Page 161 of Law Maker
“Wait.” I set the helmet on the bike’s seat and pressed the phone tighter to my ear. “Sorry, I just parked at the hotel I told you about.”
“Delano. Small world.”
“Yeah. So, they want me to wildcard?”
“Two races in Jerez next weekend. I need to give them an answer today, but I think you should say yes.”
“That’s incredible, Ale. Tell them I’m in. Thanks.” Testing a new bike at a RevGlobe Grand Prix was the perfect chance to prove myself again. I missed racing. There was no better way back.
“Awesome. How are you feeling?”
Grandma had been right—everyone was worried, no matter how hard I pretended.
“Better,” I said. “Being home helps.”
“I’m glad, mi niño. I’m helping my old man today, but we need to meet and talk.”
“Call me when you’re free.”
“Will do.”
We hung up, and I walked the driveway to a white-walled squarebuilding. Emrys appeared, silver aviators hiding his eyes.
“Asher.” He clasped my hand. “Thanks for stopping by. Let me show you around.”
The boutique hotel was nearly finished. Inside, painters worked on final touch-ups, the smell of fresh paint and concrete dust hanging in the air.
“Everything will look much better once complete,” Emrys said with a laugh as we stepped into one of the rooms. “Each faces the ocean. Only three per floor. We want our guests to have the comfort of a hotel but the privacy of a rental.”
Beyond the wide window, the ocean stretched endlessly. Kaia would’ve loved the view. For a moment I swore she stood there, framed by the glass. I’d give anything to go back and plan a stay in a place like this with her.
“I love the concept,” I said. “The cabin we stayed at was spectacular.”
Emrys clapped my shoulder. “Thank you, Asher. I’m honored. Come on, let’s have lunch.”
He led me to the backyard, where a kidney-shaped pool gleamed under the sun. A square table for two waited beside it. He gestured toward the setup. “Hope you’re hungry. We’re finalizing the menu, so I’d love your honest opinion. We went with local gastronomy.”
A smiling server greeted me in Spanish, laying out plates of appetizers. I reached for the tortilla. Emrys watched as I chewed.
“It’s great,” I said. “But it needs more onion.”
He chuckled. “The eternal debate. With or without onion. We’ll offer both. Try the squid and the croquetas.”
Everything I sampled was amazing. So was the hotel. Rys knew what he was doing, and he spoke about it with passion.
After lunch, he pulled out his bike, and we rode to a secluded beach only locals seemed to know.
“So, why build here?” I asked as we strolled along the water’s edge.
“I love this place,” he said. “But I needed a change of scenery. I’m thinking about opening another business.”
“Tired of the hotels?”
He laughed. “No. They’re my father’s legacy. I want something of my own. To prove I can succeed on my terms, if that makes sense. My therapist would probably say it’s about my childhood.”
“Do you and your father get along?”
Dad. Russell. The irony of how much our parents shaped everything wasn’t lost on me.
