Page 55 of The Last Resort
Matthew was offering to cook them dinner. And he’d been nothing less than a gentleman all day. He was the epitome of a well-bred, well-mannered, all-round nice guy.
“Do you miss your home? I mean Atlanta. When this project is finished will you be going back?”
No. Not ever. Atlanta will always be home, but I can’t go back.
“I miss Atlanta, but I’m thinking of looking for another project like this one when you and I are done. I’ve worked on a few buildings that were up for demolition and helped bring them back to useful life.”
“I’ll be sad to eventually leave Aspen, but when I do, I’m hoping it will be with the knowledge that I can come back to Royal Resorts Aspen whenever I want,” replied Matthew.
He had money, and he had choices. Her life was a little more complicated. They were getting too deep and meaningful for her liking. And the cool room was actually cold.
“Carbonara sounds perfect. I just wish I’d bought some wine with me.” He raised a cheeky eyebrow. “I have a couple of bottles in my room. Let me go and get one.”
Wine and good pasta brought Matthew a gentle peace. Over an expensive bottle of Napa Valley Pinot Grigio, he and Rachel set their differences aside.
He tried to get her to open up a little more about her family back home in Atlanta, but each time he did, she steered the conversation away to another topic. Eventually he decided to let it go. If Rachel didn’t want to share her past with him that was her prerogative.
After setting her glass of wine on the table, Rachel stared at it for a long moment. He sensed she wanted to ask him about his family.
“You can tell me no if you like, and I won’t take offense, but can I ask you about your brother Jordan?”
Matthew smiled. “Don’t you mean you want to ask about his girlfriend? Chloe.”
Chloe Fisher was the world’s biggest popstar and people were always wanting to know the gossip about her and Jordan Royal.
“Sorry. Sorry. Forget I asked,” she stammered.
“Are you a fan?”
Rachel nodded. “I have a Chloe’s Garden tattoo on my ankle. I wasn’t sure if you had ever seen it or if you didn’t know what it was.” She waved a hand about in the air. “Since before late yesterday you were merely Matthew Jones, hotel accountant, and I figured you’d just thought it was a pretty design.”
He had seen the tattoo, but since he wasn’t all that much into Chloe’s music, he hadn’t recognized its significance. Not that he would ever dare tell his future sister-in-law. Jordan had said that Chloe’s fan base was heavily under thirty something and mostly female. He didn’t fit the demographic.
“Jordan and Chloe keep pretty much to themselves. I did see them when I was back in New York City last week. Other than that, there isn’t much to tell.”
Courtesy of a recent major documentary and an in-depth magazine interview, the world knew as much about Chloe as Matthew did. The other things, the private things, were nothis to tell. As far as he knew, only close members of the family were aware that Jordan and Chloe were planning to marry soon.
“Can I ask you something?”
She stiffened. “Um, what?”
“Does your sister and brother-in-law know about us? I mean that we are lovers.”
“We were lovers,” she corrected.
Ouch. That burned. “On a break. Don’t try to tell me that what we shared meant nothing to you, Rach, because I wouldn’t believe it for one single minute if you did.”
She downed the last of her wine and rose from the table. “I’ll wash the dishes. Thank you for dinner. My turn to cook tomorrow night. Though I’m sure I won’t be able to match that pasta. You’ve set the bar high.”
He caught the tone of genuine surprise in her voice, and it chafed at his pride.
“I’ve worked hard to develop grace and elegance in both my designs and my food. You wouldn’t be judging me based on my family wealth now would you, Rachel?”
“No. I’ve made that mistake once already with you, Matthew. Lesson learned. But just because you’re a billionaire doesn’t mean you have good taste.”
Collecting his plate and glass, Matthew got to his feet. He stepped away from the table, pausing as he came to stand alongside her. “I’d have to disagree with you, Rachel. I happen to like you … a lot. And that indisputable fact tells me I have excellent taste.”
A bright patch of red appeared on her cheeks.
