Page 84 of Sapphire Sunset

“Maybe it’s about this placeactuallydoinggood. Maybe in a place where people did very badthings, the ones who’re left behind, the ones who are innocent, need to do areally good thing, to clear the air. Kind of like burning sage.”

“Really? A burning sagereference to a woman whose house just burned down?” But she was smiling whenshe said it. She was a salty one, this Donna Langdon.

Connor sputtered withlaughter. “Granted. Not the best choice of words.”

“You sure had a lot of emptyrooms,” she said. “You must have lost a lot of business over all this.”

“We did. We are.”

“I guess I can’t blame youthen. You’re trying to keep from losing what’s yours.”

There was a catch in hervoice, but she didn’t cry. Connor gave her a moment. Maybe he thought she wasabout to start.

“You know, to be honest,” hefinally said, “this place has been a colossal pain in my ass over the years. Ican’t remember a time when my family wasn’t worried sick about it. When theyfelt like it wasn’t good enough, wasn’t doing well enough. How The Ritz wasgoing to eat our lunch, and then the Montage was going to wipe us off the map.Honestly, when it comes to Sapphire Cove, I’m not sure I’d be that sorry to letgo of it. It’d be a hell of a lot more profitable to sell it, rather thantrying to keep it open when it’s this wounded.”

Part of Logan was shocked tohear this, but another part of him—a part that was getting to know Connor betterand better with each passing hour—figured he was heading someplace unexpected withthis speech. “But it’s my dad, you know. And my grandfather. They’re both gone,and this place is them through and through. When they died, we weren’t on thegreatest of terms, and there was a lot of stuff we probably should have said toeach other. Losing this place, it would be losing memories of them I can neverget back.” He looked over his shoulder and met Logan’s gaze. “And some othermemories I don’t want to let go of.”

Because he was well withinDonna’s eyeline, Logan tried to keep his expression professional, but hefailed. He could feel it in his cheeks. But it didn’t matter. Donna waswatching Connor closely, hanging on his every word.

“In the end,” Connor said, meetingher stare, “places are about the people, right?”

Donna Langdon didn’t sayanything for a while, but she didn’t look at the ocean again. She looked atConnor, studying him, gauging his sincerity. Her stare was glassy-eyed, and itwas starting to gain a sheen.

“I lost my son,” she finallysaid. “A year ago.”

Connor nodded.

“He hit his head surfing. Imean, how fucking California is that, right?” Donna tried to crack a smile, butit didn’t quite take, even though Logan was pretty sure she’d used the jokecountless times to defuse her grief. “Most of my pictures of him, they were inmy studio at the back of the house. I couldn’t get them in time. I waited toolong. Because of myfuckinglemon trees. Every month, those damnpeople from the city were by, telling me I had to cut them back because of firedanger. I didn’t tell them why I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“Because your son used to doit,” Connor said.

Donna nodded, and that’s whenthe tears finally came, and that’s when Connor reached across the space betweenthem and took one of her hands, and she yielded it without protest.

“You’re right,” she managed.“It’s not the house, it’s the people. It’s the memories.”

Connor stood up slowly andshifted to Donna’s lounger so he could put his arm around her back.

Logan figured it was thewoman’s first good hard cry since she’d gotten the news.

“I’ll take that whiskey now,”she finally said.

If they’d plannedit, Logan would have felt weird about it. But they didn’t, so when the photo aguest snapped of Connor with his arm curved around a weeping Donna Langdon wentviral later that day, it seemed like a just reward for all the efforts thehotel was making on behalf of the Palm Fire’s victims. If anyone wanted toquestion the photo’s authenticity to his face, Logan would be happy to describethe candor and vulnerability Connor had mustered to create that genuine moment,and the fact that they’d both sat with Donna for an hour and ended up gently convincingher to talk with one of the counselors on site.

No doubt the emerging imageof Connor Harcourt as a compassionate hero was also being aided by hisdepiction as a victim. After its first airing on a midday LA newscast, videofootage of Rodney Harcourt slurring and assaulting his nephew had been repostedand condemned by every marginally famous LGBT person with a social media presence,and a bunch of the straight ones too. Logan, the hunky hero, as several mememakers had already named him, was also coming off pretty well. There were alreadyPhotoshopped images of him pinning various villains from history to the wall ofSapphire Cove’s lobby. He was particularly fond of the one that put a digitalversion of Adolf Hitler convincingly in Rodney’s place.

Meanwhile, the Stop SapphireCove Twitter account seemed to be struggling for a toehold. The night before,it had managed to get some late-night traction over allegations the hotel wasmanipulating wildfire victims for its own PR purposes, but Rodney’s meltdownthat morning had thrown cold water on this fresh outrage. The account’s latesttweets asserted Rodney’s scene in the lobby had been staged, but they weren’tgetting much traction, maybe because some of the evacuees currently beinghoused at the hotel had started responding with statements about how well thehotel was treating them.

“Are you going to tell mewhat happened in his office earlier or not?” Donnie asked.

Logan was standing guardoutside Connor’s office when Donnie snuck up on him from behind.

“Nope,” Logan said.

“Later then.” Donnie noddedas if it wasn’t a question.

“Maybe. If we can have ajudgment-free zone.”

“Oh, shit. You fucked him,didn’t you? God, you’re so dumb. You’re going to end up working for your dadand you guys are going to yell at each other for the rest of your lives untilone of you chokes on a sandwich’causeyou’re tryingto get the last word in.”

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