We’ve been assigned to go undercover and gather intel on the Beaumonts—specifically Kingsley—under the guise of social media marketers. It’s a lousy cover, in my opinion, especially considering neither Thomas nor I know squat about marketing. No way we’d have gotten hired without that extensive portfolio and backgrounds I made Jordan put together for us.
But we only have the job for two weeks. It’s the resorts way of seeing if we’re a good fit, which means we can’t fuck this up. We need Xavier Beaumont to turn us into full-time employees; otherwise, getting close to Kingsley won’t be possible.
I’m vibrating with excitement…
I take my neatly folded clothes out of the suitcase and set them into piles on the bed. “Have you talked to Mother?”
“I’ve been with you since dinner. When would I have had the time?” Thomas drones.
“I don’t need the sass.”
Thomas’s eyes narrow, his eyebrow piercing shifting along with the movement. I stare back, and we fall into the usual stare-down when we argue.
Eventually, he backs down. “No, I have not talked to her. I haven’t gotten a call from Mum yet, either.”
“She probably doesn’t want to distract us.” I take each pile of clothes and place it in the chest of drawers. “The faster we get close to Kingsley, the faster we can leave. I knew the bloke would be closed off, but he’s worse than I expected. He’ll barely utter over two words to us.”
“He’s Xavier Beaumont’s son, Rip. He won’t give us his life’s story just because we work with him.”
“Obviously, but it’s more than that,” I say, rubbing my chin as I think back to our brief time with him. “I don’t think that wall is just him keeping his guard up.”
Thomas stares at the ceiling, thinking. “I guess Sylvie Crenshaw’s death really fucked him up.”
It’s the only explanation.
If my fiancée were shot and killed at the altar right in front of me, I’d have gone ballistic. Every waking moment would have been spent pursuing the bastard who took her life, giving him and those closest to him a long, drawn-out death. My morals? Out the window.
But Kingsley did none of that. As far as I can tell, after her death, he ran away from the problem. His public appearances, even at family events, vanished for a year. He only began showing up for resort guests again recently, acting like a worn-out employee of his father.
I assumed he was too busy hunting down the culprit, and that’s why the public wasn’t graced with his good looks and charming personality for so long. But after we hired a privateeye, we found out he was doing nothing but lounging in his mansion of a home.
Grief affects different people in different ways. I know that, but in our line of work, falling into a depression is never the correct choice.
Is that why I’m assigned to get close to him, so I can understand what goes on in his head? But I can’t think of a reason the Requiem would want to know about what keeps Kingsley up at night.
Fuck, this would be so much simpler if they would tell us what information we need from him. “Just get close to him” isn’t enough.
“Guess so,” I mumble. “Which means we’ll need time, and to get time means getting officially hired. That means no screwing around.”
Thomas waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about the social media side. I’ve been watching marketing videos on YouTube, and I think I’ve got it down. Plus, we have Jordan to put together some shit when we’re in a bind.”
“When did you have time to watch YouTube?”
“Last night. While you were doing your nightly search on your computer, I was doing something that’s actually going to be useful.”
I shut the drawers, put my hands on my hips, and give a satisfied look to my empty suitcase. Thomas notices, and his lips press together as he stares.
He sits up. “We aren’t living here, you know?”
I throw my arms out wide. “What? A man can’t get comfortable where he’ll be spending the next few months?”
“Get some rest,” Thomas says, his back facing me as he leaves the bedroom. “We have a bright and early morning with Kingsley Beaumont.”
Can’t wait.
I glance at the time on my phone. “He’s late.”
Thomas gives me a lazy glare. “By two minutes.”
