3. Welcome Basket Warfare
Chapter three
Welcome Basket Warfare
Piper
By Tuesday morning, Azure Palms had officially descended into attractive chaos.
Exactly on schedule.
Nothing unraveled quite as efficiently as Azure Palms.
“Ladies!” I called brightly across the open-air lounge. “If anyone accidentally took the gluten-free pineapple muffins intended for Cabana Seven, now would be a wonderful time to confess before Linda from Wisconsin starts a civil uprising.”
Three women guiltily lowered their muffins.
Knew it.
The Welcome Sisterhood Gathering filled the resort’s oceanfront pavilion with colorful tote bags, fruity drinks, and approximately forty women pretending they were absolutely not interested in which guest billionaire might secretly be the billionaire.
Some were subtle about it.
Some absolutely were not.
One woman had arrived carrying evidence folders.
One woman had brought binoculars.
Actual binoculars.
For a vacation game.
Another woman had created a handwritten “Suspiciously Wealthy Men Ranking System” in a glitter notebook.
I pressed on before questions about net worth resumed.
“Okay, ladies! Inside your welcome baskets you’ll find:
island maps
buddy-system information
excursion schedules
sunscreen packets
emergency contact cards
and vouchers for tonight’s crab cake social.”
A woman near the back raised her hand.
“Are there rules against flirting?”
The entire pavilion perked up.
I smiled sweetly.
“Only if you make it weird.”
Several women laughed.
A few looked disappointed.
Good.
Azure Palms worked because people felt safe here. Comfortable. Relaxed. The whole point wasn’t hooking up with rich men like contestants on a reality show.
It was:
vacation
fun
friendship
sunshine
possibility
And yes… maybe a little harmless romance fantasy.
But classy romance fantasy.
We had standards.
“Quick reminder,” I continued. “No guest room hopping after midnight, no filming staff-only areas, no harassing the billionaire suspects, and if anyone tries to fight over a man during beach yoga, I will personally spray you with a garden hose.”
The older women applauded.
The younger influencers looked scandalized.
Excellent.
Linda from Wisconsin raised her hand immediately.
“Hypothetically,” she asked, “how much hose pressure are we talking?”
“Linda,” I said firmly, “you already threatened a woman over muffins.”
“She knew what she did.”
A sharply dressed blonde near the front crossed her legs dramatically.
“So basically this place is billionaire summer camp.”
I recognized her immediately.
Bianca Vale.
Three million followers. Travel influencer. Professional human migraine.
Her equally glamorous friends snickered behind oversized sunglasses.
I smiled harder.
“Actually, it’s more like adult recess with stronger cocktails.”
One of the women beside Bianca raised a brow.
“And you seriously expect us to believe none of the men here are trying to sleep with the guests?”
“Most of them are too scared of Aunt Vivienne.”
That got another laugh.
Because it was true.
At the back of the pavilion, one elderly woman crossed herself dramatically.
“I saw her make a grown man cry over buffet shrimp yesterday.”
Bianca leaned back in her chair.
“So what’s your strategy?”
“My strategy?”
“For figuring out the billionaire.”
“Oh.” I adjusted a basket ribbon. “I genuinely don’t care.”
The pavilion went suspiciously quiet.
That statement always shocked people.
Bianca blinked slowly.
“You work at a luxury resort filled with billionaires… and you don’t care?”
“I care deeply about whether they return pool towels.”
A few women burst out laughing.
Bianca did not.
“You’re telling me you’ve never wondered?”
I shrugged.
“Most wealthy men behave exactly the same by day two.”
“Meaning?”
“They all eventually ask where the hidden snacks are.”
Even the influencers cracked smiles at that.
“One man last summer tipped housekeeping fifty dollars for emergency mozzarella sticks,” I added.
“That’s honestly relatable,” someone admitted.
Before Bianca could fire back, movement near the pavilion entrance caught my eye.
Graham.
Of course.
He stepped inside carrying two replacement fans over one shoulder like the world’s most attractive maintenance commercial.
Sunlight poured through the open pavilion behind him, outlining broad shoulders and that permanently calm expression that made guests trust him instantly.
Honestly, it was annoying how effective it was.
Which was honestly unfair to the rest of humanity.
A woman near the front whispered, “Oh no.”
Her friend frowned.
“What?”
“I fear that man would survive a shipwreck competently.”
Honestly?
Fair.
If civilization collapsed tomorrow, Graham would probably organize emergency shelter, repair the generator, and somehow still remember everyone’s dietary restrictions.
“Your east fan died,” he informed me.
“Again?”
“Apparently tropical humidity and electrical wiring remain enemies.”
“That’s disappointing for science.”
“I’ll alert the journals.”
Several women openly stared at him.
One whispered: “Oh my God.”
Another fanned herself with the resort schedule.
Traitors.
Graham set the fan down and glanced around the pavilion.
His gaze landed on Bianca’s influencer table immediately.
He had excellent survival instincts.
“Everything okay in here?” he asked mildly.
Bianca smiled like a shark discovering fresh blood.
“We were just discussing billionaires.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“I think you’d know.”
I nearly choked on air.
Good Lord.
Subtlety had left the building entirely.
Graham didn’t even blink.
“That’s generous,” he said.
Bianca leaned forward.
“You’re either secretly rich or secretly ex-military.”
I snorted.
“Those are wildly different tax brackets.”
Several women laughed again.
Graham’s eyes flicked toward me briefly.
There it was. That tiny almost-smile.
Dangerous little thing.
The smile itself wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that I always noticed it.
Bianca crossed her arms.
“Come on. Nobody this calm works hospitality voluntarily.”
“Have you considered that I simply enjoy unclogging drains?”
One woman sighed dreamily.
“That confidence is suspicious.”
“This is exactly how women end up in documentaries,” I muttered.
The older guests laughed hardest at that.
One of them—a sweet silver-haired woman named Eleanor—patted the chair beside her.
“Oh leave the poor man alone. He looks like he hasn’t slept since Memorial Day.”
Graham pointed at her immediately.
“Finally. Someone reasonable.”
“I was a school principal for thirty-seven years,” Eleanor said. “I can smell trouble from fifty feet away.”
“Then you’re getting an overwhelming reading in here.”
Bianca tossed her hair.
“You still haven’t denied being rich.”
Graham looked around the pavilion thoughtfully.
“Would a rich man carry replacement fans himself?”
“Yes,” Bianca answered instantly. “If he was trying to hide it.”
I wondered why she was standing so close to him.
The women erupted into excited chatter.
“Oh my gosh, that makes sense.” “No wait—the yacht guy still feels more billionaire-ish.” “What about the cowboy investor?” “The British one owns cufflinks.”
“The British one also asked if coconuts were locally manufactured,” Eleanor added.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
The week had barely started.
We were doomed.
Graham stepped beside me while the pavilion dissolved into theories.
“Need anything else?” he asked quietly.
“A vacation.”
“That’s fair.”
“Also maybe earplugs.”
“I’ll check storage.”
I glanced sideways at him.
“You know they’re all obsessed with you now.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
“It becomes my personal problem when they start fake-fainting near the concierge desk.”
“That happened once.”
“It happened twice.”
“One woman had low blood sugar.”
“One woman tripped over absolutely nothing.”
“Gravity is unpredictable.”
“One woman walked into a ficus while staring at you.”
“That ficus came out of nowhere.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
And naturally—that exact second Bianca narrowed her eyes at us.
Uh oh.
Influencers smelled chemistry the way sharks smelled blood.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
“Okay,” Bianca announced suddenly, standing up. “New theory.”
I immediately disliked her tone.
“The billionaire isn’t one of the flashy guests.”
The pavilion quieted again.
Bianca pointed directly at Graham.
“He’s hiding in plain sight.”
The women gasped like she’d solved a murder.
Oh for heaven’s sake.
I folded my arms.
“Bianca.”
“Think about it! The calm competence. The mysterious backstory. The rugged hands. The emotional restraint.”
Graham blinked slowly.
“That’s the weirdest description I’ve ever heard.”
“You forgot cargo shorts,” I added.
“And the emotionally supportive eye contact,” Linda contributed helpfully.
Graham looked briefly alarmed now.
Bianca ignored me completely.
“You’re the only man here who doesn’t act impressed by money.”
Graham’s expression stayed perfectly neutral.
Which I’d learned usually meant he was either:
annoyed
amused
or mentally preparing to survive catastrophe
Hard to tell sometimes.
One of Bianca’s friends pointed at him dramatically.
“He rescued a child from the pool yesterday!”
“The child dropped a noodle,” Graham said.
“AND YOU GOT IT BACK.”
“This feels like a low bar for heroism.”
Bianca stepped closer.
“Admit it. You’re the billionaire.”
The entire pavilion leaned forward.
Even I waited.
Not because I believed it.
Obviously.
Graham was Graham.
Reliable. Steady. Competent. Perpetually carrying clipboards.
Not some mysterious billionaire playboy.
Although… annoyingly handsome in sunlight.
He looked at Bianca for a long moment.
Then he reached into one of the welcome baskets beside me.
Pulled out a complimentary sunscreen packet.
And handed it to her.
“You’re burning,” he said calmly.
The pavilion exploded into shrieking laughter.
Even Eleanor wheezed into her mocktail.
Bianca stared at the sunscreen like it had personally insulted her ancestry.
One woman actually slid out of her chair laughing.
And beside me, Graham leaned down slightly and murmured:
“Your welcome basket warfare appears to be escalating.”
I bit my lip to stop smiling.
“Coward.”
“Professional survivalist.”
Then he walked away while half the women in the pavilion openly watched him go.
Including Bianca, who now looked one hundred percent more interested than before.
And unfortunately…
I understood why.
That was probably becoming its own problem.