42

I leave the bar to join the group, positioning myself beside Lucy.
“Call me JP. And yes.” Our arms lightly touch, an electric jolt ignites between us. “I’ll be around. Checking in.”
I shift my gaze back to the others. “The rooms are on the first two floors. The one at the top will need to be shared. If anyone’s uncomfortable with that, I can arrange for accommodation in my hotel down the mountain.”
Just like in my Vegas home, the team will be sleeping on five-thousand-dollar silk sheets, bathing in deep-soaking bathtubs designed for sheiks, and doing their business on top-tier, remote-controlled, butt-warming Japanese super toilets.
As Matty drapes an arm around Lucy’s shoulders, a pang of jealousy slices through me. “We’ll be roomies. That way, Luce can make sure I get up.”
She seems unbothered, maybe even content, to share a room with him. That should be me by her side, sharing more than just a room.
“Are you sure about this, Lucy?” Taylor asks with an eyebrow raised. “Rooming with Matty will be hell.”
He grins cheekily. “Hey, she’s used to living above a brothel with a roommate named Spider. I’m a step up from that.”
“Well, that is true.” Taylor looks at her condescendingly. “I could never fathom why you chose to live in that area. And look at the outcome-I’m relieved I chose Brooklyn.”
Lucy’s jaw tightens, the conversation clearly stirring discomfort. “It was a charming bakery when I moved in, okay? How could I predict its transformation into a red-light district? But you live, you learn. I’ll manage with Matty.”
Her smile is a bit too strained, her eyes a bit too haunted. I can see through the act.
That’s it. I’m buying that damn apartment, with or without her approval. I won’t stand by while she struggles.
Our heated argument months ago still rings in my ears. She accused me of controlling her life, bitterness lacing each word.
My intentions had been fueled by concern, not control. But maybe I had been heavy-handed, my protective instincts manifesting as overbearing actions. Or was it her own stubborn pride that had heightened the friction between us?
She’s fiercely independent, always wanting to carry her own weight. It’s one of the things I love about her, but it’s also the one thing that drove a wedge between us.
“I’m the one you should be pitying,” Matty chimes in, grinning. “She’ll be whimpering about Daredevil in her sleep and keeping me up all night.”
“What?” Taylor asks, confused.
Lucy blushes, shooting Matty a sharp warning glare. “Nothing!”
I can’t help but smirk, catching her eye. Good, let her think about our steamy moment, even if she’s clueless that it was me behind the mask.
“So why the change of scene from Vegas this time?” a developer pipes up. I think his name is Tony.
“Because this hackathon,” I begin, the edges of my lips curving up slightly, “is going to look a little different.”
Their collective body language tightens up, like they’re bracing for impact.
“Usually, you guys work like mad and party harder, but I’m suggesting a shift in tempo.” With a gesture toward the door, I say, “follow me.”
They look equal parts confused and terrified.
I take them to the garden, our footsteps crunching against the gravel.
“Holy shit,” Matty lets out, his voice rippling through the evening air.
His reaction is a cue for the rest, a symphony of gasps and murmurs echoing around.
But I’m only interested in one reaction. I glance over at Lucy. She stands there, frozen, mouth slightly agape. “It’s like a… paradise,” she manages to get out.
I can’t help but chuckle. “That’s the idea.”
They drink in the scenery. The cabanas, the trails, the lush foliage-all painstakingly designed to be a peaceful oasis. A labyrinth of hidden paths winds through the greenery, enhancing the tranquility.
But it’s the infinity pool that really steals the show. Perfectly heated, it melts into the horizon, blending seamlessly with the mountain backdrop.
I’m not fooling myself here. I know well enough that a sprinkling of Zen design elements and a few shrubs don’t equate to some sort of spiritual awakening. But I’m hopeful that Lucy sees it as a signal of my intentions. A sign that I want to make real changes, even if they start small.
I want to create a space for her to unwind and recharge. A place where, just maybe, her view of me might start to shift.
“There’ll be yoga and meditation sessions at dawn and noon,” I continue. “There’s no need to slave around the clock. Manage your time-be productive when inspiration strikes, relax when needed. Use all the amenities at your disposal. Trust me, your productivity won’t suffer, in fact, it might just enhance by the week’s end. Some of my most radical ideas have emerged from moments of relaxation. It’s a hard-earned lesson.”
Matty, never one to hold his tongue, leans in to whisper to Lucy. “This is nothing like the last hackathons,” he mutters, disbelief lacing his words. “I swear he’s had a brain transplant.”
A smirk pulls at the corners of my mouth.
True, previous hackathons were hosted at my Vegas mansion, a venue synonymous with the ethos of “work hard, play hard.” In Vegas, I compensated grueling work with hedonistic nights on the strip, all financed by a limitless credit card.
“Tomorrow, we hit the ground running,” I announce. “I want groundbreaking strategies that will render every other casino as appealing as a dingy, back-alley gambling den. But you’ll only work for half the day. The other half, you can opt to relax here, or for the adventurous, I have a little something up my sleeve.”
Their suspicion is palpable as they all exchange uneasy glances.
“Paddleboarding on Lake Welch. I can assure you, out there on the waters, your best creative ideas will surface.”
Their stunned silence is a priceless picture.
My eyes find Lucy. “Lucy,” I offer, my tone softening, “you’re not obligated to join in, but I genuinely think it could be an effective stress-buster for you, given recent events.”
As she considers my offer, I find myself holding my breath. Then, she graces me with a smile and a nod.
Jackpot. That’s exactly what I need. A relaxed Lucy, open to spending time with me.
The image of Lucy, glowing under the sun in a swimsuit, revs up my anticipation. It’s going to take every ounce of self-control to keep my cool around her.
Lucy
Matty has assured me that JP is in the throes of a midlife crisis. Regular men typically navigate this life stage with a cliche convertible (ideally with a much younger, barely clothed woman riding shotgun) or by becoming cycling-loving MAMILs (Middle-Aged Men in Lycra). But those are your average Joes.