Page 40 of One to Watch

She backed off to give them the impression of privacy (despite three nearby cameras), and Marco looked up at Bea expectantly.

“I’ve been hoping you would come over to hang with me,” he flirted. “What good is a hot tub without a hot girl?”

Bea laughed. “You’re really leaning in to that signature Main Squeeze wordplay, huh?”

“Oh yeah.” Marco grinned. “Are you getting in? I promise, it feels amazing.”

Bea was self-conscious for a moment as she removed her sarong, but between her tequila bravery and the goosebumps on her bare skin, she stepped out of it as quickly as possible and slid into the delicious heat of the water.

“Oh my God, that’s good.” Bea exhaled heavily as she let the water rise up to her chest. “I’m already so mad about how cold it’s going to be when we get out.”

“I don’t know about you,” Marco said conspiratorially, “but I don’t plan on getting out anytime soon.”

He scooted closer to Bea, whose face flushed with nerves and heat—he wasn’t wasting any time, was he? Lauren hadn’t been kidding when she said she would take care of everything. But now that she had, Bea wasn’t sure she liked it; it was all too arranged, a speeding train she couldn’t exit even if she wanted to.

“So”—she cleared her throat—“you work in politics?”

“I do.” He smiled. “I work for a messaging firm.”

“Does that mean, like, you do slogans for campaigns?”

“Sure, sometimes. We conduct polls, figure out what ideas resonate with voters, and help candidates adjust their message accordingly.”

“So you’re the reason people get labeled ‘inauthentic.’”

Marco raised an eyebrow, taking in Bea with his sparkling green eyes. “No one is just one thing. We help candidates understand how to put their best feet forward.”

“Like taking a picture from your best angle?”

“Exactly.” Marco leaned closer. “Except you don’t have any bad angles.”

She could kiss him now, she knew she could—but something was holding her back.

“If you’re such an expert,” she said softly, “in peddling these polished versions of the truth, how can I know if you’re being honest with me?”

“I’m not bullshitting you.” He dropped his voice. “I’ve thought about this before. A lot.”

“Thought about what?” Bea asked lightly.

“For years, I’ve wondered what it would be like with someone like you.”

Bea’s whole body went tense.

“Someone … like me?”

His breath was hot against her earlobe, her neck.

“Those arms, those lips, that body,” he murmured. “God, Bea, you’re so big. I bet I could just disappear into you.”

He cupped her face in his hands, and he was so handsome, and her heart was pounding, and she felt so horribly ugly, she could taste bile as she remembered Ray’s touch, she missed him so much she could scream, but Marco just kept moving closer—

“I really want to kiss you.”

No, roared a voice inside her, not like this.

His mouth was almost on hers, but Bea stood up so fast she sent water sloshing everywhere, knocking over one of the flutes of Prosecco and shattering it on the deck.

“Can I get a towel?” she shouted at a PA, who came rushing over with one that Bea prayed would be large enough to wrap around her body.