I check my watch. Damn. She’s right. I have to go. Not because of work, though. “You’re right, Fi. Sorry, gotta go.”
I get up and turn to leave. And almost run straight into a sweaty, burly guy with four different cameras hanging around his neck clanking into each other. That can’t possibly be the right way to carry those.
Then I remember I didn’t pay for lunch. Again. I turn back toward the table, fishing through my pocket where I realize in horror that I forgot my purse back at Chase’s suite and the only thing that is currently in that pocket is a big ass engagement ring. My fingers curl around the huge diamond and my shoulders slump.
My friends stare like I am both insulting and infuriating them. “Go! We’ve got this one.”
Chapter Eighteen
Kaylee
I get back to the lounge chair for two still hot and bothered about lying to my friends. I’m pretty sure they know something is up, but I can’t worry about that now. I have bigger fish to fry.
Before I lay down and relax, I glance around checking for any weird, sweaty, overdressed people with multiple cameras around their necks and see none. Whew. Where are they, anyway? Why come all the way over here hoping to catch a photograph of Chase and his mysterious new, possibly fake fiancé only to hang out at the Beaky Tiki?
Either way it’s good news for me.
“Oh, hey, honey! Glad you’re back.” Chase is lying in his lounge chair watching something on his phone. “Hey, come here, you have to see this replay.” He rewinds the video on his phone and the very attractive European men in colorful red and white jerseys untangle themselves, back up awkwardly and then pause. Then he hits play and sets them all in motion again.
I’ll be the first to admit I’m not a soccer fan, or football as the experts call it, but it looked like a goal to me. “Yes, that’s great, but listen I have to tell you something.”
His mouth turns down into a pout. “You barely even watched.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a goal, right? Hang on, let me try again. It was a very nice goal. Better? Now can I tell you my news?”
He turns to me. The pout remains, and even more annoying is the fact that he’s ignoring my sarcasm. “Correct, it was a goal. I take it you’re not a soccer fan?”
“It’s not my favorite game, no. But listen, there are like three dozen paparazzi hanging around down at my favorite beach bar, what are we going to do?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Why, Kaylee, you sound positively like a Covington now. All worried about somebody snapping your picture. In this case, though we aren’t going to do anything. It’s all part of our plan, remember? Although I must point out that you are acclimating to the specifics of the Covington life quicker than I thought.”
I cross to him, steam practically coming out of my ears. “If they get more than a couple of good, high definition pictures of me and find out I’m me and you’re you, and we’re not really together then we are in trouble, yes? If they find out I’m a pastry chef who works at the hotel you’re staying at and has known you for less than twenty-four hours?”
I raise both of my eyebrows at him.
“Oh yeah, that would be a problem.”
“You think?”
“Only it’s not,” he says with a smirk for dramatic effect.
“Mind telling me why it’s not?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“One, they already snapped a bad photo of the two of us that first night, when we were on that stone path on the side of the resort. Although that was like our bigfoot photo, see?” He proudly brings up a terrible picture of the two of us. “It’s kinda grainy, not clear enough to make a positive identification out of. But more than enough to establish a timeline of us together before the proposed takeover of my company so that it looks less suspicious.”
I open my mouth to argue but I don’t get the chance.
“And beyond that,” he continues, “the plan can be summed up in just two words. Covington security. You know how those photographers stick out like a sore thumb with their zoom cameras and tacky shirts?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, I have plain clothes guys all over the place, keeping them away. It’ll be fine.”
I bite my lip, not at all sure anything is going to be fine, but at least it did explain why there are no photographers near our current lounge chair area.
Chase cocks his head to the side.
“What now?” I ask
“Ring. Your ring is missing. It’s a pretty big part of being a fiancé, Kaylee.”
“Oh yeah,” I dig into my pocket and put it back on. “Thanks.” I know he’s being a smartass, but I really do need the reminder. All the craziness lately is starting to leave me frazzled.
I stare down at the ring and in the sunlight it’s even more spectacular. “It’s beautiful. I have to say, you outdid yourself, Chase. Or at least whoever did your shopping outdid themselves.”
He grins, pretending not to notice my smartass comment. “Thank you.”
“Well, we’re both smartasses,” I deadpan. “At least we have that going for us as a fake couple.”
With all of that out of the way, I plop down on the lounge chair. Only now I’m back to feeling bad about lying to my friends and playing hooky from work. And the rest of the whole fake fiancé thing too. Work kept popping into my mind though. Something about it was nagging at me, and not just because I called in sick for the entire weekend.
Then I remember exactly what it is that’s bothering me. “Shit!”
Chase looks up from his phone and his head swivels around. “What is it? Did you see a guy with a camera?”
“Not funny.
