“When you wake up, you can get started with Claire.”

  Oh, no. No, no, no. This is not what I signed up for.

  I happened to be checking email late last night when Roman’s first message came in. It was about event planning, not babysitting, and this latest announcement sends an anxious twist flaring my gut. It’s my job to plan flawless events. Anything this man touches will be undeniably, irrevocably flawed.

  “Get started with what?” Beau laughs. “I’ve been handling the events here since the day I graduated college. I don’t need a second-in-command.”

  “She’s not a second-in-command. If anything, you are now co-directors.” Roman narrows his eyes. “For the next two weeks, you two are attached at the hip.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “You don’t know what you need, Beau.” Everyone in the bullpen has been valiantly trying to work through this interlude, but a quick hush falls at Roman’s outburst. He steps closer to his brother, who slips his hands in his pockets, his posture as casual as if he was standing on the beach holding a drink in his hand. It’s not the attitude of someone who’s been taken down several pegs. Stand up straight, I want to hiss at him. Have some decorum. “I don’t know what’s been going on with you. But you’re off the rails, and it’s starting to affect the resort.”

  Beau looks at Roman like he might laugh, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from saying something. Brothers or not, Roman is in charge of the Bliss Resort, and Beau—I didn’t know it was possible to stand so insolently.

  I also didn’t know that it was possible to look quite so....attractive while being insolent. There’s something about the way Beau’s untucked button-down glides over his hips that has me hotly curious about what I’d find if I unbuttoned the shirt, but that’s—that’s not appropriate. I look away and shove that assessment deep down where no one will ever find it, least of all me.

  “If this is about Jenny, I’ll apologize.” A half-smile slides across Beau’s face, and once again I’m forced to ignore a strange and unwelcome heat pooling low in my belly. “I’m sure she wasn’t happy to have you pulled away in the middle of the night, and I swear, I’ll run the social media posts by her in the future. Okay? We don’t have to go this far.”

  Roman cracks a grin. “Let’s meet in the middle.”

  Beau’s shoulders tense, but he only shakes his head. “Nobody wants that.”

  “Everybody wants that. Trust me on this one, Beau.” The noise drops back in then—people at their desks, talking to one another. A phone ringing. I feel like I’ve been released from prison. This whole episode is so outside the bounds of propriety. My mom would have a fit if she saw two brothers brawling it out in the middle of their workplace. Roman straightens up, becoming another impossible inch taller. “I have to go, or I’ll be late for the meeting to smooth over your fuck-up.”

  “I won’t hold you up any longer.” Beau delivers a little bow. “We can continue this later, your grace.”

  “Ha. If you’re coordinated enough to do that, then you can meet with Claire about the first event. You’ll be there, of course, lending your presence to the evening and making sure that nothing goes wrong.”

  “Will I?”

  Roman turns around, his back now to us, and walks through the rows of desks at an even pace. “If you want to keep your job, you will,” he calls over his shoulder.

  Beau watches him go, hands still in his pockets, the long lines of his body still relaxed. I don’t know how he does it. Part of me desperately wants to know. The other part wants to clear my throat to remind him that he is in an office, not barefoot in the sand.

  Roman Bliss is completely out of sight by the time Beau turns to face me, that careless smile still draped across his face. Does he care about anything? Judging by the conversation of the last several minutes, probably not.

  Doesn’t matter. I must forge ahead. I raise my folio in front of me. After I got off the phone with Roman last night, I made plans. In a situation like what Roman has described, there’s not a moment to lose. I won’t be the one who wastes time. “We can start with the cocktail party.”

  I’ve spent years learning to be precise with my voice. By the time I was thirteen, my mother had eradicated my obnoxious tendency to loft my voice at the end of sentences, making everything into a question. So I’m not asking one of Beau when I speak.

  And yet—

  He laughs.

  It sends a stab of heat through my chest, the sensation flooding into my cheeks, and I brace both hands on the folio.

  “I’m sorry,” Beau says when his laugh has died out. “Did you say cocktail party?”

  “Yes, cocktail party.” I take a step back into Roman’s office and gesture toward the desk. “If you’ll sit down, we can run through the expectations for the evening, and how it will help to get the resort back on track.”

  He’s shaking his head before I’ve even finished speaking.

  I hate him.

  And also—

  “There’s no way in hell I’m spending a beautiful day sitting at my brother’s desk like I’ve been dragged to the principal’s office.” There’s nothing brooding or sharp about the way Beau says this—he’s still wearing a lazy smile that matches perfectly with his lazy outfit—but it raises my hackles just the same. Is he—is he baiting me? There’s no way, since he hasn’t offered any alternative. He gives me a funny salute. “I’m on my way outside.”

  “Outside? Where are you going?” Roman gave me explicit instructions on the phone last night about the duration of the contract, the number of events I’m going to plan, and how serious this situation is. Beau saunters away from me without a backward glance.

  I’m trapped. Not only am I hovering half a step away from the door of the office, in plain view of everyone, but there are no good options. Raise my voice and yell after him? I don’t think so. Run after him? Claire Cashmore doesn’t chase men. For God’s sake.

  As much as I know Beau Bliss is going to be a thorn in my side until the bitter end of this two weeks, it’s my job to run events with him.

  The lesser of two evils it is.

  I hustle out of the office, grabbing my purse from the desk where I left it on the way. I have just enough time to murmur a quick thank you to the woman sitting there, and I catch her looking up at me with eyes aglow, flicking quickly to Beau’s retreating back.

  God.

  It’s a good thing he’s not walking very fast, because I’m not willing to break into a jog to catch him. I can’t do that. Run after him like a lovesick heroine in an airport scene? No, no, no. Appearances matter, whispers my conscience, which sounds suspiciously like my mother, in the back of my mind. How do you want the world to see you, as a woman desperate enough to run after her new officemate?

  Not that he is my officemate, since technically he is refusing to sit in an office with me.

  I reach Beau’s side five steps after the reception desk and take a deep breath. I hope it disguises my elevated heart rate. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He glances over at me, another infuriating grin curling up the corner of his mouth, and I resent deeply and fully the electric zing that moves across my skin when his eyes settle on my face. “What question was that?”

  “Where are you going?” That does sound slightly desperate. Cover. Cover it up. “Do you always work outside?”

  Beau chuckles. “Inside. Outside. Wherever the party takes me.”

  “So you couldn’t sit in an office and discuss details for the event that I planned?”

  He shrugs. “Do you find offices appealing?”

  “Yes.” It’s such an obvious truth. “I do find offices appealing. Offices are where people are supposed to work.”

  Beau arches an eyebrow. “Aren’t you an event planner? Don’t you then attend the events?”

  “Of course, but that’s—” We step out into the sunny lobby, with its soaring ceilings and polished floors, and my mind floods with possibilities. There could be so many lovely events hosted in here. It seems unfathomable that the Bliss Resort is caught up in a situation that involved a burning rowboat when they have spaces like this available. “That’s a small part of conducting business. Most of my clients prefer a professional area for the initial planning phases.”

  “I’d say we’re past initial planning. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Absolutely. Other than for a few final details, I have the cocktail party well in hand.”

  I have to let him go a few steps ahead when he changes directions, cutting across the lobby to a wide hallway that smells new—fresh paint, fresh carpet—though there isn’t any renovation-associated clutter. Nice. Beau goes straight to a set of double doors at the end of the hall and pushes one open, extending an arm to usher me out.

  We step out onto a brickwork path that winds through a garden. A neat floral design rustles under dappled sunlight and the shadows cast from a magnolia tree. The same shadows play over Beau’s face as he makes his way to a gate at the other end of the path. It opens beneath his hand with a creak of metal that strikes me as appallingly charming.

  I can’t be charmed by this place, though. Not this place, and not this irritatingly easygoing brother. Appearances are everything, and even one step away from cool, detached professionalism will send my career straight to the dogs. I’ve barely had a chance to make a name for myself in Ruby Bay. I won’t be ruining my chances on my first big-name client.

  But I can’t ruminate on that now, because Beau has brought me to...

  The pool?

  “What are we doing here?”

  He’s gone another several steps ahead, toward the deep end, and when he looks over his shoulder at me, blue eyes alight, I almost forget myself.

  “I’m getting a drink at the bar. What are you going to do?”

  3

  Beau

  The look on Claire Cashmore’s face when I announce that I’m getting a drink at nine in the morning is enough to sustain me through several harsh winters. She stops dead at the corner of the pool, the light from the water reflecting up into her face, and stares at me, those lovely, perfect lips parted in abject horror.

  “A drink? At the bar?”

  I give a long-suffering sigh. “It’s either that or drink from the pool.”

  Those lips twist into a disgusted scowl. “That’s some joke.”

  I take a step back toward her. “I’m going to let you in on something. This entire situation is a joke. But why let that ruin a beautiful day? We may as well eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.” I let the last phrase loose in my best Dave Matthews rasp. It echoes off the pool, drawing a snicker from the bartender.

  “Morning, Beau,” he calls.

  “Hey, Rob.” I leave Claire standing there, her mouth still hanging open, and approach the bar. Rob is a tall, exceedingly fit black man who usually spends his evenings dispensing drinks to a crowd of our resort guests. I imagine he rakes in the tips. “Drew the morning shift, huh?”

  “It’s my sister’s birthday, so I switched.” His sister is, if I recall correctly, turning ten. He pulls a glass from beneath the counter and tosses it from hand to hand. “The party’s at Mugz ‘n’ More. I’d invite you, but I bet you’re already booked.” He rolls his eyes, good-naturedly. “You want the usual?”

  “I’d love to come paint pottery with you, you know that.” I lower my voice. “But I’m in a bit of a situation.”

  Rob looks over my shoulder. I see the moment he catches sight of Claire. “Who’s that? Your new boss?”

  It’s a joke, but it stings more than it should. I still haven’t sorted out the ache in the center of my chest. What the hell is that about, anyway? This job is a performance I’ve been refining for years, but it’s a performance. I shouldn’t be so hung up that my brother isn’t giving me a standing ovation. Who would, after what happened last night? I get it, I do. It’s only that I didn’t see Claire Cashmore coming. I would have expected Roman to fall into bed for a couple hours of sleep with Jenny, not go about finding my replacement.

  Because that’s what the plan is, isn’t it? That’s what it has to be. There’s no way he brought her in for two weeks. That little detail must have been to soothe my ego.

  It isn’t soothed.

  “It’s anyone’s guess,” I say in a hushed voice. “And yeah. I’ll have the usual.”

  The usual for this time of the morning is a virgin mimosa. Not that Roman would know.

  Rob spritzes ginger ale into a highball glass and is adding the orange juice and a loud drink umbrella when Claire comes up to the bar, spine rigid and face set in a frown.

  “Good morning,” Rob greets her, handing me the glass. Her eyes follow it like he’s handing me a grenade with the pin pulled out. “Mr. Bliss tells me you’re working for the resort, so drinks are complimentary.”

  Claire rips her eyes away from the mimosa and thrusts her hand toward Rob. “Claire Cashmore. Elegant Events.”

  “Oooh.” Rob raises his eyebrows, intrigued. “Sounds like Beau’s thing.”

  I snort some orange juice into my nose. “Thanks for having my back.”

  “And thank you for the offer of a drink.” Claire’s voice is as stiff as her spine. “But I don’t think I should be...partaking at this hour of the morning. Not when we’re about to get to work.” She flicks her eyes to me in not-so-subtle judgment.

  “I’m sure Mr. Bliss would disagree.” Rob laughs, a rich sound. “I’ll be here if you decide you want anything.”

  “I won’t,” Claire says, then presses her lips together, pink spreading across her cheeks. “I mean, thank you, but no. Maybe...some other time.”

  Rob tips an invisible hat to her and I lean up against the bar. “What do you say, Claire? A couple of deck chairs?”

  There’s a beat while she studies my face, then draws herself up to her full height. “Absolutely not. I’m not dressed for that.”

  “Any outfit can be deck chair-appropriate if you approach it with the right attitude.”

  “The table,” she says, a little louder. “One of the tables with the umbrellas. That’ll be fine.”

  “Fine? I want this first decision of ours to be great.”

  It works. The pink in Claire’s cheeks deepens, and my blood thrums in my veins. She is my mortal enemy, and I have but one skill set—being utterly charming. I can tell that she hates it. “The table is great,” she insists, then turns on her high heels and marches across the pool deck toward the table on the other side. Once again, I’m seized with an image of her body close to mine, her arms around my neck, a wild shriek in her throat as I carry us both toward the water. What would she be like with her hair let down?

  One thing’s for certain: I’ll never know. No matter how many times I can make her blush, women like Claire never want anything to do with me. I am not their type.

  I follow Claire to the table and drag a deck chair next to where she’s smoothing her skirt down over her legs, positioning the chair just so in the sun. Then I recline into it, as per my personal brand.

  Another beat of silence. Those are going to be quite common between us if I let this continue. And honestly, I’m not sure that I will. The pain in my chest has bloomed into a kind of hot irritation—with my brothers, with the party last night, with myself.

  Claire clears her throat.

  “The cocktail party.”

  “Yes.” I shade my eyes with my hand, which has the effect of hiking up my shirt so that a few inches of my abs are exposed. A sharp intake of breath from Claire has me determined not to tug the shirt back down until it’s absolutely necessary. “Tell me about this cocktail party.”

  “It’s scheduled for tomorrow night.”

  “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

  “Not when I can help it,” she answers primly. “The event will be held in the Ruby Room on the second floor of the—”

  “Claire.” I roll her name over my tongue to get a rise out of her...and also because, God help me, it tastes good in my mouth. “You don’t have to tell me where the event rooms on my own resort are located. Save yourself some time and skip the common details. I give you permission.”

  I did not give her permission to plan the event in the Ruby Room, which always strikes me as stuffy and pretentious. I’d rather do a cordoned-off area on the beach, or by the pool, or any number of places at the resort. But that’s not up to me now. My stomach turns over.

  She sniffs, a little sound that tells me I’ve struck a nerve. “No problem, Mr. Bliss.” So she did pick that up from Rob. What she doesn’t know is that Rob only calls me that as a joke. He’s one of my favorite bartenders on staff. He sees me enough that the constant Mr. Bliss would drive us both insane. “The event will feature cocktails and light appetizers.”

  “And the music?”

  “String, played over the sound system.”

  Great. So we’ll be trapped in the resort’s fanciest elevator for a full hour, listening to string music and making small talk. Scintillating. It sounds like the kind of party that’s one for the record books.

  Or not.

  “The attire is something we clearly need to discuss.” Claire speaks over the sound of the pool water lapping against the concrete edges of the pool. On mornings like this, the water speaks to me. Maybe that sounds ridiculous, but there you have it. It’s practically beckoning. Dive in and clear your mind. There are no guests lounging in the shallow end and only one of the deck chairs is occupied, so I could. I really could.

  “Do we?” I lower my hand from my eyes and make a half-hearted gesture aimed at pulling my shirt down. “Is there some reason you think I can’t dress myself for a cocktail hour?”

  I don’t have to look at her to know that Claire is already frowning. What doesn’t make sense is this insane urge I have to make her smile by any means necessary.

  She’s the competition. She’s the one that Roman is already grooming to replace me. I shouldn’t want anything to do with her.

  In fact...

  “If this is what you consider office attire, then yes.” She’s utterly decisive, her tone leaving no room for argument. I twist on the chair to look up at her.

 

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