Page 11 of Everything You Hate
“Fuck, no.” He laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. “But Malcolm does. If we push her away, we lose any chance to control the story.”
I don’t like it. Not one bit. “So you want me to babysit a reporter for the next few days?”
“I want you to keep an eye on her. Find out what she’s really after. And if she starts digging into family business...” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know what he means. The Havens have skeletons in their closet—some literal, some figurative. We don’t need an outsider poking around.
“And if I say I don’t want to?”
“You won’t because you’re the best person to keep her out of trouble. You know this island better than anyone.” He pauses, and a smile flickers at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, you’re the one who caught her.”
“That’s not—” I stop myself. The whole town already thinks I’m half in love with the woman because I went into the harborafter her suitcase, and protesting will only fuel the rumor mill. “Fine. But I’m not going to be her tour guide every day.”
“Just keep her close enough that we know what she’s up to. And keep her away from anything that might hurt us. Malcolm didn’t send some nobody. She’s got a reputation.”
“Eighteen million views,” I mutter.
“Exactly.” Bodhi picks up his pen again and returns his attention to the spreadsheet on his computer. “She knows how to make people watch.”
I stand, the chair scraping against the floor. “I’ll handle it.”
“I know it.” He meets my eyes again, and for a moment I see the exhaustion in his face. The weight of running the family businesses, of keeping the peace between siblings who all want different things, of maintaining the careful balance with the Merricks that could tip at any moment. “Are the nightmares getting worse?”
The question catches me off guard. I haven’t told anyone about the nightmares, not in detail. But Bodhi’s always been able to read me better than anyone.
“They’re manageable.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I shrug, uncomfortable. “They come and go. Same as always.”
He studies me for a long moment. “You could stay here. We’ve got room.”
“I’m fine on the boat.”
“You always say that.”
“I always mean it.”
He shakes his head, but doesn’t keep pushing. On that, at least, but he does take another tack: “Come to family dinner Sunday. Dad wants you here..”
I grunt something noncommittal and head for the door.
“Dean.” His voice stops me. “If you don’t come, Mimi will stomp down to the marina in those ridiculous Doc Martens and kick your ass all the way back here. You know she will.”
I wave a hand back at him in acknowledgment and step outside.
He’s right. I’ve been on the receiving end of Mimi’s ass-kickings enough times to know he’s right.
And still I don’t know if I’ll come.
I roll my shoulders. They always feel tight after a conversation veers too close to things I’d rather not examine.
The farm stretches out before me, green and alive and steady. Somewhere, Hazel is laughing. Dot bleats from her pen. Noodle patrols his territory, honking at anyone who gets too close.
Everything in its place.
Except me.
I check my watch. It’s almost noon. I have two hours before I have to play tour guide for a woman who makes my instincts scream danger, and I intend to spend every minute of them on the water, where things make sense.
