I meet Paige in the hallway an hour later and we’re on our way to the elevator. She’s changed into another pair of shorts and a cute lacy top. Her blond hair has been brushed and lies softly over both shoulders.
“I’ve already met a guy,” she admits.
I look over at her.
“You’re kidding.” This doesn’t really surprise me much; Paige has always been a social girl; not to mention she’s beautiful, with a magnetic personality to boot—she dreams of becoming a model someday, and personally I think it’s just a matter of time.
Her slim mouth spreads into a grin.
“Hey, it’s not like I went looking,” she says as she moves a few long strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. “I went to check things out and ended up in the bar downstairs.”
“The bar? Paige!” I shake my head disappointedly.
The elevator dings and stops on the fourth floor, the doors parting. A thirtysomething couple steps in.
“I wasn’t drinking,” she whispers, rolling her eyes. “I was just looking around and getting a feel for the resort.” The woman looks in our direction. “Anyway, he works at the bar and told me to stop in and have a drink sometime when I get a chance.” She grins and lowers her voice even more. “He’s not the kind I usually go for, but he’s hot enough I’m willing to make a few adjustments on my requirements list.”
The elevator stops on the third floor and the couple gets out, leaving us to our privacy.
Paige has quite a requirements list—I’m surprised she’s not still a virgin. I’m not as picky, but I admit my list isn’t all that short. Difference is that mine is more reasonable.
“Just remember we’re here to work,” I say. “And unfortunately, I doubt we’ll have time for hot breakfast, much less hot bartenders.”
“I know, I know,” she says. “But there’s nothing wrong with flirting while we work, y’know. Am I right or am I right?” Her lips spread into a broader grin and she looks across at me under hooded eyes the way she always does when she’s trying to shift my attitude.
She wins.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I give in and then shake my finger at her. “But don’t make me regret getting you hired on under me, Paige.”
She turns to me, a bright smile plastered on her sun-kissed face. “I’d never put you in a bad position, and you know it,” she says, collapsing her hands about my upper arms and pretending to look all serious.
I smile, pursing my lips on one side, and then slip my arm around her.
When we arrive at the glass wedding pavilion on the wave-washed edge of the beach, a tall, dark-haired girl with long bare legs swishes her hips underneath a pastel flowered dress, sashaying like a model down the center aisle toward us. Her hair is like a wave of dark silk flowing unrestricted against her bare back.
“You must be Sienna Murphy,” she says in a confident, dramatic voice, reaching out a dainty ring-decorated hand to me. “I’m Veronica Dennings, sister of the bride-to-be.”
I get the feeling she expects me to be impressed. I’m not, so I fake it. I’m good at faking these kinds of things—a skill I’m proud to have mastered in this job.
I know the look of disgust on Paige’s face without having to actually see it.
Veronica barely touches my hand with her fingers, as if she’s afraid to mess up her newly manicured nails.
“It’s nice to meet you, Veronica,” I say brightly, strategically placing my fingers about her hand without touching her nails. “This is Paige Mathers, my assistant.” Veronica’s dark blue eyes barely skirt her. “You must be so excited for your sister.”