Searching for a Heart Read online

  I’m free.

  And the damn bitch couldn’t even be bothered to show up for it.

  He went into his phone and blocked her number, which gave him minor satisfaction.

  He’d take it.

  * * * *

  Milo stopped by a couple of furniture stores on the way home and tried out a few sofas, but didn’t like any of them. At six-five, it wasn’t just a matter of having a big sofa. He wanted one with a recliner section, and didn’t want his feet sticking off the end by a mile. He also wanted to be able to stretch out on it to watch TV, or comfortably fall asleep on it, if he so chose.

  Able to feel like he was actually at home in his own home.

  Unlike with Linda, who’d wake his ass up and make him go into the bedroom to nap because she couldn’t stand him being happy, apparently.

  Never again.

  Maybe he’d live with someone, but he wasn’t getting married again. No way in hell he’d do that to himself. It wasn’t worth it.

  He did make it home without plundering a liquor store, though, so he viewed that as a win.

  Maybe his house was relatively empty, but it was his fucking house, and he no longer had to worry about whether or not Linda had sex with someone on the same sofa he would eventually purchase for himself.

  For dinner he reheated the last portion of spaghetti he had left over from a batch he’d made Wednesday night. Then he plopped himself down in the folding camping chair now sitting in front of his flat-screen TV—which was mounted on the living room wall—and ate while channel surfing.

  She got most of the furniture, but he kept all the electronics. Which suited him just fine, because he’d picked them out, not her. It was one thing he’d stood his ground on.

  Let her go figure out what to buy and how to hook the new shit up. She could barely get her phone charger plugged in correctly.

  The thought of her trying to fumble cables and figure out connections made him giggle sadistically.

  Plus, now he didn’t have to worry about DVRing stuff to watch later because she had shows she wanted to watch. God forbid they actually sat down together and watched something he wanted to see.

  Sometimes, he wondered if she picked shows and declared she wanted to watch them, even if she had no interest in them, just so he had to record whatever it was he wanted to watch.

  It felt like it.

  Had he known the full extent of her fuckery sooner, he would have tossed her out on her ass and let one of her boyfriends take care of her.

  Thank god she didn’t give me anything.

  Maybe her sob stories about bad luck with asshole exes wasn’t such a coincidence after all.

  Maybe there was a common denominator.

  Maybe she was the common denominator.

  He’d already changed the locks and reprogrammed the garage door opener clicker, as well as wiped all the codes from the alarm system and changed everything.

  Everything.

  Every password he’d ever had that he thought she might be able to figure out got changed.

  He’d also changed his will and life insurance, just in case. Not that he thought she was that kind of psycho, but who knew?

  Better to not take the chance at all.

  Then there was the fact that he kept waffling between going tomorrow night and calling Rusty and Eliza to cancel.

  Maybe he shouldn’t be out among people right now. Not with his anger bubbling so close to the surface where anything could set him off. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but Linda’s—and his own for putting up with it for so damned long. Was it really fair to subject others to his bad mood? Especially people he was meeting for the first time? Setting up a bad impression with others right off the bat and reflecting badly on his friends?

  After eating he cleaned up the kitchen and spread out his D&D stuff on the counter to read through some combat rules ahead of next week’s game. Something else he couldn’t do before, just spread out and be in his own house. By now, Linda would have already been griping at him about it.

  Griping about the one fucking night a week he did something for himself and him not around to do whatever it was she wanted done. One fucking night a week he wasn’t around at her beck and call, while she pretty much ignored him the other six nights when he was there for her.

  There to ignore him, unless, of course, it was a night she went out to screw around on him. “Drinks with the girls” was her favorite excuse, until one of those “girls” Linda had been using as her alibi got wise to her bullshit and texted Milo about it.

  Which was what had started his Sherlock Holmes-worthy investigation of her and her supposed “girls’ nights.”

  He’d never understood why she ran hot and cold before. In retrospect, it made perfect sense. She wanted him around and under her thumb…until she wanted him out of her way so she could play without getting caught.

  Yes, he’d already had several STI testing rounds, just to make sure.

  Something else that pissed him off at a visceral level, that she might have possibly endangered his health over her philandering. And that he had to spend the money to have them done in the first place.

  Normally, he was a fairly in-charge kind of guy. He’d stepped back and given that up with Linda, because he’d been in love with her. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do when you were in love?

  Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe Eliza and all of them have the right idea.

  Maybe what he should have done was stayed true to himself instead of trying to bury who he was.

  He didn’t want to control every single little aspect of someone’s life. He just wanted things the way he wanted them.

  Wanted to know his partner wasn’t cheating on him.

  Wanted someone as a partner who made him feel wanted, not like he was in their way until she wanted something from him.

  Fuck.

  Yeah, the pattern was right there when he looked back on it all now.

  Adding insult to injury, now he had to rebuild his retirement account. It still enraged him, but there wasn’t anything to do about it now except try to move on.

  Maybe having someone to spank wouldn’t be a bad thing. Help me burn off a little bit of anger.

  Linda had been vanilla in bed, though. He’d never pushed for more, because he didn’t want to be an asshole.

  He’d been raised that gentlemen treated ladies like ladies, and didn’t want to do things like tie them to the bed and blindfold them.

  They definitely didn’t want to spank them.

  Except…now he knew it was perfectly fine if the woman wanted all of that, too.

  I need to go. I need to get back out there and out of my head. If I stay home, all I’m going to do is sit here and stew and feel pissed off.

  And he’d already wasted too much of his life doing just that.

  Chapter Five

  Jordan knocked on Maddison’s door at 6:55 p.m., and she’d forgive that. She suspected he was the kind who preferred to drive, too.

  She let him in and didn’t miss how he obviously looked around while she went to grab her purse. He’d changed into designer jeans, loafers, and a button-up short-sleeved shirt.

  “This isn’t an ocean-view suite, is it?”

  “No. I prefer a westerly view. I like sunsets. And we can charge more for the ocean view.” She pointed out the window. “Besides, this one stares directly into the ten-story condo building they erected across the street two years ago, so it’s not much of a view. It’s the only lower-floor suite with a completely crappy view. That’s why I picked it.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “Again, I find myself marveling at your logic.”

  She smirked, feeling a little satisfied, at least. “Ready to see Miami, Mr. Holmes?”

  “After you.”

  Probably so he can stare at my ass.

  But she didn’t say that.

  Maddison checked in with the front desk to make sure they were doing okay. She had her work cell with her in case there wa
s a problem.

  Once the valets had retrieved his rental and brought it around, she was pleasantly surprised when he held the passenger door open for her. She directed him back to the causeway to head to the mainland.

  “How’d you end up in Miami, anyway?” he asked.

  “A fresh business degree and over five years’ experience working in a resort. I negotiated a salary Mr. Gonzales couldn’t turn down, so he wasn’t losing anything by giving me a shot. We both won.”

  “He speaks very highly of you.”

  Usually, Maddison could read people better than she was with this guy. Less doucheball vibe from him now, but despite him being nearly twice her age she definitely wasn’t getting a dad vibe from him. She also couldn’t tell how much personal information he knew about her. She knew Gonzales likely wouldn’t have told anyone from the VC company she was trans, because he’d been desperate to keep that quiet.

  “Thank you. I know he took a risk on me, but I worked my ass off to turn the resort around.”

  “I know you did. I’ve combed through the financials. So where are we going?”

  “You’ll see. A little place the locals told me about. Amazing food. I love eating there.”

  She directed him to a public parking area just off Calle Ocho in Little Havana, not far from a restaurant she’d eaten at countless times since arriving in Miami. Holmes did a good job of hiding his surprise when they reached the corner cafeteria’s front door and he opened it for her.

  The tiny place had five tables and an L-shaped dining counter, in addition to their take-out window. By eleven they’d have a line out the door of people either leaving a nightclub to head for another—or heading somewhere else—to buy cafecitos, looking for the jolt they’d need to keep going until sunrise.

  But until eight they served a full dinner menu.

  “Do you trust me, Mr. Holmes?”

  He smirked. “I put myself in your capable hands. I’ll try anything once.”

  From the way his gaze held hers, she could almost read a lot into that statement and she floundered for a moment, wondering if it was a deliberate double entendre.

  When the woman manning the counter greeted them, Maddison ordered in Spanish and Holmes handed over a black Amex to pay.

  Which impressed the hell out of Maddison.

  He’d been watching her, too, because when her gaze caught his again, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened just a hair, amusement right there.

  Dammit.

  Usually she was better about keeping herself completely professional, but he was managing to hit all her buttons perfectly.

  They sat at the table in the back to await their order.

  “I will admit I’m a little surprised by your choice,” he said. “I’m guessing you’re imparting a message?”

  “You’ll see.”

  A few minutes later, their order was up, and she was again pleasantly surprised when he stayed Maddison with a raised hand and stood to fetch their trays himself. She’d ordered several dishes, enough for them to share everything.

  He set them down and retook his seat. Sweeping his hands out, he indicated their food. “I’m all ears.”

  “I figured we could share.” She smiled and pointed. “Ropa vieja, a staple of Cuban cuisine. Picadillo, made traditionally, with olives and raisins. Arroz con pollo, also known as chicken and yellow rice, and black beans on the side. Real Cuban bread, not the shitty baguettes the grocery stores try to sell from their own bakeries, and yes, it does matter. Do not skimp on the Cuban bread in Miami, or any locals who stay with you will totally roast you on Yelp. And fried plátanos. With a side of cafecito.” She held up the tiny cup. “Hope you weren’t planning on sleeping tonight.”

  He picked up the other cup and they gently tapped in a toast. She watched as he sipped his, his eyebrows shooting skyward. “Holy shit, that’s good.”

  “Exactly. Also, another point—don’t cut out the Cuban coffee. Patrons expect to come to Miami and taste the realistic flavors. Our chef I told you about? He grew up three blocks south of Calle Ocho. This is Little Havana. His parents grew up in Cuba and were Marielitos. He was born here in Miami.”

  “What is that?”

  “What’s what?”

  “What you just said. Mariel—”

  “Marielitos. They were teenagers on the Mariel boat lift. They didn’t know each other then, they were brought over with their parents. They met in school, became citizens, and have had a good life here. This community is very unique. That was something I kept in mind when I took over. I talked to the people working at the resort. I didn’t just talk, I listened. Don’t make the mistake that the people working for you on the lower-tier jobs are less than valuable. By listening, I could bring an aspect of authentic Miami to play in a way other large resorts don’t. Look at our menu—it’s mainly authentic Cuban cuisine. Yes, with a bit of flare, granted, but people who aren’t even staying here, and locals, will come eat at our restaurant for the food. And then there are the banquet customers.”

  He slowly nodded as he took a bite of picadillo. “This is really good.”

  “His uncle owns it.” She took a bite of beans. “He grew up working in the kitchen here. This restaurant put three kids through college.”

  Genuine surprise registered on his features, she was happy to see. “Holy shit.”

  “There’s this false narrative pushed by some in the far right that the Marielitos were all thugs and criminals. That Castro opened his prisons and turned them loose and sent them to Florida. There were a few criminals, but that was just a minuscule number. Most of them were hard-working, honest people who just wanted a new life for themselves. Many of them already had family here.”

  “But that was before you were born.”

  “Yeah, but like I said, I listen to people. I don’t make assumptions. Did I have to let a few people go when I took over because we had some undocumented people working for us? Yes, unfortunately. I hated to do it. But never look down on anyone working for you. Those groundskeepers make sure when customers roll up in their Bentleys that every blade of grass looks perfect. The housekeepers might not speak English as their first language, but I bet their English is better than your second language, and they’re the ones who make sure the rooms are perfect and turned over fast.”

  He glanced over at the counter for a moment before his gaze returned to her. “I don’t speak Spanish, or any other foreign language.”

  “My Spanish sucks. I wish I was better. I can order food, or go to a store, or hold a basic conversation with someone at work to convey what I need them to know, or understand what they’re trying to tell me. I learned out of respect for them back in high school when I was working at the resort in Sarasota.”

  She scooped up a forkful of ropa vieja. “You wanted to know my secret? That’s seventy-five percent of it right there. Respect for the marginalized.”

  * * * *

  “Why the walk-up window outside the pool area?” Holmes asked once they’d finished eating and slowly started making their way back to where he’d parked.

  “We have a key card system for the gate into the pool area. That’s both for security as well as safety, trying to keep kids out of the pool. But there is a lot of beach traffic up and down this section. Instead of trying to run people away who aren’t staying here, let them walk up and pay money to eat here. Cafecitos. Why not? Our food service department turns a profit. In a lot of hotels, that’s not the case.”

  “I noticed that, too.” He smiled. “That you’ve made it profitable.”

  “Why shouldn’t it make a profit? We’re also expanding our catering division. Or, were,” she added in a mutter.

  He stopped her and made her turn to face him. “I mean it, Maddison. Stay on. Same salary and bonus. Hell, it’s worth giving that up to know I’ve got someone solid I can trust while I try to turn the other place around. I’ll probably be asking your advice on that, too.”

  “You can’t guarantee me tha
t yet. You don’t know what your bosses will tell you.” She was genuinely starting to think maybe he didn’t know more about her from the way he was acting.

  “True, but I will talk to my bosses and beg them to keep you on.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before his gaze settled on hers. “And they usually listen to my opinion.”

  Oh, shit.

  His cell phone rang. A flash of irritation crossed his face before he pulled his cell from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “Sorry, I need to take this.” He took a few steps away and at least it gave Maddison a chance to suck in a calming breath. “Yeah, honey. What’s up?”

  Mads would be shocked if half of Miami didn’t hear the record screech that sounded in her brain at that. She pulled her own cell from her purse and pretended to be scrolling through e-mails as she listened to his end of the conversation.

  Definitely a wife, or a live-in girlfriend.

  Except he wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

  The flip side of her hope crashed down on her, hard and heavy. He likely wanted to fuck her as a side piece, both to keep her in line and doing his bidding at the resort, as well as to pick her brain to get the other resort running smoothly and turning a profit. Piggybacking off her hard work.

  All while making himself look good in the process.

  Perfect set-up for him, right? Suite on-site for easy rendezvous, much younger woman willing to let him take charge.

  Now everything about him and how he’d been treating her from the very start made perfect sense when viewed through that lens.

  He finally ended the call and returned to her, smiling as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Now, where were we?”

  Over the years, she’d perfected not looking rattled. It was a survival tactic she’d had to master long before graduating college, and she was usually damned good at it despite her PTSD. “We were discussing bonuses.”

  “Ah, yes, we were.” He offered her his arm and she forced herself to take it. “And…fringe benefits.”

  There it is.

  He didn’t waste any damn time, that was for sure.