Maybe while writing down my notes.
Talk about photo ops. I’ve always wanted to take one of those pictures where all you see is the person’s feet and the view beyond. I can tag it, like, Another day at the office. Something cute like that.
Hayley tips the porter before he goes, leaving us alone. “Wow. I’ve gotta give it to my sister. This venue is amazing.” She steps out onto the patio and takes a deep breath. “I could get used to this.”
“Same here.”
She grins back at me over her shoulder. “Has it ever occurred to you that you can work from anywhere in the world? Like, literally anywhere?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“You could spend your whole life moving from place to place. A month here, a month there. I mean, it’s not like you aren’t paying an arm and a leg for that apartment. Hell, you could even sublet it and use that as income too.” She spreads her arms. “This could be your home whenever you want it to be.”
“It’s tempting. But I don’t know. I like having roots.” I sit on the edge of one of the two beds and test its firmness—a mistake because, now, all I want to do is lie down. “Besides, I would miss you.”
“I’d make the sacrifice of visiting whenever you wanted.”
“You’re such a generous person.”
I need to get up since I might fall asleep if I don’t, and there’s way too much I want to see before the rest of Hayley’s immediate family shows up and we’re beholden to them.
“Oh my God, she made a book with little drawing versions of the two of them.” Hayley flips through it, snickering. “Like anybody cares that he learned to make her favorite dinner to show how much he liked her. Is it that hard to make lasagna?”
Here I am, thinking it’s sort of cute. But she’s obviously in a mood just from being here and having it thrown in her face, how happy her successful sister is.
“You know my romance-writer’s heart,” I remind her with a slight laugh in hopes of keeping things light.
“You would think it’s cute, wouldn’t you?” She gives me a fake smile. “Sorry. I’m bitter.”
“I wouldn’t call it—”
“Bitter. I am. I admit it. I haven’t even seen anybody from the family yet, and I’m already in a pissy mood. This isn’t easy for me. Especially after …”
She goes back to the book like it’s the most important thing in the world. I know what she means, and I wish—not for the first time—that she’d told me about her affair with her boss while it was going on.
It seems like she caught real, true feelings for him. The jerk. He never deserved her.
“Looks like I should’ve ordered more than one drink,” she murmurs with a wry grin, tucking the book into the basket.
“Probably not a good idea. You don’t want to be so drunk that you end up saying things you’ll regret.”
“Wanna bet?”
“I know. Let’s put our suits on and sit out by the pool. If you want a drink, let’s have some atmosphere to go with it.” I’m already digging through my carry-on, where I packed everything I’d need for a trip outside.
“Yeah, we should do that. But I should check in on my parents first. They’ve been here since last night, and if they find out I went to the pool before even saying hi …”
“Got it. I’ll grab us a table under an umbrella and wait for you there.”
It only takes a few minutes to get changed and toss what I need into a tote bag. No matter what Hayley says, I’m not swanning around the pool in nothing but a bikini. My caftan is long and flowy and, in my opinion, dramatic. It’s the sort of thing a romance writer would wear poolside.
Obviously, since I’m going to wear it poolside.
It’s only around eleven in the morning by the time I take a seat at a table, but there are already at least two dozen people out and about. Bronzed, beautiful people.
It’s enough for the time being to take a few photos and schedule them to post across my accounts later. One of the pool, which is crystal clear and inviting on a warm day. One of the beach beyond. I’ll have to take plenty of shots from the patio, for sure.
“Maggie’s gonna love this,” I murmur with a smile while typing up captions for each image.
“Can I get you a drink, miss?”
I smile up at the server and decide on something that comes in a pineapple. Another great, if somewhat cliché, image. But Maggie’s sort of cliché anyway, and she’s really the person I’m doing this to please. Sure, my fans will like it, but they won’t hound me the way she will.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
It’s delivered in such a sharp, nasty tone that I can’t help but look up and around to see who said it.
A guy is pacing back and forth on a path leading to the pool. He’s scrubbing a hand through his hair, to the point where it’s sticking up in blond spikes. He’s talking on a phone.
Yelling into a phone, more like it.
“You had weeks to tell me that. Weeks. How do you think this is going to look? What do you mean, you don’t care? I already paid for everything! Do you even know what this is costing me? Do you think I have all this money to throw around? Yeah, he’s paying for me, but I was paying for you. What difference does it make? You could’ve at least gotten a free vacation out of it.”
He lets out a bark of a laugh. “You? Not wanting something for free? Since when? Fucking hell.”
By now, there are people eyeing him up with disgust. It’s not a pretty sight or sound, watching and listening to a full-grown man having a meltdown.
“Fuck off, Linds.” He shoves the phone into his pocket before letting out a few more choice words at a significant volume.
Which, of course, is when I have to say something. “Hey. There are other people in the world besides you. You’re being rude.”
That leaves a few people snickering and nodding in agreement, which gives me more courage.
It also earns me an absolutely filthy look from him.
“Was I talking to you?”
“I don’t know. Were you? You were practically screaming, so, yeah, you could’ve been talking to me.”
“Mind your business.”
“Keep your business to yourself, and I’ll mind mine. How about it?”
He’s halfway to the table by the time I realize I’ve really done it. Why not dance a jig in the middle of a minefield? I don’t know this man from Adam, yet I’ve gone and made him mad.
And he’s on his way over to me.
Until Hayley intercepts him.
“Briggs! Just the person I wanted to see!” She hurries over and gives him a hug around the neck. “Thank God there’s somebody else here who I can actually stand to spend more than a minute at a time with!”
Briggs.
This is Briggs.
Also known as the best man. Also known as the guy I’m supposed to meet, form a connection with, and, if Maggie has her way, engage in sweaty, rum-fueled sex with.
The guy who looks like he would gladly strangle me once he’s finished strangling the girl he just screamed at over the phone.
Of.
Freaking.
Course.