7. Sisterhood on the Sand
Chapter seven
Sisterhood on the Sand
Piper
By Friday morning, Azure Palms had developed three distinct categories of guests:
Women trying to identify the billionaire.
Men trying to convince everyone they weren’t trying to win.
Graham Mercer, who looked one inconvenience away from faking his own death and moving into the ocean.
Honestly? Relatable.
“Good morning, ladies!” I called brightly across the beach yoga setup. “Welcome to Sisterhood on the Sand!”
A small cheer rose from the gathered women.
Beach towels lined the shore beneath swaying palms while the early morning sun turned the ocean silver-blue. Mocktail stations glittered nearby. Soft island music drifted through the breeze.
It looked peaceful.
Which meant disaster was statistically imminent.
“Before we start,” I continued, “a reminder that today’s activities include:
beach yoga
paddleboard lessons
mocktail tasting
friendship bracelet hour
and absolutely no emotionally unstable billionaire hunting.”
Bianca raised her hand immediately.
“What if billionaire hunting is part of my wellness journey?”
The older women booed her affectionately.
I pointed toward them.
“See? Accountability.”
Eleanor—the retired principal who had rapidly become everyone’s honorary grandmother—lifted her smoothie.
“We support hydration and good decisions!”
A chorus of agreement followed.
Bianca sighed dramatically.
“This place is aggressively wholesome.”
“Thank you,” I said proudly.
Linda from Wisconsin shouted from the back:
“LAST YEAR I LEFT WITH THREE FRIENDS AND BETTER BOUNDARIES.”
The women applauded wildly.
The yoga instructor clapped her hands together.
“Alright everyone! Pair up with your vacation buddies!”
Women shifted around the beach in groups of two and three, laughing as they arranged towels and sunglasses.
Exactly what I wanted.
Azure Palms worked best when women stopped competing with each other long enough to actually enjoy themselves.
Of course…
the universe immediately tested that theory.
“I’m just saying,” snapped a brunette near the paddleboard racks, “he spent the entire dinner talking to me.”
A blonde folded her arms.
“He carried my chair.”
“Because you made him.”
“He offered!”
“Ladies,” I called carefully, sensing incoming catastrophe.
Too late.
“It’s obvious Vincent likes me more.”
“The yacht guy likes mirrors more than people.”
“At least he owns a yacht!”
Several women nearby froze.
Oh dear.
Beach fights were terrible for the resort atmosphere.
I hurried toward them quickly.
“Okay! Pause!” I stepped between the women with my brightest customer-service smile. “We are not throwing hands before breakfast.”
The brunette huffed.
“She’s been following me around all week.”
“I have not!”
“You literally changed your dinner reservation.”
“Because the sunset table has better lighting!”
“That’s where Vincent sits!”
“Because he requested it first!”
The blonde pointed dramatically.
“She’s trying to steal him!”
A nearby seagull screamed at exactly the right moment.
Felt supportive.
I took a deep breath.
“Ladies. I need everyone to remember something very important.”
Both women crossed their arms.
“The point of Azure Palms is not to win a man.”
Silence.
Around us, several guests quietly listened now.
Good.
Maybe they needed the reminder too.
I softened my voice slightly.
“The point is to have fun. Rest. Feel safe. Meet good people.” I gestured between them. “And frankly? No billionaire worth dating wants women fighting over him beside rental paddleboards.”
A few women snorted laughter.
The brunette’s expression cracked first.
Then the blonde’s.
Good.
Humor lowered defenses.
I pointed toward the mocktail table.
“Now go hydrate before one of you accidentally commits assault in athleisure.”
They both burst out laughing finally.
Crisis averted.
Mostly.
As they walked away together, the brunette muttered, “I still think he likes my earrings more.”
The blonde whispered back:
Your earrings are incredible.”
Growth.
Personal growth.
As the women wandered away together still bickering lightly, Eleanor appeared beside me.
“Well done.”
“I deserve a medal.”
“You deserve a vacation.”
“Please don’t tease me with impossible fantasies.”
Eleanor patted my arm affectionately.
“You make women feel comfortable here.”
The sincerity in her voice caught me off guard.
“Oh.”
“You notice everyone,” she continued gently. “That matters.”
Emotion unexpectedly pinched my chest.
Because honestly?
That was exactly what I’d always hoped Azure Palms could become.
Not just luxury. Not just romance fantasy.
But a place where people felt…taken care of.
Before I could answer, movement near the dunes caught my eye.
Graham.
Standing near the beach equipment station talking quietly with two security staff members.
My stomach immediately did something stupid.
Again.
I was beginning to resent my own biology.
Even from across the sand, he radiated that same calm competence that seemed woven into his DNA.
Guests trusted him instinctively. Staff relaxed when he appeared. Children followed him around like he was secretly a Disney prince with tool belts.
It was annoying.
And suspiciously attractive.
One tiny little boy was currently wearing Graham’s sunglasses upside down while Graham repaired a beach umbrella.
It was deeply upsetting how charming that looked.
Eleanor followed my gaze.
“Oh dear.”
I stiffened.
“What?”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The one women get right before making terrible romantic decisions.”
“I am not making a terrible romantic decision.”
“You’re staring at him like he invented oxygen.”
“That is wildly dramatic.”
“Mmmm.”
I grabbed a clipboard defensively.
“He’s just… Graham.”
Eleanor smiled knowingly.
“Those are often the dangerous ones.”
Before I could argue further, Bianca strutted toward us wearing an aggressively tiny designer swimsuit and determination.
“Okay,” she announced. “I have new evidence.”
Eleanor whispered: “I miss the war.”
Bianca ignored her.
“The billionaire is definitely not the cowboy anymore.”
“Congratulations on your emotional growth,” I said.
“He got sun poisoning.”
“That does reduce mystery.”
Bianca pointed dramatically toward Graham across the beach.
“It’s him.”
Oh for heaven’s sake.
“Bianca—”
“He’s too calm.”
“He works hospitality.”
“He notices everything.”
“He’s literally paid to.”
“He rescued a sea turtle yesterday!”
I blinked.
“…He what?”
Bianca looked triumphant.
“Aha!”
I turned immediately toward the equipment station.
Sure enough, a tiny rehabilitated sea turtle currently sat inside a shallow container beside Graham while two little kids watched him excitedly.
Good Lord.
Of course he rescued sea turtles.
That felt aggressively on-brand.
“He found fishing line tangled around it this morning,” Eleanor supplied casually.
My heart melted a little against my will.
Which felt unfair because I hadn’t authorized that reaction.
Rude.
Very rude of him.
Bianca crossed her arms smugly.
“See? Secret billionaire behavior.”
“That is not billionaire behavior,” I argued weakly.
“That is emotionally devastating behavior,” Eleanor corrected.
I stared at her.
“You are not helping.”
“I’m eighty-one. I do what I want.”
Fair point.
Across the beach, Graham glanced up unexpectedly.
Our eyes met instantly.
And just like always, everything around me seemed to go oddly quieter for a second.
The breeze. The music. The chatter.
All muted.
He lifted one hand slightly toward me.
Not dramatic. Not flirtatious.
Just checking in.
You okay?
The simple gesture hit me absurdly hard.
I nodded automatically.
His expression softened almost imperceptibly before he returned to helping the children with the turtle.
And suddenly I became very aware that he’d stationed extra staff around the women’s activities all morning.
Not because he had to.
Because he’d thought about it.
Not hovering. Not controlling. Not obvious.
Just present.
Protective.
Safe.
Like he’d quietly built an invisible safety net around all of us without needing credit for it.
Oh no.
No no no.
That feeling again.
That dangerous warm feeling.
Bianca narrowed her eyes beside me.
“You like him.”
I nearly inhaled beach sand.
“What?”
“You looked at him weird.”
“I did not.”
“You looked at him like he was rescuing your sea turtle.”
Eleanor burst into delighted laughter.
“This is becoming my favorite vacation.”
I pointed at both of them.
“No. Absolutely not. Graham and I work together.”
Bianca smirked.
“Sure.”
Eleanor sipped her smoothie serenely.
“Workplace romance is very common.”
“We are not having workplace romance.”
At that exact moment, Graham started walking toward us across the beach.
Sunlight. Rolled sleeves. Bare feet in the sand. Tiny rescued turtle in his hands.
The man looked offensively attractive.
One woman near the yoga mats actually whispered, “That’s the kind of man who would remember your pharmacy pickup.”
Bianca whispered: “Oh he’s absolutely rich.”
I ignored her completely.
Mostly because my pulse had abruptly forgotten professionalism.
Graham stopped beside us.
“Morning.”
Eleanor smiled sweetly.
“Your girlfriend says hello.”
I made a choking noise so violent a nearby woman turned around.
Graham blinked once.
Then looked directly at me.
And to my horror—
that dangerous almost-smile appeared again.
“Oh?” he said mildly.
Traitor.
Absolute traitor.
The tiny turtle suddenly flapped one little fin dramatically between us.
Bianca pointed immediately.
“Even the turtle gets it.”
“Please stop talking,” I begged.
Before I could recover, one of the younger women from yoga hurried toward me nervously.
“Piper?”
“Yeah?”
She lowered her voice immediately.
“I think you should know something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
The woman glanced carefully toward Graham.
Then whispered:
“Your property manager isn’t who he says he is.”
The words hit me so hard my stomach dropped.
Because suddenly the sunshine, the music, and the laughter all felt very far away.