Page 3 of Seven Days
2
BRIANNA
* * *
“Help yourself to anything in the house,” Thomas says as he pulls into the driveway. “The guest room is the first on the right, down the second hallway. I have a tee time in twenty minutes. I’ll be back later.”
I’ve barely closed the car door before he pulls back out of the driveway, leaving me to make my way through the garage, past his Lamborghini, Range Rover, and Harley. I haven’t been inside this house. He moved here a few years ago from Laguna Beach and the house I’d visited more times than I could count with my dad.
I manage to find my way to the kitchen, which is open to a light, airy living room. It barely looks lived in, but the delicious, spicy scent of his cologne lingers in the space. There are no dishes in the sink; not even a coffee cup. No bananas on the counter . . . Just a sterile, spotless space. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me; he is a surgeon after all. He’s probably a neat freak.
A bachelor neat freak.
I step around the island and find a small wine refrigerator. Crouching down, I pull open the door and grab the first bottle I come to. It’s a bottle of champagne. Drinking this on an empty stomach after all the vodka is probably a bad idea, but I think I’m owed a get out of jail free card today.
I pull the foil off the top and pop the cork, startling as it flies across the room and ricochets off one of the massive sliding doors leading out to the pool. I can’t believe I didn’t notice the view. Wandering over to the door, I slide one open.
The warm early summer air envelops me as I step out onto the concrete of the pool deck. The pool is long and narrow, running the length of the back property line and I can see the entire arc of the Queen’s Necklace and all the beaches from Laguna to Malibu, from his backyard. High hedge-like trees block the yard from the neighbors view. I can see why he bought this property.
Swigging champagne from the bottle, I sit down on the edge of the pool, letting my feet dangle in the water, which is the perfect temperature.
If I had a swimsuit, I’d probably jump in. I can’t remember the last time I went for a swim. Maybe two summers ago on vacation with Trevor’s family in Miami. He made a really hurtful joke about my body fitting in more with women on South Beach than in Los Angeles, a dig at the curves my Brazilian mother gave me. You would think the man would appreciate this body, but he’d find ways to give me subtle digs all the time.
I should strip down and go for a swim.
Fuck Trevor.
I press my lips to the bottle and take another drink, loving the way the bubbles dance on my tongue. The sun is still high in the sky and I know golf can take hours, so I probably have time to take a short dip. I giggle to myself at how appalled Trevor would be to know I’m about to skinny-dip in my dad’s best friend’s pool.
That thought fuels my decision as I stand and pull my sundress over my head. Grabbing my phone and setting it by the bottle, I push my panties down my legs and unhook my bra. Jumping into the cool water with a splash, I stay beneath the surface, swimming to the infinity edge before coming up for air and peering down at the crashing waves below.
I stay there for a while, mesmerized by the waves hitting the rocks. Falling into thoughts of Trevor’s betrayal, I search my mind for any obvious signs that I missed. There has to have been something, some clue to give away his shady behavior.
The longer I wrack my brain, the less I can think of. We’re both so busy, with me finishing my second year of law school and him starting his new job as a junior associate. Maybe we just fell out of love. Am I even really sad? When I think about him cheating I’m mostly humiliated. There’s not really any pain now that the shock has worn off. Was I even in love with him at all?
My phone starts to ring so I push off the wall and swim to the other side. It’s a FaceTime call from Sara. I click accept, after making sure she can’t see my tits.
“I really need to know why Trevor just texted me asking if I had talked to you. And why are you naked in a pool I’ve never seen before?” Her eyebrows nearly touch her hairline as she holds my gaze in the no nonsense way that will make her an incredible attorney.
“He texted you because I’m ignoring him.”
“Why?” she demands.
“We were at brunch and his side piece came up to us demanding answers.”
“No!” Her eyes widen as the news sinks in.
“Yes.” I nod my head and put the bottle back to my lips. “I remember seeing her around at parties. She is one of the partners’ PAs.”
“What a fucking moron. Has he seen you? Has he spoken to you? Fucking gorgeous and brilliant. Honestly, it’s his loss.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. I don’t want to think about him. I’m giving myself the night to make bad decisions.”
“Speaking of bad decisions, where are you?” She squints at the screen, probably trying to figure out based on the view.
“Dad’s out of town and having the house repainted so I can’t stay there. I was just going to grab a hotel room but he called Thomas to come to get me. I guess I’m staying here for the week while I wait for dad to get home.”
“You, my bestie, are skinny dipping in your dad’s best friend’s pool? In the middle of the day for anyone to see? Who are you?”