Turquoise waves crashed on the white sandy beach. The scent of coconut sunscreen mixed with the salty ocean air as a warm breeze rolled off the water and floated over the cabana. Rhys lounged on the chaise behind Jules and Abigail, uncomfortable in his swim trunks and Hawaiian shirt, as he scanned the private beach for problems.
There were none. This was a formality.
He would be useful if they hit up the night scene, but he didn’t think that was likely. The women had each other, a butler on duty around the clock, and little interest in doing anything other than lying beachside, trying every drink that came with little umbrellas and fruit garnishes, and dining at Michelin-starred restaurants.
And as pretty and easy as the assignment was, Rhys was bored. Babysitting duty paid well, but nothing interesting would happen.
Abigail stretched her arms overhead and stood, tying a wrap around her waist. “I need a nap.”
“No.” Jules twisted toward her sister, pouting. Rum and curaçao gave her words the slightest slur. “Don’t go in yet.”
“I couldn’t nap on the plane, and I’m sleepy.” Abigail slipped on her sandals. “Make Rhys sit with you.”
Jules tossed an arm over her shoulder to the cabana directly behind their lounge chairs. “He doesn’t want to sit in the sun.”
“You’re not wrong.” He pushed up his sunglasses.
“See?”
Abigail locked a hand on her hip. “Oh, come on, Rhys.”
“You know I’ll sit wherever’s necessary.”
“The sun is necessary.” Abigail trounced over and tugged his hand. “She’s heartbroken. Don’t make her sit alone.”
“I am absolutely not,” Jules countered. “I thought we’d established that.”
He’d never seen anyone rebound from a relationship faster than Jules had from her ended engagement. He wasn’t there to analyze her. Except that was all he’d been doing since he’d picked her up that morning. He hadn’t asked what happened with Mason and his lawyers. She didn’t volunteer information. This morning, she’d complained about the ungodly hour but looked gorgeous, as always. Not a puffy eye or why-me wonder in sight.
Abigail shifted her sunglasses into her hair, leveled him with a glare, and mouthed, “Sit with her.”
Jules popped off her lounger, mai tai in hand, and moved under the shade of the cabana. “I’ll sit with Rhys.” She extended her long legs on the chaise next to his. “Go take a nap, Abs. Rhys and I are going to drink mai tais.”
“Nope.” He lifted his nonboozy drink.
“Be nice to her.” Abigail arched an eyebrow before leaving.
He watched Abigail’s sandals spit sand as she walked toward their bungalows. “Why doesn’t she think I’m nice to you?”
“You’re very business-y.”
“I mean, yeah. That’s why I’m here.”
“Sloane tried to sell me on the idea you could be my rebound guy—”
He snorted. Something else entirely moved through him that he didn’t give a name to.
“I don’t mean in real life. You know what I mean. Leak a salacious story about a tryst with my bodyguard. There have been rumors about us forever. You know Sloane. She wants to fight fire with fire.”
His throat tightened. They didn’t need to jump into Sloane’s ideas. The woman was a master of PR, but Rhys didn’t like her games. “Yeah, I know Sloane. She wants to fight fire with a flamethrower and a hose of gasoline.”
“That sounds like her.”
“And I heard her back at the hotel,” he admitted.
“I would have asked you first.”
“Youmight have. Sloane?” He shrugged. “I don’t think she would have.”
