Sun-kissed (The Au Pairs 3)

out of the frying pan and into the fire

ELIZA MOPPED UP THE COUNTER DEJECTEDLY. IT WAS HER

first day of work at Lunch, and so far, it had been an unmitigated disaster. She was dressed in the uniform Lunch T-shirt with the screen-printed logo of the diner on the front (available at the gift shop for fifteen dollars) and white shorts with a jaunty red apron around her waist. During her brief stint as a waitress, she'd spilled a pitcher of iced tea on a customer as well as herself (although the customer had borne the brunt of it). Her T-shirt was splattered with grease from the kitchen, where she'd been posted even more briefly. She was quickly relieved of that duty after she accidentally upset a vat of clam chowder while attempting to place an angry lobster in a boiling pot. She'd lost control of the crustacean, and the lobster had hightailed it to freedom through the swinging doors into the restaurant, to the applause of all the patrons. And the kitchen floor was now wet and chunky with the creamy soup. Hence the cash register. Her employers thought she couldn't possibly do any harm there. So far, they had been correct. But Eliza spotted a threat to this balance out of the corner of her eye.

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She kept mopping up, trying to look busy so that the customer would choose to be served by the other cashier. But no such luck.

Paige was headed her way.

The designer's assistant looked chic and polished in a black Lacoste shirt and colorful Sydney Minx capris. She rapped her fingernails on the table. "Eliza," she said, in that condescending tone.

"Oh, hi, Paige," Eliza said, trying to look like manning the cash register at the lobster shack was the most normal thing in the world. "Did you enjoy your lunch?"

"I did indeed." Paige smiled thinly, handing Eliza her corporate credit card. "Although I would have enjoyed it more if Sydney hadn't called me in the middle of it, screaming that none of the T-shirts that were supposed to go to the other stores had arrived."

"What do you mean?"

"All eight hundred T-shirts were sent to East Hampton. I told you to send half to the boutiques in Miami, Chicago, and Los Angeles."

"Oh," Eliza said. In the middle of the frenzy of that night, she had completely forgotten that only half the T-shirts were to be sent to the store opening. Damn! She handed Paige her card back and a pen to sign the receipt.

"God, Eliza. I mean, seriously. You couldn't even fill out a T-shirt order correctly." Paige accepted her credit card receipt and checked it, her eyes narrowing. "Nor did you calculate the tax correctly on this bill."

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"Jesus, I'm sorry," Eliza said, her fingers shaking as she punched in the numbers again. The credit card machine beeped angrily. "I just learned how to work this. . . ."

Paige sighed loudly. "Can someone else help me? This girl here doesn't seem to know how to do anything."

The other cashier walked over, took Paige's card, and helped Eliza void the earlier transaction. "Sorry about that, miss. She's a new trainee."

"Maybe you should just give up. You're a pampered rich girl, and that's the only

thing you can do right," Paige hissed. "And by the way, next time you want to give out our clients' personal information to the media, you should think twice, because next time, we'll sue your ass."

Eliza stood back, stung.

"What do you mean?"

Paige thrust the infamous issue of Hamptons toward Eliza. "This is what I mean." She sneered before stomping out of the restaurant.

Eliza flipped through the magazine and found Mara's profile on the designer. Oops--she had completely forgotten about the write-around. The anonymous "sources" Eliza had given Mara had gleefully stuck their knives in Sydney's back. There were a lot of passive-aggressive comments from Sydney's "friends," and the story was an all-out bitch fest. His former assistants said that Sydney took all the credit for their designs or ripped off other designers' work, his partner said that Sydney had cheated on their

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financial arrangement, and his clients complained of double-charging on their bills.

She couldn't help but laugh when she read that "someone" had leaked to Mara that Sydney wore a toupee. (That would have been Eliza.) Paige could complain all she wanted, but the damage had already been done, and there was nothing to prove that Eliza had been the one to spill the beans. Eliza closed the magazine and resumed wiping down the counter, whistling a merry tune.

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whoever said "practice makes perfect" is a liar

JUST KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN AND THEN PULL YOURSELF UP, pull yourself up on the board! C'mon, now! You can do it, you can do it! One! Two! Three! And -- Mara flopped back into the water, hanging for dear life to the side of her surfboard.

Ryan paddled up next to her, grimacing with concern. "Hey, babe, you all right there?"