Episode 193
HEATHER’S STORY
Heather
Darby Sullivan, the new doctor on the island, is quite the looker with gorgeous hair—I could do magic with a little layering—and sparkling green eyes.
She’s telling June and me—Evangeline and Misty excused themselves a few minutes earlier—about her family practice in Miami when June walks away while Darby is in the middle of a sentence.
Darby pauses, blinking after her. “Was it something I said?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.”
June’s an odd bird. Sure, we’ve had our fun. Shocking how good she is at licking pussy. But something about her doesn’t quite add up, and I can’t put my finger on it.
It’s like she’s not real.
Then again, who am I to talk?
I’ve spent years perfecting the art of reinvention.
A charming smile, a perfectly tousled head of my black-and-blue hair, a laugh that sounds just the right amount of carefree.
I play the part of the ambitious hairstylist, the woman who wants a taste of the high life, who’s ready to secure a billionaire husband and upgrade her existence. And most people believe it.
Because the truth? No one would understand.
When Sebastian asked me about my viper tattoo, I told him I was an open book…except for the tattoo.
I don’t talk about it. So don’t ever ask me about it again. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter. I don’t need to hear an apology, or an “I didn’t know,” or a “You can tell me anything, baby, and I’ll understand.” Because trust me. You won’t understand.
And he won’t.
As for an open book…
The truth is far more complex.
Sure, Heather Hill is an open book.
But Heather Hill is a damned illusion.
The hairstylist from Pasadena, the woman who followed Sebastian Tate all over Europe…
Sure, she exists, but—
“I’m not sure why I’m even here,” Darby is saying, interrupting my thoughts. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a healthier group of people. Is everyone here good-looking?”
I laugh. “It’s a matchmaking event with billionaires who are all freaking gorgeous. And you’re beautiful yourself.”
She takes a sip of her drink. “I’m just here to do a job. I mean, when I got a call from Evangeline saying I could have an all-expenses-paid trip to a private tropical island in exchange for putting Band-Aids on boo-boos, it was a no-brainer.”
She has no idea.
This island isn’t just about billionaire pairings and luxury. It’s a game, a battlefield where people like me fight to carve out a place in a world that isn’t ours.
“I thought you told Sebastian you were going to get settled,” I say to her.
“I did. And I was. But I got sidetracked on the way up to my suite and ended up back here. I couldn’t resist one of these mimosas.” She takes another sip.
I’m about to reply when a familiar presence brushes past me—Sebastian.
He’s back. Probably ready to show Darby around.
I don’t turn, but I feel the heat of him, his closeness. He lingers for just a second too long, like he wants to say something—to me or to Darby?—but he doesn’t.
Then he’s gone.
He strides across the deck toward the bar, his jaw tight, his shoulders squared. As much fun as it’s been fooling around with some of the others, I’ve had the best fucks with Sebastian.
I exhale slowly. Darby’s still talking, but my focus is elsewhere now.
I tear my gaze away from Sebastian and glance back at Darby. She’s watching him too.
Damn it.
“He’s hot,” Darby murmurs.
I simply nod. Calling Sebastian Tate hot is like calling the Pacific Ocean big—technically true, but nowhere near enough to capture the sheer magnitude of it.
Sebastian doesn’t just turn heads. He commands attention, and not just when he’s rocking onstage.
He’s the kind of man who walks into a room and alters the atmosphere, makes the air heavier, hotter, charged with something electric.
Looking at him too long feels dangerous, like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing full well I’m about to fall.
And I know a lot about falling.
“What’s his story?” Darby continues.
“He’s a rocker. You know that.”
“Right, but you know what I mean.”
“Do I?” I raise an eyebrow at her. In truth, I don’t have a clue what she means. If she’s not here to marry a billionaire, why would she care what Sebastian’s story is?
She smiles. “You, then. What’s your story?”
Sure, I have a story. A story I’ll never tell.
“What you see is what you get,” I reply.
Darby doesn’t pry, which I appreciate. Instead, she tilts her head slightly. “Then what’s your angle?” she asks.
I chuckle. “Angle? Is that another way to ask for my story?”
“No, not exactly. You’re here for a billionaire, right?”
“That’s what they say.”
She studies me for a moment. “And what do you say?”
I glance over at Sebastian. “I say a woman can have more than one reason for being here.”
Darby smiles. “Fair enough.”
Something about Darby intrigues me. I’ve learned to read people in my line of work. After all, a hairstylist is a therapist in many ways. I’ve learned to trust my intuition, and right now, it’s telling me to tread carefully.
Darby is too observant, too calm. She’s here, but she doesn’t need to be. She didn’t come to snag a billionaire.
Or did she?
I don’t trust her. Hell, I don't trust anyone.
But I think I like her.
Before I can push further, a shadow falls over us.
“Enjoying yourselves?”
I know that voice.
I turn slightly, looking up into Misty’s piercing blue eyes.
“You’re back,” I say.
Seems logical. Just when I’m sensing something weird, the personification of weird shows up.
Darby flashes Misty a bright, easy smile. “Heather and I are just getting to know each other.”
Misty’s gaze flickers to me. I hold it, unblinking.
There’s something in her expression—something calculating. Nothing new there.
Misty tilts her head. “Heather, always in the middle of things.”
I smirk. “You know me. I like to keep things interesting.”
“Yes, you do.” Misty lingers for another beat before turning, striding away without another word.
Darby exhales, shaking her head. “She’s intense. What’s her story?”
Again with the stories. “She’s an heiress, as you know. And she’s kind of…odd.”
Darby raises her eyebrows.
“Not in a scary way or anything,” I say. “But she came here with an agenda.”
“Didn’t you all?”
Darby has a point. We all came to meet the billionaires, to hopefully marry one.
But I get an unnerving feeling—the same feeling I get from Misty.
Misty is playing some kind of game, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Darby may be as well.
She’s feeling me out.
Fine. I can play my part.
After all, I’ve been playing a part for years.