The Way to a Billionaire's Heart - Part 1

"Sure, I’ve got no plans. Mrs. Alex–a client told me to try Baby Beach."

Kiera lowered her sunglasses to the tip of her nose and looked at me over them. I’d been warned–no more talk about Walker Alexander. I was never going to get over him if I kept bringing him up. But while not speaking a name might work at keeping Voldemort or Beetlejuice away, it wasn’t doing much to keep those green gold eyes and boyish smile out of my mind.

It was stupid. In spite of his apparently being a hotshot billionaire and local celebrity, I’d never even heard of Walker until last week. When he talked me into cooking for his mother every day, twice a day, I just figured he was some spoiled rich man, used to getting his way. I tried to shake him off by doubling my usual fee, but he hadn’t even tried to bargain. Now I knew it was just a pocket change to him, but at the time, I’d been impressed enough to make it work with my schedule. You want to build up a clientele of big spenders.

But, of course, it hadn’t been that simple. Walker was gorgeous, sure, but that wasn’t it. There’d been something…electric between us. In spite of my fondness for romantic comedies, I don’t believe in love at first sight. But there was something.

That’s what made this whole thing so awful, so hard to just forget. There had been some undeniable attraction between us. Even before he took my shirt off on the couch, before he rolled my nipples in his mouth…

Shit. Sorry.

I tried to convince myself that what I’d overheard–if I can use that word for Celia’s shouting into the phone–was a misunderstanding. But I couldn’t spin it no matter how I tried. She was clearly talking about Walker–making a booty call after he left me, and agreeing to marry her. The booty call I could maybe work my way past. Maybe not. But marriage is still kind of a big deal, you know? Makes me think that what I’d seen as so meaningful, so emotional, had just been a game to him.

He’s a man used to getting what he wants and apparently he wanted the chef, if only for a little while. So first he used money, and then he used charm. But I’m not willing to be that girl.

I’ll just forget about him. Him and his poison-cakes.

No problem, right?

As we walked back up the beach to our hotel, Kiera put her arm around my shoulders. “Dre, I brought you here to have fun. I wanted you with me because you make me laugh and because you deserve to just mess around for a while. We’re in the islands! We’re young and hot! Let’s act like it!”

She steered me toward the poolside bar. “Two pina coladas, please, charge it to Room 1650.”

“Is drinking and snorkeling really the best idea?”

"It’s one drink and by the time we get there, even that will have worn off. They are not pouring with a heavy hand. Lighten up, Doc."

I rolled my eyes and took a sip. Mmm…artificial flavors and cheap rum. “Delish! like frozen hair oil!”

“Shut up and drink your medicine. This is a week free of Walker Alexander AND food snobbery. Let’s go. ”

So I faked it. Kiera was paying my way, which was very generous. She made good money to only be three years out of law school, but money still mattered to her. The least I could do was be a good friend. And it’s not like it’s hard to be happy in Aruba–sun warm but not too hot, breezy but not windy, and a whole island dedicated to keeping tourists coming back. All I had to do was pretend like the emptiness I felt was just hunger and keep filling it with food and frozen drinks.