“What? That’s fantastic! Why didn’t you lead with that?”
I scowl at him.
Now he looks genuinely confused. “You sounded upset a minute ago. What’s so important about pointing out the glaringly obvious presence of the paparazzi?”
“Thank you,” I say feeling validated. Then it hits me that isn’t my point at all. “No, wait. The thing I was going to tell you is that I called into work.”
He blinks at me, still looking confused. I can’t help but feel partially responsible. I really should get to the point, but he’s really distracting. And irritating. And sexy. And he’s only comprehending his stupid billionaire problems and not my actual real-world problems and it’s annoying.
“I called in sick to work. And now I’m probably going to get fired and then have to work at Banana Burger for the rest of my life.”
He makes a face. “Banana Burger? I hope that’s not what I think it is, because it sounds gross.”
I roll my eyes again. “No, the burgers aren’t actually made out of bananas. The burgers there are actually really good. But you can get banana slices on top of the burgers if you want. It’s tastier than you’d think. You know, with the whole sweet and salty thing going on?”
“Huh.” He doesn’t look impressed.
“But,” I say with the certainty and satisfaction that I’ve finally arrived at my point, “I just remembered that my friend Fi, out of the sheer goodness of her heart, hired my fledgling chocolate company to cater her charity event tonight.”
He beams at me. “A charity event. That’s wonderful. You know, you’re starting to sound like a Covington more and more.”
“Ugh, knock that off. Sure, I’m just like a Covington, minus all the money part. You do realize that normal people like to give money to charities too, right?”
“Noted. But you still have to explain to me why this charity thing is a problem.” Then he thinks about it for a moment. “Wait, what was that about chocolate?”
“You’re hopeless, you know that?” I ask.
He grins when the obvious answer dawns on him. “You’re Scrumptious!”
“Yes,” I deadpan, “that’s me.”
“I mean you’re Scrumptious Chocolate, right? That explains all the weird looks between you and you’re your friend at the beach bar.”
“Yes, you caught me. But look, that charity event is coming up soon.”
“Okay,” he says, “what’s the problem?”
I close my eyes and count to five to calm down. It doesn’t work. “I made the chocolates days ago and stashed them in the freezer at the hotel kitchen. The kitchen where I work. Only now I can’t go get them without being seen. And I have to go get them, Chase.”
The issue at hand finally dawns on Chase’s face. I want to shout Hallelujah, but I stop myself.
“I’ll get them,” he announces with a shrug. “They can’t fire me, right?”
“That’s a terrible idea. They’ve already seen you. Even worse, Vivian’s already seen you, and she’s the biggest gossip at the hotel.”
“So?”
“Okay, fine. Listen, if you want to help, you can stand lookout. There aren’t people in the freezer area of the kitchen twenty-four seven. I get in, get out, deliver the chocolates, and nobody’s the wiser. This could work, I guess.” Plus, without the chef’s hat and outfit, coworkers I’m vaguely familiar with have not bothered to give me a second glance since I’ve been out here. Maybe it will be okay after all.
Chase stands up. To my surprise, he looks excited. “Okay, when do we start?”
I smile. “Right now.” Then I let my eyes roam up and then back down his body. “Okay, not right now. You can’t go looking like that.”
“Looking like what?” he asks.
“You. You can’t look like you.” Just then the lounge chair concierge appears at the entrance to the cabana with what looks like pineapple deserts. Yes, please.
I whisper to the concierge that we need a hat, tee shirt, and sunglasses from the gift store. I then tell her to charge it to Chase’s room. And it works. Just like it always does in the movies. I have to admit, I’ve always wanted to do that. “That ought to help,” I say to Chase.
“You’re saying I’m the one who needs a disguise?” he asks. “You’re the one that they actually know,” he whisper-asks me.
“You’re the notorious playboy with paparazzi following him,” I counter.
“Well, that makes you the playboy’s secret fiancé that they’re all hunting.”
The concierge’s face ping-pongs back and forth between our whisper argument that’s not nearly as secret as we hoped.
“Fair enough,” I say, turning back to the concierge. “Cheap, acme, tourist disguises for two, please.”
Chapter Nineteen
Chase
The next thing I know, Kaylee and I are casually walking away from the lounge chair for two and back toward the resort, hand in hand, like everything is fine.
We keep our backs toward the direction Kaylee indicated the paparazzi hang out, so hopefully we’ll be okay for now. Casually available for pictures if they’re really trying, but not being too obvious or easy about it.
As soon as we get inside, we meet the concierge again and she hands an oversize plastic shopping bag with the resort’s sea-shell logo on it to Kaylee.
As much as she puts up a fight about it, all this paparazzi avoiding, subterfuge, and scheming kind of fits her like a glove. And even more importantly, she’s good at it.
Then Kaylee pulls me aside and digs into the plastic bag. A moment later I’m wearing a blue goofy hat that has the resort logo on it and she’s wearing a pink visor that says beach babe.
“Hey,” I object, “your hat is cooler.”
She turns and her lips curl up into a delicious smile. “You want to be beach babe?”
“Maybe.”
“Forget it. Beach babe hat is mine. Now concentrate.” She turns her attention down the hall to stare
