Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Twenty-Three
Phoebe
“The old, old-money folks won’t even talk to you other than to request things,” Chelsea told me on my second day. “They’ll just treat you like wallpaper. Sometimes that’s even better.”
Her words are felt full force today during snack service at the pool. Lounge Chair 15 has not even bothered to learn my name (it’s on the fancy little golden name badge). No, he just calls me skunk. A fact that Katherine said is town tradition.
I return to the outdoor pool bar with a scowl, which grows even fiercer when I see who’s behind the bar. Jake Waterford has his sleeves rolled up like a pleb. And he’s adding ice into the cooler. I’d say I was hallucinating, but after a month, I’ve learned that Jake isn’t just a Koning.
He’s his family’s gopher boy. The third son.
Not in line to take over the billion-dollar business.
Not the spare heir in case the first son bites it.
He’s the one they call on for all their secondary priorities. The country club. The real estate. If he had any aspirations, they were squashed early on.
And now he’s here, filling up a cooler.
“Where’s Erik?” I ask, looking around for the usual bartender and clutching the serving tray under my armpit.
“On the patio getting the bars ready for tonight,” Jake says. “We need all hands on deck for the clambake.”
“Interesting,” I say. “I don’t see your brothers here. Did they lose their hands?”
He shoots me a look. I haven’t met Trent or Jordan yet. They’ve never stopped by the country club. At least, not while I’ve been serving. Even his parents have been MIA, but it’d be impossible not to notice their phone calls. Jake has ruthless ringtones for each of his family members.
“And your brothers?” Jake asks me. “Are they coming?”
“Two mai tais for lounge fifteen,” I say, avoiding. I figure Jake will phone a mixologist friend to help, but he pulls out a glass from beneath the bar.
My brows rise. “You sure we don’t need Erik?”
“I can make a drink,” he says, like I’m being silly. He procures the rum next, and I hear the squawk of a seagull flying overhead. Once the noise dies and the sun drifts behind a fluffy cloud, Jake turns his head to me. “I assume your ex-husband will be in attendance.”
“I don’t keep tabs on Rocky.” Lie. My stomach sours. It’s hard to know what’s a normal white lie versus a bad one constructed for personal gain. They’re all the same in my head. Every lie is a building block to the next.
Changing topics quickly, I say, “When will they stop calling me a skunk?”
Jake laughs. “You?” He looks up at my blue hair tied in a slightly unkempt pony. “Never, most likely.”
I grimace. “Well, what about Hailey?”
Jake’s face sobers. “They’re still calling her a skunk?”
“Yeah,” I say, like it’s mean. Because it is.
He shakes his head, skin pleating between his brows. “I don’t know. Maybe a year? When it looks like she’s a local. The ladies who attend Tuesday book club seem to be warming up to her already.”
My brows shoot up again. “Are you keeping tabs on Hailey?”
He glares at me while plopping tiny umbrellas in the drinks. “No.”
Okay, fine. He slides over the drinks, but before I take them, I ask, “Your brothers really aren’t coming?” I’m serious this time. I can’t imagine my brothers bailing on something super important to me, and this clambake charity auction has been a big deal to Jake.
It’s the annual event, Katherine has reminded me twenty times. It’s supposed to mark the end of summer as the warm days of September begin to turn cool.
Maybe Jake doesn’t run Koning, but he’s in charge here, and I can see there is a part of him that wants to prove he’s capable to his parents. That feeling—I know it so well.
“I don’t know.” His voice is tight, and he wipes off the bar with a rag. “They might show up. They might not. I don’t have brothers like yours.”
“Like mine?” What is that supposed to mean?
He chucks the dirty rag under the bar. “They seem to have your best interest at heart, and they’re cool.”
He’s been making friends with Nova and bonding over their mutual dislike of Rocky.
It’s unsettling.
Jake sets his blue eyes on me. “Maybe it’s a triplet thing.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, then I straighten up from a slight slouch. “Well . . . if I ever do meet Trent or Jordan, I’m going to have words with them.”
Jake gives me his usual no you’re not look. “I will make sure that meet and greet never happens.”
“You’ll have to shadow me around for eternity, then.” I place the drinks on my tray. “Which might be your own personal hell.”
“You’re not that bad.”
I glance up at him, a little shocked by the compliment. “Joke?” I ask.