it. And Deryn Crowhart? She was major both on and off the island. A pastry chef, a model, a celebrity. Millions of followers. Reality TV. Famous lovers. Famous breakups. There was a reason even Roxanne knew of her. She was Deryn Crowhart. The weather vane. The safest of types for Paloma, since she had already experienced this very sort twice and was left in ashes on the ground. She’d never again fall for someone like her. No, she was very safe from this type and this woman. Who was apparently now her girlfriend. Her cheeks suddenly flushed pleasantly, and her hands warmed slowly.
With Roxanne out of earshot, Paloma reached for a truthful greeting.
“Hello, Ms. Crowhart. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
6
DERYN, SAYING YES & STRIKING DEALS
