Oliver and I are in the now-empty lobby of the resort, waiting for Nan and Imogen to arrive. Most of the time Oliver handles this stuff because he says I draw too much attention to Immy, but this resort is locked down tight for filming. Usually we’re constantly looking over our shoulders for paparazzi, but the production is so buttoned-down that half of the crew doesn’t even know why they’re here. And no one except those closest to us know that Micah and I are here. The freedom is pretty sweet.
I’m kind of hoping to run into that cute brunette we met earlier—Sunny? My eyes drift to the front desk every few minutes, just in case she makes an appearance. I wouldn’t hate seeing that sexy skirt of hers again. And her smile, of course. That was like pure sunshine. She has a pretty fitting name.
I’m sprawled out on one of the plush couches that line the spacious main entry of the resort, but Oliver is pacing in front of me. He’s calling Nan, who isn’t picking up. It’s late—well past dinner time—and they’re not here. They left our place in Brentwood after lunch, so they shouldn’t be this far behind us. Nan’s last text said they were stopping for chicken nuggets in Las Vegas because that’s all Imogen wants to eat these days. That was three hours ago, but Iknow how traffic gets in Vegas. I also know they have my private protection, James, with them so I’m not worried. The guy is well trained to handle paparazzi and overeager fans, not to mention the dude is jacked. He can take care of Immy and Nanny Nan. I roll my eyes at the ridiculous name.
The rest of the crew arrived, dumped their stuff in their rooms, and left for dinner a while ago. Oliver and I haven’t eaten and we’re both getting a tad edgy. He’s annoying the crap out of me, if I’m being honest. Oliver and I are friends, but we don’t do well in close quarters. Everything that makes him an excellent personal manager—perfectionism, attention to detail, organization—bugs the bejeezus out of me in large doses. Like right now, with the pacing.
“Ollie, calm down and have a seat. I’m sure they’re fine. Stop pacing.” He hates being called Ollie, and I’m trying to irritate him because he’s irritating me. Looks like it’s working.
“You like that your life runs like an atomic clock, right? Who do you think makes that happen?” He smashes his thumbs on the screen of his phone again. “Me, so I'll pace if I want to pace.”
In the corner of my eye I spot Sunny taking a seat behind the big front desk. Man, she’s pretty.
Look, don’t touch, I remind myself of the first words out of Oliver’s mouth when we left the front desk earlier. Of course he tracked my attraction to Sunny and immediately warned me off of her. I’m here to work, and he knows what happens—well, whatused tohappen—when I get distracted. At the time I appreciated the reminder, but now, with my empty stomach and her sunshine smile only twenty feet away, I think Oliver’s advice is kind of stupid.
But I’m looking, not touching, because deep down I know he’s right.
So, I look.
Sunny has her long, shiny brown hair pulled up into some kind of twisted thing on top of her head that wasn’t there earlier. There’s a pencil sticking out of it, which is… adorable. Strands of hair have escaped the pencil and are trailing down her delicate neck. She’s also wearing tortoise shell glasses that weren’t there this afternoon. And before this moment I didn’t know that the sexy librarian look is my thing. Tortoise shell glasses are the new string bikini. This is me keeping my hands to myself.
Her full lips purse to one side like she’s thinking. I zero in on those soft, pink lips for longer than I intend to. They probably taste like that red licorice I caught her eating earlier. Just an objective observation from a man who is looking and not touching.
I don't know what she’s doing, but she’s pretending to be busy. I know acting when I see it. She’s clicking on her computer and shuffling papers around, but it’s her drifting gaze that gives her away. Her smokey librarian eyes land on Oliver, and dart toward me periodically like she’s trying not to look. Her gaze catches on Oliver a little longer than I like and I scowl. Then her eyes land on me in surprise.
Did I just growl? No way did that sound just come out of my throat. I flick a wave at her and chuckle, like my laughter always starts with a growl. I’m just a normal, growl-chuckling guy hanging out in a lobby with his manager, wondering where his daughter and nanny are.
“Sup?” I lift my chin in the universal greeting of frat boys everywhere. That did not up my cool factor. Ugh. I better go over there before I shoot finger guns at her or something. I stand and saunter over to her desk.
“How can I help you, Mr. Beck?” she asks, before I have a chance to speak.
Her formality is jarring. After five minutes of spying on her, I had concocted an entire personality for Sunny that was warm, inviting, and well, sunny. Maybe she’s not a naughty librarian. Maybe she’s boring. Dang.
“You can call me Anders,” I smile.
She does a double take and her eyes go wide. The movement knocks another strand of hair out of her pencil bun.
“Long day, huh?”
“Yes.”
She’s giving me nothing to work with. “Do you like working here?” I prod.
She nods rigorously, and this time her hairdo unravels. The pencil clatters onto her desk and she swipes it up, twisting her hair back into a knot before I even get a chance to enjoy her messy hair. She blows the remaining strands up and out of her eyes with those distracting licorice lips. “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”
That question in her soft voice is begging for an innuendo-laden response. She’s killing me. I wish she wouldn’t tee it up like that when I’m working so hard to be a good guy. “Just getting to know you. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
Out of nowhere, our blonde tour guide plops onto the spare chair next to Sunny. “Hey, Anders. Aren’t you supposed to be at some swanky dinner with the other VIPs?”
While Sunny elbows her I peek nonchalantly at her name tag. “Hi, Mercer. Yeah. My daughter and her nanny haven’t arrived yet. Just waiting on them.”
Just then, like my words summoned them, the front door bangs open and James walks in carrying a sleeping Imogen on his shoulder.
Oliver’s loud voice reaches them before I do. “Where have you been?”
James shoots a look at Oliver, then at Mercer and Sunny, making it clear that he doesn’t want to have this conversation with an audience.
“They’re good,” I say, knowing all about the huge pile of NDAs they’ve signed. I reach for Immy and she settles into the crook of my neck like she always does, with her crazy blonde frizz tickling my nose. “What happened?”
