Episode 202
HERE’S TO THE LADIES WHO LUNCH
Heather
The tropical lunch buffet is great. Vibrant colors, next-level presentation—so gorgeous I almost don’t want to touch it.
Juicy sliced mango sits next to pineapple so fresh it probably just fell off the tree.
And don’t even get me started on the shrimp skewers—grilled to perfection, all glazed in some kind of citrusy magic that tastes like a vacation.
Cold coconut rice with lime zest and chili flakes sprinkled on top. And the salads are so chic. Papaya slaw, watermelon with mint, and this cucumber thing with ginger dressing that’s basically spa water you can eat. The whole thing smells like spice, sunshine, and pure happiness.
Honestly, I’m obsessed with the food here. Almost as much as I’m obsessed with Sebastian Tate, though he hasn’t looked my way in a while.
Keeping secrets hasn’t affected my appetite at all. If anything, the lying burns calories. I pile my plate high with coconut rice, a few slices of pineapple, and two shrimp skewers. A Mai Tai in one hand, secrets in the other. Balance, babe.
June, who’s still wearing her damned towel—I swear to God the girl is a nudist—sits across from me. The woman can lick pussy like a boss, but there’s something about her I don’t trust.
Not that I’m one to talk.
Nobody here knows the real me.
Nobody anywhere does.
And that’s the way I like it.
June is all sun-kissed skin and wet hair, digging into her kale salad like she hasn’t eaten in weeks. Poor thing. Pussy and greens probably don’t make for a very filling diet.
“You should try the shrimp skewers,” I suggest. “They’re insane.”
June glances up and raises an eyebrow at me. “Are they? I try to stay away from meat.”
Right. I watched her devour the jerk chicken the night of the cookoff. “Taste one, you’ll convert.” I grin.
She laughs then. It sounds genuine, real.
And it bothers me. It’s easier to play the game when everyone’s pretending, easier to hide in plain sight when nobody’s looking too closely.
But sometimes I get this feeling that June looks too closely, piercing through my facade like it isn't even there. That’s a dangerous game to play, especially with me.
I’m beginning to see what I couldn’t put my finger on.
June doesn’t know my story. No one does. But she’s observant. Shrewd.
Which is why I’ve chosen to keep her close.
She grabs a skewer and takes a cautious bite. “You’re right, Heather. It’s fab.” A smile plays on her lips. “But I'll stick to my greens for now.”
I shrug, swirl the ice in my Mai Tai, and take another slow sip. “Your loss.”
Something about June's candor unnerves me. It challenges the illusion I've built around myself over the years.
June munches on her kale salad. “You're good at hiding,” she says, her voice soft so only I can hear it over the clattering of silverware and plates. "But you don't have to hide from me."
I don’t react.
I’ve learned to stay unfazed even when questioned. Even when threatened.
She thinks I’m hiding.
She’s right, but aren't we all?
I force a laugh. “Well, June, aren't we all hiding something? Even vegetarians who eat jerk chicken?”
Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment she says nothing. Then she smiles. “I suppose we are,” she replies coolly. “Some of us just hide it better than others.”
“So this new guy,” Darby interjects, holding a mimosa to her lips. “Can I call dibs?”
I turn and meet her green-eyed gaze. “You’re not here for the billionaires, are you? I mean, Evangeline hired you to be our physician on the island.”
She laughs. “Look but don’t touch? Is that what you’re saying?”
I tilt my head and smile—the same smile I give a client who’s convinced a certain hairstyle will flatter her, but it won’t. “I’m only saying that the billionaires are here for us. Not for you.”
Darby lifts one perfectly waxed brow. “So protective. Do you have a stake in the newcomer, Heather?”
Across the table, June is watching us. Always listening. Always cataloging.
I take another sip of my drink. “Not at all.”
Darby smirks behind her mimosa. “I’m a doctor, not a nun.”
“Well, if you’re planning to play doctor with anyone here, I’d suggest brushing up on ethics. Or at least brushing your hair. Some layers would help. I’m happy to assist.”
June snorts into her salad. Darby’s smile tightens, but she doesn’t fire back. Not yet.
I know her type. Charming. Polished. Thinks a medical license makes her untouchable. Thinks I’m just some hairdresser who grew up in a trailer park. Thinks my blue tips make me silly and stupid.
That’s fine. She’ll learn.
June leans forward. “So this Jake guy. Has anyone actually spoken to him yet?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Sienna and Emily, maybe. They were there when he got here.”
Darby stirs her drink. “I’m intrigued.”
June raises an eyebrow. “Why? None of us even know him.”
Darby shrugs. “Mystery’s hot. That’s all I’m saying.”
I’m getting the feeling there’s much more to Dr. Darby than meets the eyes. Still, I’m good at reading people, and she’s an amateur compared to June.
Time to change the subject. “Where are Ariel and Misty, I wonder?”
“Wedding stuff, no doubt,” June says.
“Hey,” I say, “we should give Ariel a shower tonight.”
“A shower?” June raises her eyebrows. “And where exactly would we buy gifts? And why should we? She’s marrying a billionaire. She’ll have whatever her heart desires from now on.”
“Okay, call it a bachelorette party, then. We can get some of the staffers to entertain. That sous-chef, Marc, is hotter than twenty hells.”
“I’m in, for sure,” Darby says.
June nods slowly, her gaze locked on mine. “That’s a great idea, Heather.”
There it is again—that look. That knowing. Like she’s analyzing every word I say, digging beneath the surface with some kind of unsettling nuance.
I swirl the ice in my glass, keep my expression neutral.
June doesn’t know me—not on the inside. But she sees too much.
I feel her watching me the way I watch everyone else—like she’s trying to decide what I’m hiding, and whether it matters.
It does matter.
And I’ll do whatever I must to make sure she stays in the dark.