Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
College, law school, a thriving career, and one broken engagement later, I’m that gawky girl in a sea of beautiful swans. Again.
I mean, we have an underwear model here, for God’s sake. How are any of us supposed to compete with that?
The answer? We’re not supposed to compete at all.
“This isn’t a competition,” Evangeline said on day one. “You ladies are all spectacular, and I’m sure some friendships will be forged among you. But there are only four gentlemen and eight of you. It’s possible the men won’t fall in love with any of you. This is an experiment, so enjoy the fringe benefits.”
Ginger walks toward me carrying a plate of appetizers. “Aren’t you eating?” she asks.
“Not hungry.” I glance around the expansive outdoor courtyard. Palm trees line one side, and their fronds sway in the light tropical breeze. Cocktail tables are scattered over the paved surface, and a full bar stands near the table of food. Despite feeling invisible, energy surges through me. I came here for a reason—to move forward with my life. To let go of negativity. “Seems two of the gentlemen have already found their targets for this evening.”
“Targets?” Ginger laughs. “Seems that way. I have to say, I’m surprised.”
“Why?” I ask. “They’re both gorgeous.”
“So is everyone else here,” Ginger says, taking a bite from a giant prawn.
“True enough.” Though I’m not feeling the part.
Yup. I’m back in that stupid high school gymnasium, standing against the wall, waiting to be asked to dance. I thought I’d outgrown that wallflower feeling, but here it is again.
I forgot how much I hated it.
Evangeline Livingston scurries toward Ginger and me. “Ladies, come with me. I want to introduce you to Alex.”
Alex Maxwell is the bestselling author of the Nash Beckett thriller series. I’ve never read any of them, but each book hits number one as soon as it’s released, and the series has spawned a multi-million-dollar film franchise. I’ve never seen the movies, either.
“Aren’t we supposed to wait until he comes to us?” I ask.
“Alex is shy,” she says. “He’s a bit of a recluse. I’m going to prod him along.”
“Why us?” Ginger asks.
“The two of you are the most suited to him, I think. He has a master of fine arts and a Ph.D. in literature. You two are both well educated.”
“What about Rachel?” Ginger gestures. “She’s a physicist.”
“She’s not…” Evangeline bites her lower lip, as if she’s struggling to find the right words. “Just come with me, please.”
Why not? I’m here to meet these four men. That’s the whole point. I look down at the clingy gold number that Evangeline insists brings out my eyes—which are light brown, not gold—and my toes that are painted the same color and showcased in strappy sandals that make me feel way more Legally Blonde than I ever wanted to.
Ginger and I follow Evangeline to a cocktail table where Alex Maxwell nurses a drink that looks like bourbon or scotch. He’s the most brooding of the bunch, though they all have a certain darkness about them. Alex is dressed in a black suit and white shirt, no tie. Around his neck hangs a thin gold chain. Understated and sexy. His brown hair swoops over his forehead in an unruly wave.
“Alex”—Evangeline holds out her hand—“I’d like to introduce Ginger Swanson and Sienna Costello.”
Introduce? He already knows who we are, what we do, and practically how many pisses we take a day. Okay, not that last part, but the introductory bios Evangeline prepared about us were pretty explicitly detailed.
“Good evening, ladies.” Alex raises his eyebrows, showcasing gorgeous gold-green irises, but he doesn’t smile.
Does this man even want to be here?
As far as I understand, Alex and his buddies are footing the bill for the eight of us to stay on this private island. I assume they paid for the makeovers, the travel costs, the food…everything. I’m not sure what the billionaires expect, but… Doesn’t he want his money’s worth?
“Nice to meet you.” Ginger holds out her hand.
Alex shakes it formally. “Dr. Swanson. The dermatologist.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re Ms. Costello. The attorney.”
“Guilty as charged.” Whoa! That’s the same line I used when I met my ex. It just popped out.
That gets his lips to curve upward, but only slightly. It did the same for my ex, and we ended up hitting it off, getting engaged, and then—
“Congratulations on your most recent bestseller,” Ginger says, interrupting my thoughts.
He smiles more broadly this time. “Thank you. Do you ladies need a refill?” He nods to our champagne flutes.
“Not for me yet.” I gesture to his drink. “Don’t you like champagne?”
“Not especially. I’m a bourbon man.”
I nod. “I like bourbon too.”
“Indeed? What’s your favorite?”
I’m supposed to have a favorite? Whatever the bartender brings me, usually. “Four Roses.” It’s the first one I could think of.
“Four Roses is nice, though it’s a blend, which makes a flavor profile difficult.”