Yours Truly (Billionaires and Brides 2)

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Author's Note: This book takes place at the same time as Saltwater Kisses, but is completely stand-alone.

Sandcastle Kisses: Chapter 1

I peered out of my dirty car window at the big mansion and had to consciously raise my jaw back up off my chest. I knew houses like this populated the island, but I hadn't actually been this close to one before now. Perfect white marble columns were flanked by lush tropical greenery, and scenic balconies hung out at regular intervals. The place was huge. Grandiose. Palatial. It belonged in a movie. And according to my roommate, it was actually one of the smaller mansions of the island. Key Island was the home of two extremely exclusive resorts, a smattering of multimillion dollar homes, and some locals to help run it all. The island was known as the island for people with more money than they could spend.

I shook my head as I eased my ancient little Corolla away from the circle of expensive cars in the driveway. My boss hadn't told me much about the job, just to show up and tend bar. I didn't even know who was officially even throwing it. He said there was a place for me to park to the side of the house and then to find Rachel.

Lamborghinis, Maseratis, and Jaguars lined the round-about in front of the house, and the worst part was that most of them were dirty. These people used ridiculously expensive cars as their everyday mode of transportation on the island. If using my entire research grant as a way to get to a party wasn't the epitome of wealth, then I wasn't sure what was.

I followed a delivery truck into a little parking lot off to the side of the house. It had an easy slope up to the big doors of a kitchen and was shaded from view of the house by palms and bushes. At least my little car didn't look quite as out of place as I parked it next to a sensible little blue Honda that was only a year or two younger than mine.

I pulled the keys from the ignition and checked my hair and makeup one last time in the rear-view mirror. My strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail but with cute little tendrils that framed my face. My hair was now mostly blonde after being in the sun and ocean all day, but I thought it suited me.

My eyeliner was perfect and smooth, making my green eyes pop. I hadn't bothered to try and cover up the smattering of freckles across my cheeks, trusting in my old college roommate who said they were cute. She had taught me how to do my makeup in college and had gone on to become a professional makeup artist, so I figured she had to know what she was talking about.

I practiced a flirtatious smile one more time, checking my teeth in the mirror. With the top button of my white shirt just low enough to display cleavage but not appear slutty, I got out of the car. I tugged on my little black vest until it was straight and took a deep breath. Black pants and some sensible shoes completed my bartender outfit. I hoped I looked cute enough to get some good tips.

The tropical air of the Caribbean island was warm and humid against my skin. It was late afternoon, and the sun was just starting its slow descent down the sky toward blue waters. Birds chirped in the trees, and the beat of dance music started and stopped as someone inside the house worked on getting the sound system set. I felt a tingle of excitement run down my spine. This was going to be a good night.

Just inside the double doors of the kitchen, I found a woman directing traffic. She had on an expensive gray suit, and her dark brown hair was pulled up into a neat bun. Small square glasses were perched on the end of her nose as she peered down at a clipboard and tapped a pen against her lips.

“Are you Rachel?” I asked, stepping up to her. Hers was the only name my boss had given me. She smiled warmly and glanced down at her clipboard.

“Yes. You must be Isabel Baker,” she greeted me warmly. I nodded and shook her hand. A man with a keg on a dolly nearly ran me over before Rachel pulled me out of his way. “That goes upstairs on the patio!”

“Do I follow the keg, then?” I asked, my gaze trailing after the man with the keg. Rachel shook her head.

“Nope. You go down to the 'Man Cave.'” She rolled her eyes slightly at the reference, but her smile told me she just thought it was a silly name. “The boys requested to have a real bartender down there tonight. That's where the party will be.”

“Oh.” I felt a bubble of nerves. This place was incredibly fancy. I hoped I was up to their rich standards. I could feel my palms beginning to sweat.

“Don't worry about them. They just want to relive their glory days,” Rachel said warmly, referencing what had to be billionaires like they were her little brothers. “Just don't let them get away with too much. Have fun and don't worry about the booze. Just keep filling up their glasses and smiling, and they'll be happy campers.”

“Glasses filled. Got it,” I replied.

“If they give you any trouble, just let me know.” The dark-haired woman smiled at me and handed me a form to sign. “This is a standard non-disclosure agreement. Your boss said you'd be fine with it.”

I quickly scrolled through the form. It seemed pretty straight forward. Don't tell people who you met here or what they said. I could understand that famous people wouldn't want to be outed on their vacations or have their drunken ramblings posted across the internet. Signing was easy enough. I handed her back the papers.

Rachel tucked my form behind several others. “Besides that, I'll pay you at the end of the night. Any questions?”

“Just where the 'Man Cave' is,” I answered. Rachel's smiled broadened.

“Down that hallway, and then you'll see stairs on your left. Follow the sounds of the boys from there, and you'll find the bar. Remember, have fun. Just tell the guy in the Hawaiian shirt that you're the bartender,” she said as a smirk passed over her face at mentioning the Hawaiian shirt.

“Okay, thanks!” I said, but she was already back to her clipboard and chasing after a man wearing a catering uniform. I shook my head. She reminded me of my mom chasing after my little brother and his friends at a birthday party.

I followed Rachel's directions, easily found the stairs, and descended down. “Man Cave” was an excellent term for the room. A tattered but comfortable-looking couch sat in front of a TV big enough to fit in a theater. I could see all sorts of game consoles plugged in and neatly arranged in a massive entertainment system. There was a much-loved pinball machine in the corner and cozy chairs were scattered through the room. The bar took up the far wall, all wooden and shiny with various neon signs overhead. I could see another adjacent room where the DJ equipment was set up. Two men, one blonde and one with sandy hair, were the onl

y party guests I could see so far.

When I stepped from the bottom stair, a large man stepped directly into my path, his arms crossed and an unhappy look on his face. I gulped hard and looked up at his piercing blue eyes. He looked like a sword: thin, limber, and deadly as hell. Then I noticed the brightly patterned shirt with red parrots and blue drinks. It didn't look right on him. It was like a tiger wearing a tutu.

“Um, I'm the bartender,” I squeaked. Somehow the man grew taller. Scarier. He was the big bad wolf from the fairytales and he was going to eat me alive. “The woman upstairs told me to tell the guy wearing the Hawaiian shirt...” my voice faltered.

“Quit scaring the poor girl,” someone from the party said, putting a hand on Hawaiian-shirt's shoulder. Hawaiian-shirt winked at me, allowing a hint of a smile peek through his tough facade. I nearly giggled with relief.