Chapter 4 #2
Trying to regain my balance and give my mind some oxygen to get my body under control, I step back, swallowing and trying to think about anything other than how those sensuous lips would feel against mine. “So, uh . . . other than saving my ass, what are you doing here, anyway?”
“Got a job offer,” Lorenzo says easily with a dismissive shrug. “Just a short term gig, but I’m cooking here at the hotel.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised. “I didn’t know . . . I mean, Violet didn’t say anything.”
Lorenzo smirks and asks naughtily, “Was I supposed to tell her?”
I see his point. Violet’s not his keeper, but it seems like something she’d want to know so she could worry about his wellbeing while he’s halfway around the world and she can’t do anything about it.
That’s just how Violet is, especially now that her maternal instincts have kicked in after having Carly.
I blanch, the realization of what I’ve done hitting me. “How did this happen?”
“Right place, right time, I guess. Lucky for us both.”
What are the odds? And how is this lucky for him? Playing husband to a crazy woman to impress a bitchy one?
Before I can even respond, Janey comes up.
“Hey, you get the room? I found the beach lounger where I’ll be sitting every time we get a few minutes.
” She suddenly zeroes in on how close I’m standing to Lorenzo and his hand possessively placed on my lower back.
“And hello to you too. Are you one of the resort’s amenities?
Because I’ve got a spot that could really use a massage.
” Her brows lift and lower quickly. She’s kidding. I think.
“Janey, this is Lorenzo. We have a bit of a situation that he’s going to be helping me with. We can discuss it more in private.” She wants to ask more. I can see it in her eyes, can see the questions dancing on her tongue, but then she looks past me and pales.
“Oh, shit! Incoming, four o’clock. That’s my cue. Catch you in the room,” she hisses. With that, she snatches a key card out of my hand and disappears down the hallway right as a racket fills the lobby. It sounds like there’s a hockey fight going on behind me.
But when I turn to look at my four o’clock, I find it’s not an impromptu ice rink battle but Claire and Cole coming in along with their entire entourage.
A photographer is walking backward in front of them, snapping away but staying out of frame for the videographer who’s doing a weird side cross step to keep the camera steady.
Security guards frame them on the right and left, and two assistants with earpieces and tablets walk behind them.
Then there’s the luggage—seemingly never-ending carts of pink glitter suitcases and a few gray hard side cases as well.
I don’t think there could be more hubbub if the Kardashians themselves were walking in.
Leading the whole brigade is none other than Meredith Wildeman.
Shit, I need to get out of here. But a voice sounds out across the din.
“Ah, flower girl. There you are. Have you looked in on the facilities yet?” Meredith asks.
Thankfully, Claire and Cole continue on their way, bypassing the front desk and heading straight for the elevators. I’m glad because I don’t want them to hear me answer ‘no.’
“Not yet. I just arrived,” I explain, gesturing lamely to the carry-on bag over my shoulder. “I’m heading up to my room to drop everything off and then to the coolers.”
Her lips press into a thin line, her brows dropping low as she taps on her ever-present tablet. “Hmm, so I’ll leave that unverified on the checklist.” Her disappointment doesn’t seem real, as though she expected me to drop the ball.
She turns to Lorenzo, and I’m trying to decide if I should introduce them—and if so, how—when Meredith speaks first. “And Chef Toscani, have you been to the kitchens yet?”
His answer is slow and rolling, the charm as thickly accented as his speech. “Yes, I met with the head chef. We are good.”
Wait? What? I think we might need to talk about more than my crazy honeymoon scheme! He’s said he’s cooking here, but how does he know Meredith?
Meredith’s brow raises sharply as she returns her glare to me. “I see. Thank you, Chef, for being on top of your need to meet the bride and groom’s expectations.”
Ouch. Her words to Lorenzo are less praise to him and more of a cutting remark to me.
Bride and groom’s expectations?
Small threads start to weave together. Meredith, Claire, Cole .
. . and Lorenzo. How did this connection happen and why don’t I know about it?
I pride myself on knowing everything that’s happening with my friends and family, and despite my mixed feelings about Lorenzo bailing on me at Courtney’s wedding but saving me today, he’s part of Violet’s family, which means I should know things, like when he’s working on the same event as the largest wedding I’ve ever done.
My own ignorance of what’s going on makes me prickly, and I step away from Lorenzo a bit. It’s probably the smart thing to do anyway because I don’t want Meredith to find out about this crazy honeymoon scheme I’ve set in motion. She would most definitely disapprove.
“Miss Andrews, please have your site checks done today. I’ll expect a full report at our meeting in the morning.”
“What meeting?” I ask, confused. I haven’t gotten a note about a meeting.
Meredith sighs, a long sound of disappointment. “The seven thirty a.m. meeting in the Serenity Lounge to go over subcontractor and vendor plans. I emailed you an updated version of the week’s agenda an hour ago. Please familiarize yourself with it . . . if that’s not too much trouble.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to bite out that anywhere called the ‘Serenity Lounge’ has probably not seen many early-morning meetings, especially when I’m betting that things here run on island time, meaning they’ll get to it when they get there.
But I don’t say any of that.
I might not have taken the Andrews money, but I’ve got Dad’s guts and it doesn’t take much for me dig down and find them.
I straighten my spine, letting an air of class enter my entire being.
Meredith might think she’s dealing with someone ‘lesser’, a mere schlub who’s lucky to be working with the likes of someone like her, but the reverse is equally true.
I’m successful in my own right, a businesswoman who has negotiated countless service contracts and an artist whose creative work is massively desirable and irreplaceable.
“No problem,” I tell her, smiling back in a perfect imitation of Mom’s ‘you’re a fake ass society bitch’ smile. “I’ll be ready at seven thirty sharp.”
Her smile is icy, her anger at my lack of cowering palpable. I can taste her desire for me to fail so she can dance around the ruins of my career. But I’m not going to mess this up. I can’t. I won’t. It’s too important.
Meredith hums disbelievingly but then spots someone with their phone out and she goes stomping toward him, her heels clicking on the floor like someone else’s death knoll. “Excuse me, did you take an unauthorized picture?” she barks.
While Meredith is distracted, I grab Lorenzo’s hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” I hiss, pulling him toward the elevators.
He could hold his ground and end this madness, but he lets me drag him along, shove him into the elevator, and board behind him, throwing a suspicious glance back to the lobby to check whether Meredith or Emily have witnessed any of it.
I press the button for the sixth floor and the doors close, leaving us alone, dangerously alone, for the first time.
All I can think about is that somehow, despite seeing it happen twice to my family already, despite vowing I don’t know how many times that I wouldn’t pull the same shit . . . I just talked my ass into a big, fat, fake marriage situation at a time when I have much higher priorities.
Why?
Am I that burned up about Emily?
Or do I just want a reason to be with Lorenzo?
Deep breath, girl. Whatever’s happened, I’m going on a date with Lorenzo . . . with the oddest of circumstances. A date! A part of me is horrified and excited all at the same time.
And then, miraculously, my brain overrides my barren pussy. He’s working with Meredith? That needs an explanation first and foremost.
Right after I replay him whispering that line about his cock in my pussy in my ear. I clench my thighs together.
I am so fucked. And not in the good way.
Again.