“He’s in class showing the kids how to paint. I don’t know why he gets to do that. He can’t paint.”
“It’s finger painting, not recreating Van Gogh portraits.” Hayley checked her clipboard for the day’s tasks. All but one room was full, and each room held a woman, some women with their children, and in one, a young man escaping from an abusive mother. The Center was a cost-free facility open to any and all suffering from emotional and physical trauma. People with wounded souls could recover on the island in peace and solitude. The Center offered self-defense classes, exercise equipment, GED studies, and therapy sessions. And when the person was ready to start into the world again, the Center gave him or her a stipend to help start a new life.
There were perks to being the wife of a billionaire “Speaking of paint-splattered muscled men with wicked grins,” said Betty.
“We weren’t—“ She felt Logan’s arms around her as he whirled around and smacked her with a big kiss. “Are you done painting the shed?”
“Work, work, work,” he murmured. “I needed refreshment.”
“Did you talk to the contractor about expanding the new facility? You know we have a waiting list, and I hate turning away people. Maybe I should—“
“Kiss your husband and chill out. You’ve gotten so bossy.”
“Yeah, well, everyone agreed I would be a good manager.”
Betty giggled then waddled away. Hayley vaguely heard Claire shooing Betty out of the checkout area, chiding her to go rest.
“You are beautiful.”
“Thanks.” She kissed him again and wrinkled her nose. “You smell like turpentine.”
“No, that’s my new cologne.”
Hayley laughed, her heart so filled with joy, and her life so filled with purpose, she found herself dancing down hallways, singing in the shower, and laughing out loud for no reason other than she felt like it.
The front door swung open, and Logan and Hayley turned. In the doorway was a young woman, a fading bruise on her cheek, wearing a torn dress, and in her gaze, an expression Hayley knew all too well “Go on, baby,” said Logan. “I’ll meet you later for dinner.”
Hayley put down her clipboard and hurried to the girl, wrapping her arms around her thin shoulders and urging her toward the stairs. “C’mon, sweetheart. We’ve been waiting for you.”
The End
The Billionaire’s Beach House
By Gina Robinson
One
July, Suva, Fiji
Day One
Brittany West
One of the great things about having a best friend who's married to a billionaire is the leftovers. And I don't mean food. Truly fantastic stuff like designer shoes, purses, clothes, and vacations they're too busy to take. Specifically—a four-day vacation at a private beach cabin in the water a dozen yards off the beach of its own private island. Yes. A house literally built and anchored out in the middle of a sparkling blue reef. With a view of nothing but sun, sky, light blue waters, palm trees, and white sands.
Secluded. Peaceful. No noisy touristy crap to contend with. Fully stocked with food and refreshing tropical drinks. Nothing to do but kick back and relax.
And the most exotic feature ever? An underwater bedroom. If the online promo pictures were any indication, it was gorgeous. Like sleeping in an aquarium. Or being a mermaid, no tail required. When I was little, I'd wanted to be a mermaid when I grew up, so this was perfect.
No need to scuba-dive or snorkel to look at the fish. I could just lie in bed and watch the tropical fish swim by while I read about other people's romances or watched a movie with a rum-filled drink in hand.
All thanks to my best friend Kayla, who, to everyone's surprise, went to Reno on business late one week and came home the wife of billionaire geek guy Justin Green.
I was in total shock when she surprised me with it. I never would have been able to afford it on my own.
The vacation package was clearly designed to be a romantic vacation for two. But I wasn't currently involved with anyone. So I invited our mutual friend Sarah to come with me.
Sarah and I decided it would be a long girls' weekend away. Sarah was also my colleague at Flashionista, the company Justin cofounded. Work had been hectic of late. We both needed the break. We agreed it would be chill. Just sunning topless on the deck, drinking tropical drinks, snorkeling, if we wanted, and catching up on our reading and relaxing.
All would have been perfect. Except Sarah pulled her Achilles tendon playing beach volleyball two days before we were supposed to leave and regretfully had to bail on me at the last minute. She lost the game, but gained the attention of a particularly hot guy who took her to emergency. So all was not lost. For her.