The Last Eligible Billionaire(24)

And I’m betting Amelia knows the part about Hayes dating the mayor here.

“There’s no room for the bike on the cart,” Amelia says. “And there’s no room in the security cart either.”

“We’ll walk it back,” I tell her. “Along with—Marshmallow!”

There he is.

That’s my dog.

Soaking wet and leaping up into the driver’s seat of the golf cart and trying to kiss Hayes’s second-grade wife.

“Down,” Hayes orders before I can take a full step toward the cart, and miracle of miracles, Marshmallow hops off the seat.

He also shakes his whole body right in the space between us all, coating every last one of us in sea water and sand.

Amelia’s nostrils flare.

That muscle in Hayes’s square jaw twitches.

And Marshmallow flops to the ground at my fake boyfriend’s feet, gazing up at him with blatant adoration coming out on every tongue-lolling pant.

Poor Marshmallow.

We are so out-classed here, and he has no idea.

Probably best that way.

I should get back to working on not caring too.





11





Hayes



Amelia has barely driven the cart out of hearing range, the security cart accompanying her but lighter two men who are keeping a respectful distance, when I hear my name, and it’s not coming from Begonia.

“Hayes! Hayes, hi. Everything okay out at the estate?”

I eyeball the woman responsible for me being here, on a dirt road, instead of safely on a golf cart headed back quickly to the pile of figures and new responsibilities I need to sort through today, away from the prying eyeballs of the single women of Sprightly.

Begonia smiles brightly, then grabs my hand and squeezes. “She can’t hurt you. She’d get fired as mayor, and trust me, after what I heard at the market this morning, that’s the last thing she’d jeopardize.”

“For the record, this is the last place I want to be.” And I mean both standing here, in the open, and also walking beside Begonia, who is so very damn bright and sunny and seemingly trustworthy, which I find completely untrustworthy.

“But it’s such a beautiful morning. That has to make it a little better,” Begonia replies with a Begonia smile.

The world will either eat her up, as they say, or chew her out for that smile. And the fact that I’ve never been able to judge which is exactly why I’m now the CFO of Razzle Dazzle while my brother and father are the creative geniuses picking our film and television line-ups every year.

“I’m so glad I ran into you this morning,” Kristine continues. She’s in her late thirties, white with mousy brown hair and a nose slightly too large for her face. Once upon a time, she was the perfect bland choice for a date when I wanted to feel like a normal person whose every move isn’t scrutinized by the press or well-meaning family members. “Seems like you might be having connection problems with your gate intercom system. Hamish is still around if you need an electrician.”

I stifle a wince as I turn and nod to Kristine as she descends the dune from the main road just outside of town. “Ms. Turner. Lovely weather.”

“Good job,” Begonia whispers with a hand squeeze.

Kristine is smiling brightly at me, but it’s not a Begonia smile. It’s far more awkward and inquisitive. “I called the sheriff’s office up at the point and let them know you were back, so they’re watching out for any unusual activity, though I see you’re not as alone as we thought you were. And we activated the Oysterberry Bay gossip chain. Nobody’s gonna bug you, and if you need anything at all, just give me a holler.” She looks down at where Begonia’s fingers are linked in mine, and a rare flash of guilt pokes me in the gut.

Dating Kristine was another act of rebellion the last time multiple family members decided they had the perfect woman for me. Thank heavens, Thomas ended up divorced not long after that, and Mathias Randolf landed on the list of the world’s dwindling single billionaires when stock in his healthcare software skyrocketed, so I was given a brief reprieve from scheming family members and their devious friends.

A reprieve that is now over and carries with it more grief than I can admit to in public.

“Glad to see you back,” she continues. “I tried to get in touch when Blaine left and his girlfriend stayed, because it felt unusual, but nobody at your office returned my calls. The sheriff checked in every now and again, and it didn’t seem like she was robbing you, so we had no choice but to let it go.”

That’s in line with what my head of security told me late yesterday afternoon.

I haven’t been back to this house since my ill-advised romp with Kristine two years ago. In that time, my long-standing property manager out here took a few liberties, including moving himself into the main house, and then got kicked out by his girlfriend, who decided to shove it to all of us by listing the house on a vacation rental site.

Hence Begonia’s presence.

With clear expectations of the house being empty for the foreseeable future, when in actuality, she would’ve been getting another visitor today, and three more tomorrow, because Blaine’s girlfriend double-, triple-, and quadruple-booked the house for the next three years.

The only reason Begonia was alone yesterday was that her intended co-occupants came down with food poisoning and couldn’t travel.