Page 3 of One Week in Paradise
‘Cash?’ I squeak. ‘Cash is here? Why?’
Cash – short for Caspian – is my brother’s best friend turned business partner and has been nothing but a thorn in my side since we were all teenagers. I don’t know why, but he’s never liked me. I guess he’s always just seen me as Dane’s annoying little sister, who used to follow them around and snitch on them whenever they did anything vaguely dangerous or refused to let me hang out with them. He’s not outwardly rude or anything, but he avoids me like the plague. Which suits me just fine. He’s an ass who, for some reason, thinks he’s better than everyone else. Especially me.
But I suppose that’s what happens when you’re unnecessarily and ridiculously good-looking – you don’t have to develop a personality.
I told you that girls love Dane, but it’s nothing compared to the attention Cash gets from them. Growing up, all my friends – hell, all the girls at my school – were obsessed with him. I can’t tell you how many times a girl would approach me and beg me to give Cash their number. I never did.
‘He’s helping with the conservatory,’ Dane says with a shrug, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which, to be fair, it is. Cash joined Great Dane Construction Services in the early days, and the two regularly team up for projects.
‘Such a sweet boy,’ says Mum with a fond smile. ‘How are things going with—’
‘Hi, Mrs Clarke.’
We all jump. I hadn’t even heard the front door open again, but Cash is suddenly in front of us, standing in the doorway to the living room.
All six foot four of him towers over Mum as he pulls her into an easy hug. He’s wearing an old Great Dane Construction Services T-shirt that clings to his torso and shows off his lean yet muscular arms and a pair of grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips. The waistband of his boxer shorts peeks out, showing off a cheeky splash of bright blue. I look up and, to my alarm, discover that Cash is staring directly at me.
His eyes – an unusual blend of grey and green – narrow as he runs a hand through his chin-length black, wavy locks.
‘Bailey,’ he says curtly. His brows furrow in what I can only assume is annoyance at the sight of me.
‘Hi, Cash,’ I say as brightly as I can, shooting him my sweetest smile. Just because he’s an ass doesn’t mean that I have to be, does it? And besides, I’m all for taking the high road, especially when it results in Cash looking visibly takenaback by my cheery tone.Ha. Take that, asshole.
His gaze roves over me, and for some reason, I’m suddenly acutely aware of just how awful I look right now. I’m still in my pyjamas, wearing an oversized Care Bears T-shirt that hasHug Lifeprinted across the front and a pair of Ethan’s old boxer shorts.
‘I’m gonna go and get dressed,’ I say as I shuffle past him. Nobody hears me, though. Mum is busy pulling Dane and Cash towards the sliding doors at the back of the living room to show them where she wants the conservatory to go.
I glance back at Cash before I disappear upstairs. He’s laughing politely at something Mum’s said, and I can’t help but notice he’s got a fantastic smile.
Cash is the kind of guy who’s just effortlessly good-looking. It doesn’t surprise me at all that he’s constantly got girls drooling over him. Hell, if his personality wasn’t sobleugh, I’d probably be into him too.
Chapter Two
‘And this is the en suite.’ Amber’s grinning face disappears as she flips her phone’s camera around to show me the large en suite bathroom that connects to her bedroom.
After I showered and put on some real clothes, I finally plucked up the courage to call Amber back. If she’s annoyed by my slow responses, she doesn’t let it show. As soon as she picks up the call, she launches into a whirlwind tour of her new home.
‘I have a garden!’ she squeals, pressing her phone up against the window so I can see the patch of green behind her new home. ‘It’s tiny, but I have agarden! I can’t wait for BBQ season.’
‘Amber, you can’t cook,’ I remind her. The girl is a mess in the kitchen.
‘Maybe I’ll have a hot, strapping man by then to cook for me,’ Amber says with a dreamy sigh.
I snort. ‘How very feminist of you.’
‘Hey!’ Amber laughs. ‘Give me a break. I just bought a house by myself. If that’s not the most badass feminist thing, then I don’t know what is.’
She’s right. Amber is twenty-eight years old and, as of today, has climbed aboard the property ladder without any help. I’m so incredibly proud of her.
Amber is the kind of person who, when she sets a goal, you can be damn sure that she’s going to hit it. When she announced, three years ago over happy hour cocktails in some dingy South London bar, that she was going to buy herself her dream home in the suburbs of London in four years or less, everyone at the table laughed at her. But not me. I knew that she was going to do it. She’s the very definition of kick-ass.
She’s an interior designer with a long list of rich and famous clients who keep her booked and busy. She’s my best friend, but we haven’t seen each other face to face since before The Video because her schedule is so hectic.
‘Anyway,’ she says, flipping the camera back to her face as she flops down onto a beanbag – the sole piece of furniture she currently has in her new living room. ‘How’re you? Good to see you’re wearing proper clothes today.’
TheHug LifeT-shirt has been replaced by a simple white tank top. Nothing special, but I do look less haggard.
‘About the same as yesterday,’ I say with what I hope is a casual shrug. ‘It’s… it’s hard.’
