“Most of it.”
“Why are you here right now?” I ask him.
“Oh, to let you know the paparazzi have arrived. They’ll be at the beach in half an hour.” His expression is so serious that I have to fight the urge to laugh out loud.
“Okay,” I say, not sure exactly where the emergency is. He’s waiting not so patiently for a response. “I’m sorry, I’m just not understanding what it is you want me to do? I accept your fake proposal. Now what?”
“Well, a new fiancé is blood in the water for the photographers, so we’ll have to make an appearance.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Together. As a couple. You can sneak away from work for a little while, right? This is a really big deal. We need more proof that we’re a couple. And that means photographs.”
“You’re talking about the paparazzi, right? Since when are tabloids proof of anything?” I ask.
“Photos are proof. Doesn’t matter where they come from,” he insists.
I smirk at him. “Wait, so, your plan involves the two of us cavorting on the beach in front of photographers until your company believes you’re a responsible adult in a relationship?” I’m really just stalling, and hopefully getting under his skin in the process.
But seriously, getting off work is a problem for me. I just started preparations for the day. It’s the weekend when the resort is busiest. And with Covingtons in town, Ralph expects me to make even more pastries than usual and I know he’ll be checking in on me later.
“It’s not that easy, Chase,” I hiss at him. It still feels weird not to call him Jellybean. “You Covingtons here at the resort is a big deal and my boss is going to be freaking out about everything. It’s a really bad time for me to be gone.”
“I need this, Kaylee. Please. You agreed.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. I did agree. “Fine. I’ll ask somebody to cover. But I can’t be gone too long.” Then I think about it for a moment. “Wait, if the paparazzi get a bunch of pictures of us, they’ll figure out it’s me, Chase.”
“I hired security to keep them far enough away so that won’t happen, okay?”
I guess that sounds okay. I nod.
“Great,” he says. His shoulders visibly relax. A relieved smile spreads across his face and the dimple reappears. At least one of us is happy.
It also means I have to be gone from work even longer now because I have to go home and change into a bathing suit. Then a weird thought hits me. “You’re wearing a bathing suit to the beach, right? And not that suit?”
“Funny,” he says. “I’ll go change. We’ll meet back at my room soon, okay?” He turns to leave.
“Because I don’t care who you are,” I shout out after him. “Suits are not appropriate beachwear!”
I watch him walk away and shake my head. Then I take a moment to stare at the small jewelry box in my hand. I take a few long breaths to work up the courage to open it again.
When I do, the gigantic diamond sparkles like it’s an entire constellation in a box. It’s gorgeous and way over the top. It makes me feel giddy and sad and mad all at the same time. I slip it on and am surprised to find that it fits. How does he know my size?
I stare at it for a few more minutes, then I take it off and put it back into the box. I put the box into my chef jacket pocket. It’s too big for that pocket, but it will have to do until I get my purse. Oh well, here goes nothing.
Chapter Eleven
Kaylee
I rush to my apartment and pull every bathing suit I own out of the drawer. Then I put them all on my bed for inspection.
In the end, the only bathing suit that looks like it screams lifestyles of the rich and cavorting is a red sequined bikini that Fi got for me ages ago in a misguided attempt to get me out of my shell.
It didn’t work. That particular style has never really been my thing. But it’s perfect for today. Alright, I say out loud in an attempt to psych myself up, let the beach cavorting begin.
I throw the bathing suit and some sunscreen in my beach bag and then walk the four blocks from my apartment back to the resort.
As I approach the front door of the building, panic strikes me. I got a friend to cover for me, but I lied about the reason. I had to. Needing to go to an appointment or something is one thing.
But if people see me sashaying around the resort I’m playing hooky from while I’m supposed to be working it will be bad. The whole thing seems like a recipe for disaster.
In the end, I decide my best cloaking device is probably to lean into it and act full tourist. I whoosh through the front entrance door into the gorgeous main lobby. It’s breathtaking inside with a gorgeous marble etched floor, giant crystal chandelier, decorative waterfall, and expensive sculptures everywhere.
The dolphin sculpture is my favorite. To be honest, I haven’t been in the lobby since I applied for the job. Ever since, I use the much less impressive employee entrance.
The lobby helps in one respect, it puts me in the perfect frame of mind for a billionaire beach tryst. Suddenly I feel like a tropical, pastry-chef, Cinderella on her way to a ball. I even start to enjoy myself. That is until I see Vivian headed across the lobby floor toward concierge. What the fuck? Doesn’t she ever work?
I look away and hold my breath as she approaches. Her short heels make an annoying staccato noise on the marble floors as she makes her way across the room.
When I finally peek to see if she recognized me, I can see that she’s almost
