Page 17 of Hot Saltwater Kisses

“Doesn’t change the facts.” I twisted my lips into a smile. “We’re not equals. Not when you can get me fired.”

“Jesus, I wouldn’t.” It had come out rushed and genuine, and yeah, okay, I honestly didn’t think he’d be that guy. Still.

“It’s not about whether you would. It’s about you having that kind of power over me.”

Logan was quiet for a beat. “Would the resort really fire you based on one guest’s complaints, which could be completely made up?”

“I don’t know,” I told him quite honestly. “Maybe not. Nia would fight for me, that’s for sure. But Richard doesn’t like me much.” That was a stretch—I was mostly beneath his notice, just another minion to do his bidding. As long as I performed as intended, he wouldn’t waste his time on me.

“He doesn’t seem to be very popular among the staff.” Logan’s statement tilted up just a hint at the end, inviting me to comment. Shit. He’d run interference at the bar, when Richard had been about to rip Frankie a new one. I appreciated that. But Logan was still aguest, as we’d just established.

“Look, I don’t know much about resort management.” I spread my hands in an aw-shucks gesture. “There’s a reason Richard is runningthings the way he is, and it’s not like it’s a popularity contest. He needs to get shit done, simple as that.”

One corner of Logan’s mouth tugged up. “Wow. Would you like a white flag with that impressive feat of diplomacy?”

I grinned—couldn’t help it, really. “I do try.”

“Well, nothing in the management handbook says you have to be a dick to get the job done.”

“Theory versus real life?”

“Maybe. But some people are just jerks by nature.”

I shouldn’t. Yet I arched an eyebrow, tilted my head, and pointedly didn’t reply. After a moment, Logan exhaled a laugh, his teeth flashing white in the darkness.

“Hey, that wasacting.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I thought you’re supposed to help me enjoy my vacation?”

“And aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” His voice slowed and dipped, rich like dark chocolate. “I really am.”

“All right,”Tom said. “Show us the goods.”

We’d migrated to the front of the boat after switching off all but the mandatory position lights. The night had turned velvety and cool, a contrast to the rum’s warm glow in my belly, dim stars scattered across the sky.

“What goods?” I asked because the request had been directed at me. “If you’re asking me to whip it out—that’s another drink away. Or three.”

Logan coughed a quiet laugh into his cup. “Classy.”

I nodded. “That’s me, yeah.”

“The photos you took,” Tom clarified.

“Sure.” I dug out my phone and called up the first of seven pictures that had made the cut—since I didn’t have the patience fordigital clutter, I shot with care and culled with abandon. “Here, swipe left for the next one.”

Tom grabbed my phone, Logan leaning in so he could see the pictures as well. They were quiet for a minute while I kept myself from fidgeting. Yeah, I posted my pictures online, but it was different without the cloak of anonymity.

“This one’s amazing,” Logan said. “The first one, with the sunset cutting through the water. Reminds me of Caravaggio’s chiaroscuro technique.”

Tom nudged him. “Your art degree is showing, man. Leave some pretentious airs for the rest of us.”

“The what technique?” Nia asked.

“Using strong contrasts between light and dark,” I told her, “mostly to give the illusion of depth.” I turned to Logan. “Thought you were studying hospitality management?”

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