Page 5 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

“Thanher, Father Time.” Scott rolled his eyes. “You’re older thanher, you’re funny, and you’re fucking jacked.”

“Thanksfor noticing.” Ihadbeen working out more the past few months. Mylooming fortieth birthday had increased my thoughts of mortalityand the frailty of the human body.

“I don’t want there to beweirdness, okay?” Scott finally gave up. “Don’t say I didn’t warnyou.”

He had warned me. The problem was, thewarning had only piqued my interest.

ChAPTER TWO

(Charlotte)

The resort was absolutelyridiculous. There was no other way to describe it. We pulledthrough the tall wrought iron gates at midnight, and everythinginside the stucco perimeter fence was hopping.

“I thought this was a quietseaside vacation spot,” Mom said nervously as she peered out thewindow of the giant SUV that had picked us up.

A deep bass throb vibrated the airaround the car as we pulled up to the reception building. When anattendant opened our door, the distorted voice of an overlyenthusiastic DJ was shouting, “If you’re having a good time, getthose hands up!” to a cascade of cheers.

“What the hell is that?” Momasked the man who’d opened her door.

The guy was probably around my age, buthe didn’t waver when confronted by Mom’sI’d-like-to-speak-a-manager tone. Instead, he smiled broadly andsaid, “Wild Side Wednesday, ma’am. Trust me, you can’t hear it fromthe residence side of the resort.”

Mom’s “hmm” made it clear she was notconvinced.

“So, this is Scott’s buddy’splace?” Dad was already impressed. “I was imagining something else.Maybe a seaside Holiday Inn–type thing with a tiki bar.”

“No tiki bar, I’m afraid,”the attendant said, leading us toward the doors to reception.“Don’t worry about your bags, they’re going to take them straightto your villa.”

“Villa?” I mouthed to Dad,who looked even more impressed than before.

We were greeted with glasses of chilledchampagne while we checked in—there was a whole process for weddingguests, which included goody bags—and someone arrived on anelectric golf cart to whisk us off to our villa.

“I can still hear it,” Mommuttered, though the sound of the party was now far, faraway.

“I bet Scott’s down there,”Dad said. “Sowing the last of his wild oats.”

“I think that phrase refersto creating illegitimate children, so I hope not,” I mused,wandering around the enormous great room of our villa.

The woman who’d driven usto our accommodations informed us that our luggage was already inour rooms. Mom and Dad were in the master suite on one end of thevilla, I was in the bedroom on the other side, and in between werea full-sized kitchen, an enormous dining area, luxurious seating,and a television large enough to show frickin’ IMAX movieson.

“Not exactlyrent-by-the-hour, huh?” Mom teased Dad.

“There’s a firepit on thepatio,” the woman informed us. “All you need to do is call me and Ican get someone here building you a fire and making s’mores in notime. And there are soaking tubs on the private verandas off thebedrooms—”

“Okay, I gotta see this.” Iheaded into my bedroom, which was roughly the size of an entirehotel room on its own and flung open the arch-topped French doors.The private veranda faced the gently rolling sea, which would giveme a great view from the generously sized, free-standingtub.

I was going to spend so much timedrinking in that tub.

Perhaps the best part of the privateveranda situation was the path that wound toward the water andintersected with a larger sidewalk that disappeared behind a hedge.We were tucked away with as much privacy as one could get at aresort, and I could easily get away from the villa without myparents noticing and asking questions.

I was going to spend so much timesmoking weed in that tub.

I just had to get my hands on some. InCali, I had no trouble finding it, but this was South Carolina. Ata resort, it shouldn’t be that hard. I’d have to find my way towhere employees hung out on breaks; having bounced between plentyof restaurant jobs, I knew there would be at least one person inthe kitchen who was permanently baked and not in the culinarysense. Many times, that person had been me.

I went back inside and leaned out thebedroom door. “I think I’m going to go for a walk. Just to stretchmy legs after the flight.”

“Be careful around the pondsand things,” Mom advised. “I hear alligators are like cockroachesdown here.”

Dad, having given me the green lightfor mischief, now appeared to regret it. He opened his mouth, thenclosed it in a tight-lipped smile. “Be safe.”

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