by Elyse Riggs
He turns to me. The pout remains, and even more annoying is the fact that he’s ignoring my sarcasm. “Correct, it was a goal. I take it you’re not a soccer fan?”
“It’s not my favorite game, no. But listen, there are like three dozen paparazzi hanging around down at my favorite beach bar, what are we going to do?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Why, Kaylee, you sound positively like a Covington now. All worried about somebody snapping your picture. In this case, though we aren’t going to do anything. It’s all part of our plan, remember? Although I must point out that you are acclimating to the specifics of the Covington life quicker than I thought.”
I cross to him, steam practically coming out of my ears. “If they get more than a couple of good, high definition pictures of me and find out I’m me and you’re you, and we’re not really together then we are in trouble, yes? If they find out I’m a pastry chef who works at the hotel you’re staying at and has known you for less than twenty-four hours?”
I raise both of my eyebrows at him.
“Oh yeah, that would be a problem.”
“You think?”
“Only it’s not,” he says with a smirk for dramatic effect.
“Mind telling me why it’s not?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“One, they already snapped a bad photo of the two of us that first night, when we were on that stone path on the side of the resort. Although that was like our bigfoot photo, see?” He proudly brings up a terrible picture of the two of us. “It’s kinda grainy, not clear enough to make a positive identification out of. But more than enough to establish a timeline of us together before the proposed takeover of my company so that it looks less suspicious.”
I open my mouth to argue but I don’t get the chance.
“And beyond that,” he continues, “the plan can be summed up in just two words. Covington security. You know how those photographers stick out like a sore thumb with their zoom cameras and tacky shirts?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, I have plain clothes guys all over the place, keeping them away. It’ll be fine.”
I bite my lip, not at all sure anything is going to be fine, but at least it did explain why there are no photographers near our current lounge chair area.
Chase cocks his head to the side.
“What now?” I ask
“Ring. Your ring is missing. It’s a pretty big part of being a fiancé, Kaylee.”
“Oh yeah,” I dig into my pocket and put it back on. “Thanks.” I know he’s being a smartass, but I really do need the reminder. All the craziness lately is starting to leave me frazzled.
I stare down at the ring and in the sunlight it’s even more spectacular. “It’s beautiful. I have to say, you outdid yourself, Chase. Or at least whoever did your shopping outdid themselves.”
He grins, pretending not to notice my smartass comment. “Thank you.”
“Well, we’re both smartasses,” I deadpan. “At least we have that going for us as a fake couple.”
With all of that out of the way, I plop down on the lounge chair. Only now I’m back to feeling bad about lying to my friends and playing hooky from work. And the rest of the whole fake fiancé thing too. Work kept popping into my mind though. Something about it was nagging at me, and not just because I called in sick for the entire weekend.
Then I remember exactly what it is that’s bothering me. “Shit!”
Chase looks up from his phone and his head swivels around. “What is it? Did you see a guy with a camera?”
“Not funny. All I meant to say is that we need to be careful. They’re not after you, anyway.” Now I have his attention. “They’re after me. The tabloids caught the scent of the mystery engagement of one of the country’s most eligible bachelors.”
“What? That’s fantastic! Why didn’t you lead with that?”
I scowl at him.
Now he looks genuinely confused. “You sounded upset a minute ago. What’s so important about pointing out the glaringly obvious presence of the paparazzi?”
“Thank you,” I say feeling validated. Then it hits me that isn’t my point at all. “No, wait. The thing I was going to tell you is that I called into work.”
He blinks at me, still looking confused. I can’t help but feel partially responsible. I really should get to the point, but he’s really distracting. And irritating. And sexy. And he’s only comprehending his stupid billionaire problems and not my actual real-world problems and it’s annoying.
“I called in sick to work. And now I’m probably going to get fired and then have to work at Banana Burger for the rest of my life.”
He makes a face. “Banana Burger? I hope that’s not what I think it is, because it sounds gross.”
I roll my eyes again. “No, the burgers aren’t actually made out of bananas. The burgers there are actually really good. But you can get banana slices on top of the burgers if you want. It’s tastier than you’d think. You know, with the whole sweet and salty thing going on?”
“Huh.” He doesn’t look impressed.
“But,” I say with the certainty and satisfaction that I’ve finally arrived at my point, “I just remembered that my friend Fi, out of the sheer goodness of her heart, hired my fledgling chocolate company to cater her charity event tonight.”
He beams at me. “A charity event. That’s wonderful. You know, you’re starting to sound like a Covington more and more.”
“Ugh, knock that off. Sure, I’m just like a Covington, minus all the money part. You do realize that normal people like to give money to charities too, right?”
“Noted. But you still have to explain to me why this charity thing is a problem.” Then he thinks about it for a moment. “Wait, what was that about chocolate?”
“You’re hopeless, you know that?” I ask.
He grins when the obvious answer dawns on him. “You’re Scrumptious!”
“Yes,” I deadpan, “that’s me.”
“I mean you’re Scrumptious Chocolate, right? That explains all the weird looks between you and you’re your friend at the beach bar.”
“Yes, you caught me. But look, that charity event is coming up soon.”
“Okay,” he says, “what’s the problem?”
I close my eyes and count to five to calm down. It doesn’t work. “I made the chocolates days ago and stashed them in the freezer at the hotel kitchen. The kitchen where I work. Only now I can’t go get them without being seen. And I have to go get them, Chase.”
The issue at hand finally dawns on Chase’s face. I want to shout Hallelujah, but I stop myself.
“I’ll get them,” he announces with a shrug. “They can’t fire me, right?”
“That’s a terrible idea. They’ve already seen you. Even worse, Vivian’s already seen you, and she’s the biggest gossip at the hotel.”
“So?”
“Okay, fine. Listen, if you want to help, you can stand lookout. There aren’t people in the freezer area of the kitchen twenty-four seven. I get in, get out, deliver the chocolates, and nobody’s the wiser. This could work, I guess.” Plus, without the chef’s hat and outfit, coworkers I’m vaguely familiar with have not bothered to give me a second glance since I’ve been out here. Maybe it will be okay after all.
Chase stands up. To my surprise, he looks excited. “Okay, when do we start?”
I smile. “Right now.” Then I let my eyes roam up and then back down his body. “Okay, not right now. You can’t go looking like that.”
“Looking like what?” he asks.
“You. You can’t look like you.” Just then the lounge chair concierge appears at the entrance to the cabana with what looks like pineapple deserts. Yes, please.
I whisper to the concierge that we need a hat, tee shirt, and sunglasses from the gift store. I then tell her to charge it to Chase’s room. And it works. Just like it always does in the movies. I have to admit, I’ve always wanted to do that. “That ought to help,” I say to Chase.
“You’re the notorious playboy with paparazzi following him,” I counter.
“Well, that makes you the playboy’s secret fiancé that they’re all hunting.”
The concierge’s face ping-pongs back and forth between our whisper argument that’s not nearly as secret as we hoped.
“Fair enough,” I say, turning back to the concierge. “Cheap, acme, tourist disguises for two, please.”
Chapter Nineteen
Chase
The next thing I know, Kaylee and I are casually walking away from the lounge chair for two and back toward the resort, hand in hand, like everything is fine.
We keep our backs toward the direction Kaylee indicated the paparazzi hang out, so hopefully we’ll be okay for now. Casually available for pictures if they’re really trying, but not being too obvious or easy about it.
As soon as we get inside, we meet the concierge again and she hands an oversize plastic shopping bag with the resort’s sea-shell logo on it to Kaylee.
As much as she puts up a fight about it, all this paparazzi avoiding, subterfuge, and scheming kind of fits her like a glove. And even more importantly, she’s good at it.
Then Kaylee pulls me aside and digs into the plastic bag. A moment later I’m wearing a blue goofy hat that has the resort logo on it and she’s wearing a pink visor that says beach babe.
“Hey,” I object, “your hat is cooler.”
She turns and her lips curl up into a delicious smile. “You want to be beach babe?”
“Maybe.”
“Forget it. Beach babe hat is mine. Now concentrate.” She turns her attention down the hall to stare in the direction of her pastry display while we complete the rest of our tacky disguises.
If she was looking at me instead of her objective, she’d see my huge smile. I’m having more fun than I have in years.
I replay the earlier conversation in my head, the one about Scrumptious Chocolate. “Hey, that’s why you asked for such a specific amount of money to help me out this weekend, isn’t it? For Scrumptious Chocolate. You made a business plan, didn’t you?” Oh, she’s not playing fair at all. To me, there is nothing in the world sexier than a woman with a business plan.
“Right again,” she says. I can tell she’s concentrating on the hallway in front of us.
Then she gives me the signal and we’re on the move, making our way down the hallway. She’s right about the disguises. Nobody recognizes me. Or her either, for that matter. She’s smart. And determined. And funny. And clever.
With her as my fake fiancé, even with these distractions, I am starting to feel more and more confident that I’ll be able to fool the board of directors and get the job.
“Okay,” she says when we get close. She grabs my arm and hides behind me in a way that is adorable. “Is she there?”
“Is who where?”
She snorts at me and peeks for herself. “The girl who’s covering my shift. She must be in the back. Perfect. Now’s our chance.” She walks quickly, still in her bathing suit, coverup, and towel. Only now she also has a tee shirt, hat, and goofy sunglasses on even though she’s inside the building.
She reaches her pastry counter and throws open the small gate that separates the guests from the employees.
I hang back just behind the gate. But apparently that’s not good enough. She walks back and pulls me through into the kitchen area and then around another corner. “Okay, you stay here. I’ll be right back. And if you see anybody, say something.”
“What do I say?” I ask, getting drawn into the moment.
“Wait, don’t say anything. If you see anybody, clear your throat. Loudly.”
“Okay,” I say. “Like this?” I take a deep breath and she puts a hand on my chest and holds a finger over her lips in my direction. “No. Do not practice. Be quiet and stay out of sight unless you see somebody. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
I almost laugh out loud at the uber serious look on her face. And then she’s gone. I stand there looking left and right, trying to be as good a kitchen heist lookout as I can be.
After a minute or so I get bored and peek around a corner. Then I settle in, fully prepared to loudly clear my throat if need be. Truth be told, I have never been a lookout before.
I have to admit, after the novelty of it all wears off, it’s a little boring. I lean back against the counter. Then I backtrack a little so that I can steal a glance inside the pastry display. Then I notice that there are trays of newly made deserts cooling on the counter. And they look amazing. They smell even better.
I glance all around me one more time, just to make sure that the coast is clear. For Kaylee and for me. There’s nobody coming or going, no sounds at all.
No footsteps, no clattering, just dead silence. In fact, judging by the noise I make tiptoeing over to the desert counter trays, anybody coming in this direction would sound like a herd of elephants anyway.
I ogle the tray of just-baked eclairs, bear claws and other delicacies, sniffing in the heavenly aroma. I decide to take one. Nobody will miss it, what’s the harm?
Besides, I am helping out the pastry chef. It’s the least she could do in return. In fact, if she were right here, right now, she’d probably offer me one anyway. I was nearly certain of it. All I’m doing is saving her the trouble.
But which one? It’s so hard to decide. I go back and forth in my mind for a few moments. On the one hand, the éclairs look amazing. They’re still warm and look crispy and are drizzled in chocolate. There are other options but in the end it’s no contest. Éclair it is.
Yep, that’s the winner. After another cautious glance around the room, I select one and grab it. It’s warm enough to confirm that it has come out of the oven recently, but not too hot for me to take a bite. And as soon as I take that bite, savoring every single molecule of it, that’s when I hear footsteps behind me.
Oh shit. Somebody’s coming. I have to give Kaylee the signal. Chew, chew, swallow, breathe.
Oh yeah, I don’t have to talk, all I have to do is clear my throat. I do so. Loudly, as requested. The footsteps continue. I panic. Kaylee and I never discussed what’s supposed to happen after I clear my throat.
I think about it. The throat-clearing I did just now was pretty loud. Should I do it again? On the other hand, there’s nothing else I can do unless I really call attention to myself, which Kaylee is clearly against.
While worrying about whether I should or shouldn’t do anything about the current situation, I take another heavenly bite of eclair and lean back on the counter.
Chapter Twenty
Kaylee
The goofy tourist disguise thing sounded like a good idea in my head, but now that I am headed to the kitchen freezer in my bikini, goofy hat, and sunglasses, I feel like I’m in a very poorly written sitcom.
Now I’m not sure if I’m more afraid of getting laughed at or fired. Okay, I’m definitely more afraid of getting fired, but I’m also quite sure I look ridiculous.
But despite it all, I make it to the freezer just fine. Everything’s going perfectly. I open the door, go inside, and immediately panic because I can’t see anything.
I pause as I try to figure out what’s going on. The inside of the freezer is not the best lit place in the kitchen, but usually it’s not this bad. Oh yeah, I’m wearing sunglasses.
I chuckle. Once I take them off of my face I can see again. Now I head straight for the five boxes of truffles and various kinds of chocolate that I stashed here a couple of days ago.
Whew. Mission accomplished. I return to the door of the freezer and open it with my free hand. As I do, my sunglasses drop to the floor.
Fine, I’ll leave them. There’s no time. I make it out the door and into the hallway. And then I slam right into Vivian. The boxes in my arms wobble, but luckily I’m able to regain control.
“Oh, I’m
sorry,” Vivian says before she considers what’s actually going on. “Hey, guests are not supposed to be back here.” Then her eyes settle on the boxes of chocolate in my arms.
“Oh no,” I say. “This is not what it looks like.” What it looks like is that I’m a random guest sneaking into the kitchen freezer to steal desserts. Kaylee’s deserts. Scrumptious Chocolates. Like it or not, all my current co-workers know about my side hustle.
Vivian stares at my face. “Kaylee?”
Oh no. I should have run away when I had the chance. I just stood here like an idiot. And now I’m standing here silently cursing Chase for being the worst lookout in the history of the world. Seriously. He had one job. How could he be so bad at it?
“Kaylee what are you doing here stealing your own candy?” She looked me up and down. “In a bikini?”
I stop to think about which question to answer first and then consider just bolting without a word.
“Because Ralph is pissed.” Unfortunately, Vivian continues her train of thought for my benefit before I get to answer. “The rumor is you called in sick. You don’t look sick.” She raises an eyebrow. “You look like you’re out sunbathing during one of the busiest weekends of the season while the rest of us are working our asses off in a hot kitchen.”
Vivian, despite all her faults, is smarter than I give her credit for. Maybe I should have asked her to play lookout. I’d better think of something, and fast. “Hey, just because I don’t look sick doesn’t mean I’m not sick. The sickest people in hospitals look just fine.” I am a horrible liar, especially under pressure. Luckily, every single word of that is true. Surprisingly.
As soon as I see Vivian’s expression change, I know I’m in deep trouble.
“Oh no. I’m so sorry, Kaylee. What’s wrong with you? How bad is it?”
Mayday, mayday. Kaylee, what have you done? Now Vivian has caught the scent of both drama and gossip. Think. And whatever happens, don’t say something incredibly stupid. “I need an operation.” I blurt out. Because I suck at lying. And also at making stuff up on the fly that has anything to do with medical terminology. I am going to kill Chase.
