“How?” She presses a trembling hand to her chest, and I resist the urge to lower myself next to her and gather her in my arms. I have no right to be that person for her, and I doubt she’d want me to. “Why?”
“I took care of it.”
Her eyes narrow. “Did you talk to him?”
“No.” But I heard about her ex-fiancé’s smug attitude from the resort’s general manager, whom I tasked with giving him the boot. I shove my hands in the pockets of my running shorts. If I don’t, I might actually punch something. “If I’d talked to him, I would have killed the asshole. But I took care of it.”
She lets out a slow breath. “I should ask more questions, but I don’t even need the details. I’m just glad he’s gone.” Her eyes flare as she stares at me for a long moment. “I owe you, Jeremy.”
“It’s not a big deal.” My response is automatic. “Your stuff is still in the bungalow. I didn’t want anything moved without your permission.” I’ve been on the receiving end of people pawing through my life because they think they’re entitled to it, and I wouldn’t do it to anyone, let alone Avah.
“I don’t…” She trails off, then tries again. “Thank you. I’m not sure what else to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
She bites down on her plump lower lip and…damn…I need to runa cold shower next. “I’m going to stay for a few more days. I don’t want to go home like this.” She lifts a hand to cover the bruise on her cheek, then laughs softly. “But I still might ask the resort to let me switch bungalows. That one is…tainted, you know?”
I sit down on the lounge chair next to hers, close enough that I can smell the resort’s fancy shampoo in her hair. “You could stay here.”
She studies me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Why would you offer that?”
“Because you’ve been through enough.” I make a show of looking around. “And this is the first time I’ve sat by the pool since arriving. You might be a good vacation influence.”
Her shy smile takes me by surprise. “What are you really doing at this resort, Jeremy?” She tilts her head, studying me. “What kind of business deal happens in paradise?”
I should give her the same vague answer I’d give anyone else. But for some reason—maybe because she’s sitting there with bruises on her face and defiance in her eyes—I decide to tell the truth.
“I’m trying to make a connection with the owners of a company I want to partner with. Joel and Mariel Johnson own a healthcare platform called The NorthStar Way. They’re here celebrating their anniversary, and I want time with them.”
Her brows draw low over those blue eyes. “Have you heard of a concept called scheduling a meeting?”
“I have,” I mutter, unwilling to admit that, just like a younger Sloane, they think I’m a soulless prick. One who can’t be trusted with a company that’s built as a tribute to the daughter they lost. “It’s complicated,” I say instead.
She laughs, and the sound is glorious after seeing her so subdued last night. “I understand complicated.”
“Yeah.” I marvel at the way the light catches her hair and the stubborn set of her jaw. “I bet you do.”
“Okay.” She sits up straighter, like she’s making a decision. “I’ll stay. But only because you have a better beach and a private pool.” She makes a tsking sound that I stupidly find hot, and waves her hand like she’s shooing away a fly. “I’m sick of the riffraff at the main resort.” She can’t quite keep the humor out of her deliberately mocking tone.
“The riffraff,” I repeat, working to hold back a smile. “That would be the guests paying out the nose for a five-star experience?”
Another tsk. “Potato, potahto.”
“That’s not how the expression works.”
“It is now.”
I haven’t been in a serious relationship for…well…forever, but I date plenty and definitely have a type. Women who are beautiful but accommodating to my needs and desires without much thought to their own. Jesus, I’m a prick. And shockingly infatuated with Avah’s attitude and snark. With everything about her, if I’m being honest.
I remind myself again that, being my sister’s friend, she’s off limits. And beyond that, even though she puts up a good pretense, I know she needs time to heal—and not only physically—from whatever the dirtbag ex did to her.
“Do you want me to go to the bungalow with you to get your stuff?” I phrase the question so it sounds like I’d be doing her a favor, but in reality, I just want to spend more time with her, fool that I am.
She opens her mouth, clearly intending to say no, because Avah Harris doesn’t need anyone’s help, thanks very much. But then she pauses, and something shifts in her expression. It might be surprise, or maybe recognition that she doesn’t have to do this alone.
“Yeah,” she says finally. “That would be good.”
“Okay.”
