Page 50 of Grand Escape

“Wife’s in the spa,” he said.

“And a little self-care for you?” I asked, doing my best to tease and act like my best self.

“Ha. Exactly.” He tipped the bottle toward me before bringing it to his lips. “What’s better than a cold beer on a hot day surrounded by a little vitamin sea?”

The man looked to me for an answer, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the person who had just sat next to him.

He found me. Of course he did. This was tenacious, win-at-all-costs Adam.

“There’s nothing better than spending time with the only person you want to be with,” Adam said, answering the guy drinking a beer and philosophizing about life.

“Or by yourself,” the man said.

Luckily, the printer spit out another order. The new system allowed the beach waiters to enter orders from their iPads, which went straight through cyberspace to the bar. It kept beachgoers from having to keep searching for a server, and kept things behind the bar moving. I’d never been so happy to have a bunch of tickets.

Focusing on my work, I prepped a piña colada.

“Rylan,” Adam said softly.

I wasn’t in the mood to do this. Not now. Or ever.

“Working,” I muttered, not looking up.

“I know, and I don’t want to bother you. Please, tell me when we can talk. I’ll wait.”

Turning the blender on, I avoided having to answer. It was childish, but I didn’t have any skin in this game. Adam was a successful, hot-as-hell attorney from the States with prospects galore. I mean, look at this Chelsea, making a fool of herself. Then there was me, working hard in the islands, just trying to go from day to day.

“Don’t do that,” Adam said when the noise shut off.

“Look,” I said, slamming a glass on the bar and filling it with piña colada. “We had fun. I get it. Soon, you’ll be back to your life, and I’ll stay here in mine. Better to rip the Band-Aid off now than make it worse.”

“I’ll take another,” the other guy said.

Beginning to find him more grating than Adam, I forced a smile and opened the cooler, cracking the cap off his beer on the edge of the counter.

“Sexy,” Adam whispered.

“Stop.” I finally paused what I was doing and looked up, my lips pressed into a tight line. “Don’t toss flippant remarks my way after what happened, especially not here. I’m working, trying to make sure this guy”—I jerked a thumb at my lonely beer drinker—“is having a good time.”

The annoying guy piped up again. “Don’t worry about me. As long as I don’t have to live with you, I’m good.”

I felt like asking him if he could help a girl out, but then Adam jumped back into the conversation.

“I’m sending them home,” Adam said. “The women, not my brother. I can’t make him leave.”

“You don’t have to,” I said stubbornly, piercing a daiquiri with a little umbrella.

Not falling for the brave front I was putting on, Adam said softly, “Have dinner with Cal and me tonight.”

I shook my head. “I’ll think about it. I have to get back to—”

I wasn’t able to finish my sentence because at the very moment I was considering capitulating, the women who were supposed to be heading home stepped up to my bar.

“There you are,” Chelsea said loud enough for the people on the Jet Skis to hear.

Wearing huge red Jackie O sunglasses and a wide-brimmed straw hat, she looked exactly how she wanted—rich and fancy. Tiny crystals sparkled all over her red bikini, catching the sunlight and drawing even more attention to her. It was meant to look glamorous but came off as “LOOK AT ME!”

What did I care? I wasn’t wearing it.

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