Page 41 of Grand Escape

I nodded. “This is Rylan, a good friend.”

“Grant,” he said, extending his hand to her as if they were closing a multimillion-dollar deal.

Shaking his hand politely, she said, “Rylan, like Adam said. I work over at the Grand.”

“A local.” Grant grinned. “Wonderful. Come in.”

He was ushering us through the door, Rylan’s flip-flops slapping on the marble floor, when Andrew stepped into the foyer.

“Hey, Adam. Glad you made it. Chewy can’t wait to chat—” He stopped short when he saw Rylan and blinked at us. “... business.”

She didn’t wait for an introduction. “I’m Rylan. Adam’s driver.”

Oh, hell no.

Pulling her into my side, I kissed the top of her head, making sure Grant and Andrew knew the real deal. “Friend and driver, and maybe,” I leaned down to whisper the last word in her ear, not caring if we had an audience, “more.”

Rylan pinched my side and escaped my grasp. “Love what you’ve done with the place,” she said with a smile, joking with the guys, and they laughed.

“What can we get you to drink?” Andrew asked. “Danny passed out an hour ago, so I don’t recommend whatever punch he was mixing up.”

Rylan grinned at him. “How about I make a pitcher of margaritas?”

Frowning at her, I said, “You don’t have to—”

“Oh, she does,” Grant said, interrupting me. “She looks like she can mix up some mean tequila cocktails.”

“You got that right. By the way, I know the house.” Making herself at home, Rylan strode toward the back of the house and presumably the bar area. Slipping behind the bar, she muttered, “Fully stocked, like I remembered.”

Opening the small fridge, she grabbed some limes and a few other items, and went to work.

“Alexa, play Beastie Boys,” she called out, and “Sabotage” spilled from the speakers.

Her slight hands squeezed limes and spun the rims of tumblers in salt at a record pace. Before I could offer to help, several pretty margaritas were lined up on the bar.

“Tell me about yourself,” Grant said to Rylan as a guy who I hadn’t met yet entered the room.

Barefoot, the new guy was wearing khaki shorts and an open Hawaiian shirt. His short hair was spiked and he had a good tan.

“Frank, but everyone calls me Chewy,” he said, extending his hand to me. “You must be the all-knowing divorce expert they told me about.”

Giving his hand a brief shake, I introduced myself. “Adam, divorce attorney in the states of Michigan and New York.”

“Good enough. Passed the bar in two states? Jesus, you must be some kind of masochist,” Chewy said as he slapped me on the back.

The guy was no dummy to figure that out. Some states offered reciprocity, but not New York. Doing business with my brother in the Big Apple meant taking the time to satisfy two sets of continuing education requirements, but the money made it worthwhile. I could have done all the legwork and continued to let Cal sign off on everything as the lawyer in charge like we’d done when we first started out, but my ego wouldn’t allow it.

I grinned. “Passed the bar twice, and now I get to dissolve some of the most high-profile marriages out there. Tell me about yours.”

“Well, I just want out. Married, divorced, remarried, and now I found my true love. Want to give Ron what she wants and get her out of my life.” Giving me a quick rundown, Chewy grabbed a margarita and took a sip, then nodded at Rylan. “Good shit. Why didn’t the caterer send you earlier in the week?”

“She’s with me.” I ran a hand through my hair, starting to think this evening was a colossal mistake.

“I work at the Grand,” she told him. “I’ve worked parties at this house in the past, but I don’t do that anymore.”

“Hmm.” Chewy took another sip of the drink. “We should do my wedding here. You could whip up some of these beauties. Sarah would love them. I’m about to get married again, but this time to the love of my life.”

Rylan nodded politely as Chewy rambled on.

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