Page 3 of Grand Escape

Poor Sean had been after me for months to go to a staff party on the beach. That was always a big no for me. I didn’t do big groups, loud parties, or late nights. At least, not any later than my shift. The Grand Escape sure lived up to its name when it came to the surroundings and the guests, but the staff? We were here to make everything grand for everyone but ourselves.

It’s okay. I was lucky to have the gig and spend my days in the blue skies and sunlight.

“No party?” Mr. Stern asked, his eyes tracking me as I dried a few glasses from the rack.

“Not tonight.”

“One more?” He tilted his head as if begging my good graces in pouring him an ungodly amount of vodka in a short period of time.

“You’re not driving, are you?”

“Touché.” He huffed. “That’s a no.”

I tossed the bar towel over my shoulder and poured his poison. “Look, if you want to wake up with a raging hangover in paradise, that’s your choice. Plus, it’s good for my business.”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Frowning at him, I said, “What’s yours?”

“You don’t know? You looked up my info ... stalker.” He whispered the last word with a small smirk.

Obviously, this guy held his alcohol better than I thought. His hands were now in front of him, intriguing little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and he licked his lips after taking another slug of vodka.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “If people call you A, then I know your name. Either that, or you’re a two-bit celeb who thinks traveling around on an initial keeps you under the radar.”

“You have bite. Anyone ever told you that before?”

This made me laugh. “A few people. It’s how I survive the job. Bachelor parties. Bachelorette party catfights. Weddings gone wrong. Honeymoon spats. I have to handle all of that BS.”

“Adam,” he said, extending his hand over the bar.

I took his hand for a quick shake. “Rylan, and I’m not in charge of handling whatever you have going on.”

I needed some space from this sad but intoxicating man. He was drawing me in with his cat claws and puppy-dog eyes.

He paused for a moment with a considering look. “Rylan, interesting. Never heard that one before. What’s it mean?”

I shrugged. It was time for me to leave some mystery on the table.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice getting hoarser by the second, and I had a thing for sexy hoarse voices.

“While you’re doing that, maybe you want to change into swim trunks and a T-shirt. You know, match the vibe here.”

Bob Marley’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” began playing over the bar’s speakers, a stark contrast to the contemplative look on Adam’s face.

“She would have liked you,” he said, picking up his glass with a sad smile. “Really. Liked. You.”

I tapped my palm on the bar. “I see you’re nursing some wounds. Sorry for all the jokes. Have a good night.”

I was a good bartender—no, a fucking great one—but I didn’t tend to shattered hearts while being compared to the ex. It wasn’t good for my lonely soul, even if his words were meant to be complimentary.

Adam didn’t seem too upset with my brush-off, only nodding before downing the rest of his Tito’s and tossing a fifty on the bar. Since he’d told me to charge the drinks to his room, I assumed it was a tip and overcompensation for his blunder.

Taking the money, I felt my heart sink a tiny bit. I might live in paradise, but to me, this was all just a living.

Rylan

“Welcome to your own personal paradise,” Tony, the valet, said brightly as he opened the door to a shiny black Suburban.

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