For Better or Hearse

Chapter Seven

T he next morning, the Whitfords plus Ash make the short trip to Makalapua Palms.

What used to be the headquarters of the Fox Hotel Group is now an authentic working coconut farm nestled in the verdant green hills of Hawaii. Augustus insisted a visit here was the way to kick off their vacation.

For twenty minutes, the older man leads the pack, detailing exactly where on the property his company used to sit. They stroll through the lush farm and past the quaint shack where coconuts and snacks are sold while Ash holds up the photos she pulled together before they left the resort, comparing the black-and-white snaps to the current scenery.

“Back in the seventies, when we opened our very first resort in Maui, this is where our office was located. Of course, now the head office is in Los Angeles, but this is where Fox Hotels began.”

Augustus spreads his arms out as if he can scoop up the land and hug it. Pride shines in his eyes. Ash smiles, but when she notices the fond way Nathaniel watches his grandfather, her mood quickly sours.

Ugh. Having the same emotions as Nathaniel Whitford is nauseating.

“So what happens to the company?” Tater lowers his phone and tugs an earbud out. “Who gets it when you kick it?”

“Tater,” Claire hisses, clutching her designer bag to her chest.

Nathaniel glares. He looks like he wants to bowl his little brother’s head under a bridge.

Augustus chuckles. Death doesn’t faze the man, nor do rude questions. “Not to worry. I have made the necessary arrangements for the takeover of my empire.”

Nathaniel laughs, and Ash jumps at the sound. “So humble, Grandpops.”

Augustus’s eyes dance with mischief. “I’ve been told it’s my second-best trait.”

Ash regards Claire. “Don’t you want it?” A brave question, considering the woman can’t stand her, but the curious blurt of her mouth knows no bounds.

Before Claire can respond, Don’s blustery guffaw cuts in. “Not my wife. She knows more about her afternoon iced coffee than running a business.”

Ash narrows her gaze. She’s never wished for telekinetic powers more than she has since she met him. Fire. Just his face. All fire.

Augustus nudges her shoulder. “What do you think, my dear?”

“I think…” Ash says, looping her arm through Augustus’s, “it’s a pretty fantastic legacy.”

He smiles, his blue eyes crystalline in the sun. “Thank you, Ash. I think so myself.”

The crow of a rooster and the scent of plumeria flowers fill the air.

Augustus checks the time on his Breitling. Turns to his family. “We have a few hours until our scuba session. Why don’t we explore the farm? I’ve arranged for lunch and a coconut carving.”

A bored sigh from Don. He puts a hand on his round stomach. “Crafts, Augustus?”

“I happen to love arts and crafts,” Ash lies to spite the man.

Ghost tours, graveyards, give it to her. Hikes and water activities with the Whitfords? Hard pass. But she’s here for Augustus. No complaints.

Amid the thrum of low murmurs, the group splits off. Tater takes a phone call while Don does a virtual interview about how dimpleplasty is the hottest trend in Hollywood.

Ash meanders, examining the trees, studying the coconuts. The sky spills out golden light. Hawaii’s beauty stuns. She drinks in the fresh air. It’s not downtown LA. No drunk children. No naked men covered in feces.

Cute, happy, quaint Hawaii. Nice. Safe.

Hot.

Really hot.

“Fuck,” she grumbles, wiping her damp brow.

It’s an overcast, balmy day, and yet she’s sweating. Her feet, in her boots, burn.

“—a shame you’re on this trip by yourself, Nathaniel.” From the grove of trees, Claire’s voice floats.

Ash freezes. Her heart thumps against her sternum.

“Mom, where am I supposed to meet someone?” Nathaniel. Exasperated.

“You met Camellia in France.”

“I met Camellia because of Dad.”

“Yes, but it’ll happen again.”

“Who says I want it to happen again?” he says, tone dark.

Ash cranes to catch a glimpse of him through the trees. Shoulders tight, he paces.

Claire’s voice oozes disappointment. “That’s not true.”

A long sigh. “I’m just trying to get through this trip, figure out this job situation.”

“Are you sure it’s what you want?”

“I don’t know, Mom.” From his pocket, the buzz of a phone. “I have to take this.” Palm fronds crunch. He’s on the move.

Fuck.

Ash turns, scrambling over her boots to break into a run. The last thing she wants to do is get caught eavesdropping.

It’s not until she breaks through the grove of palm trees that she releases the breath she’s been holding. The dark tone in Nathaniel’s words weighs heavy on her. The fickle beast of guilt whispers in her ear.

You did that. You.

She shuts her eyes, absorbs the pain.

Then she slogs her way up to the small shack. Outside the building, an employee has set out coconuts, wooden bowls and various tools that look like instruments of death.

She looks over one shoulder, then the other. The rest of the Whitfords are hovering by the SUV, on their phones, like one second of enjoyment will rot their robot-like shells. Hell, she is here in paradise, on Augustus’s dime. She’s not missing a minute.

She sits at a picnic table, relishing the shade thanks to the frond-covered eave above.

An employee approaches with a tray of coconut water and coconut meat. With a thanks, Ash asks about the coconut craft. The young woman gives her instructions on how to harvest her own coconut meat. Points at a machete.

“Really?” Ash asks, a zap of delight sparking through her.

“Really, ma’am.” The employee brings her hand down in a sharp, swift cutting motion. “You hack it.”

Ash lifts a brow. “Impressive.”

When the employee disappears into the shack, Ash reaches for the handle of the machete.

“Might need a waiver,” a low voice says, the sound sending a shiver up her spine.

Ash cuts him a glare. Ignores her body’s traitorous response. “I am very experienced in the art of cleaving.”

Nathaniel strides up to her, one big hand clenched around his phone. He’s dressed like a sexy grandpa from the ’60s. That swirl of wheat-gold hair. The trousers. The tight black T-shirt that screams I am riddled with abs and biceps!

Her blood churns. In rage. In indignation. In attraction. What?

No .

Never.

Her heart stops as he brings his long, tan fingers closer. Carefully, he plucks at her hair and comes away with a piece of palm. She flushes.

He eyes it, then lets it flutter to the dirt between them. “And clearly the art of eavesdropping as well.”

Smug bastard.

“How was your call from Lucifer?” Ash croons. “Did you receive instructions on how to proceed with the devastation of humanity?”

Ash looks up from the coconut, noting the ever-so-slight curl of Nathaniel’s lips.

“Sorry to say, devastation is imminent.”

Ash hums, ignores him.

“Late night, Bigfoot?” he asks, brow cocked. “You look tired.”

Ash eyes him warily. She’s certain he’s 11 percent human and 89 percent homicidal robot.

“I slept like a baby.” A lie. After their heated conversation in the bar, she slept like shit. She dreamed up no less than fifty scenarios where she is wrong and he is right.

What if he is right?

What if she hurt him for no reason at all?

Ash stands from the table. Moves into prime coconut position. Rests her knee on the bench, her thigh tattoo shifting with the movement. Her frayed cut-offs—tossed over a one-piece bathing suit—expose more of her ass than she’d like in this awkward position, but it’s for the good of the coconut.

Glancing over her shoulder, she finds that Nathaniel’s also thinking about her ass. If the way he’s ogling it is any indication. She smirks. He’s not the only one who can catch a person in the act of self-destruction.

“That’s a very shameless stare, Doctor Whitford.”

Instantly, his eyes snap to her face. His Adam’s apple bobs. “ Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, the hunger in his expression morphing to discomfort, then disdain.

Ash evaluates him from behind her dark sunglasses. She’d need a chisel and a hammer to get him to smile.

The wind kicks up. Drags with it a familiar, lovely scent.

“Mmm.” Ash smiles. Breathes deep. “It smells like the Amalfi coast. Lemon. Cedar.”

Nathaniel blinks. His jaw slackens.

Hit with her own bout of annoyance, she crosses her arms. “You think you’re the only one who travels? So small-minded of you.”

The edges of his lips twitch. Barely.

Thanks to her mom’s job as a flight attendant, Ash is well versed in the art of traveling. She and Tessie both have seen the world. One of her favorite trips was to the Madonna Inn on her sixteenth birthday. They wore vintage dresses and ordered a bottle of champagne even though they were underage.

“First time in Hawaii?” Nathaniel asks.

“Hawaii’s one of the few places I haven’t been.” Her heart gives a twinge, but she wills it to flutter away. Then she rests her palm on the coconut in front of her.

Nathaniel mimics, palming his own coconut.

She has to fight to keep her breath from catching. Christ. His hand is the size of her face.

Lucky patients.

“That looks wrong.” Brow furrowed, Nathaniel gestures to the row of knives and chisels beside the coconut. The machete’s blade gleams in the sunlight.

Ash snorts. “Okay, I didn’t realize I was speaking with the CEO of coconuts.”

“We should get someone.” He cranes his neck, searching for an employee. “I can’t believe they just left you alone with an arsenal of weapons,” he mutters.

“Don’t be silly.” Ash’s pulse quickens in excitement as she grips the sticky handle of the machete. “This seems completely safe.”

Beside her, Nathaniel watches her carefully, his face a mask of grim disapproval.

“Don’t you want a Hawaiian coconut fresh from the farm?” she asks with a wicked smile.

A curt nod at the shack. “Go buy one.”

Ash squares her shoulders, affects a scathing tone. “That would be the Whitford solution, wouldn’t it? Buy something. Have someone fix it. Hop on your private jet and purchase a small island.”

Nathaniel’s response is an eye roll and nothing else.

“I, for one, take coconut carving very seriously.” Ash lifts and lowers her arm, gauging the heft of the weapon. “Did you know you have a better chance of being killed by a falling coconut than by a shark?”

“Great.” Nathaniel rakes a hand through his hair. “Another fun, macabre fact.”

Ash brings the machete up over her head, focus lasered in on the furry fruit on the table. “Damn right.”

Her arms are still lifted high, ready to slice straight through, when Nathaniel nudges a finger against her coconut.

Horror swamps her as it slowly rolls off the table and splats on the ground.

“Oops.”

He’s smiling.

“Fuck,” she swears at the ruins of her coconut. All its decadent, snowy white meat exploded on the ground.

She yanks off her sunglasses and whips her head to him. “Wonderful. Genuinely the exact behavior modeled by toddlers. Lack of impulse control. Tantrums.”

“Looks like you got your work cut out for you, Bigfoot,” he observes, stepping away .

“You Tall Asshole,” she seethes. She cannot stand this man. He needs to remain at least ten feet from her at all times.

She jabs a nail at the mess on the ground. “Clean that up.”

Nathaniel chuckles. “Make me.”

She glowers at him. “Make you what? An early grave? Gladly.”

With a smirk that pushes her right over the edge, he glances over a shoulder, says nothing.

On vengeful instinct, she palms Nathaniel’s coconut and hefts it. As she’s considering the best way to hurl it at the back of his head, a soft voice says, “Ash?”

She freezes.

Shit.

Claire blinks at her. She’s caught Ash in the act of second-degree homicide on her first-born son.

“Hi, Claire.” She lowers her hand. The coconut drops and does a slow wobble around on the table.

The older woman studies her, blue eyes icy.

Ash shifts, uncomfortable. Forces a smile. “I know you think it’s weird, what I’m doing for your father, but if you ever want to talk—”

“I will never talk to you about a thing.”

Heat springs to her face. The words find their target across every part of her body. Heart, chest, stomach. All suffering the effect of the verbal sucker punch.

“You may be here for my father,” Claire says, tilting her chin with a regal air, blond hair perfectly in place despite the thick tropical air. “But I’d like you to stay away from my son. You’ve done enough damage.”

Ash swallows. Her heart pangs. She feels like a piece of shit. “I know.”

Claire turns and walks off.

She sighs up at the bright blue sky. Fucking great.

No one wants her here except Augustus. Loneliness settles like a lead weight in her stomach. In her legs. Sure, his family is exhausting and pretentious, but she’ll gladly suffer through it for him. Not only is it her job, but she loves Augustus.

She can do this.

She takes a long, long breath, imagining Tessie’s voice in her ear. Observe. Do not absorb .

But that’s exactly what she’s doing. Absorbing every barb, every glare from Nathaniel Whitford and his big, dumb, handsome, stupid face.

There’s no way this trip could get any worse.