“Of course she’s up to something. She wouldn’t be Kirby if she wasn’t. But you’ll be there soon enough. I have you booked on a red-eye tomorrow night. You’ll be there first thing Saturday morning. You won’t miss a thing,” said Keira. “If anything goes down before then, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Okay.”
“Now, please try and enjoy yourself. You’re in the Bahamas, for crying out loud! And it’s your sister’s wedding. Try to be there for her, Sasha.”
“I’ll do my best,” Sasha said, smiling at her assistant’s advice.
Over the past two years, Keira had become more than just an assistant. She’d become Sasha’s friend—someone she trusted and confided in. If anyone knew Sasha well, it was Keira. Keira could see right through Sasha’s hard exterior. As soon as Sasha made partner, her first business decision would be to give Keira the raise she deserved. Being a single parent with three children made it hard for Keira to make ends meet, but Sasha intended to change all that.
“Now, get off my phone, Sasha Winters. You are not allowed to call me anymore today. Unless you’re calling to tell me that you met some sexy Caribbean hottie on the beach and he’s about to ravish you without mercy.”
“You’ve been reading too many romance novels,” Sasha said with a laugh.
“It could happen,” Keira said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a client on hold. Take lots of photos and send me a few by text message.”
“Will do.”
“And Sasha—” Keira put on her serious voice “—try to have fun.”
“I will.”
She hung up, logged off of her computer and decided on a strapless white sundress.
* * *
With a few minutes to spare, Sasha decided to take a quick tour of the resort. She took in the gorgeous palm trees blowing in the wind just outside her door. The beautiful ocean with waves crashing against the shore caught her attention as she made her way to the front of the resort. The three pools and Jacuzzi mandated that she find time for some relaxation. She ended up at the poolside bar and climbed onto a wooden stool.
“I’ll just have a ginger ale with a lemon wedge,” she said to the bartender.
“And I’ll have what she’s having,” said a familiar voice.
Vince climbed onto the bar stool next to hers. Immediately she felt a tingle in the pit of her stomach. His cologne was intoxicating.
“I was hoping to bump into you,” he said.
“Me? Why?” she asked. “So that you could insult me some more?”
“I owe you an apology. I was a bit rude earlier today. Accusing you of being a workaholic,” he said.
“And shallow,” Sasha reminded him, “and insisting that I eat conch salad when I said I didn’t want any.”
“Yeah, that too.” He smiled and raised his glass to her. “Truce?”
“Truce,” she said, raising her glass to his.
“But you enjoyed the conch salad. I saw you secretly eating it and scraping the bowl.”
“I wasn’t scraping the bowl!”
“You all but licked your fingers,” he teased.
“You’re a trip.”
“So I’ve been told,” he said with a smile. “So...what are you getting done at the salon today? Your hair is already very beautiful.” He unexpectedly brushed his fingertips against her forehead and pushed her bangs from her eyes.
Who gave him permission to touch her?
Once she gathered herself, she said, “I’ll probably just have it shampooed and styled for the wedding. And I’m long overdue for a manicure.” She reached her hand out to show him her fingernails.
He grabbed her hand in his in order to get a better view of her tattered nails, and it felt as if a surge of electricity rushed through her. Her bare nipples strained against the fabric of her sundress. They instantly became erect, and she hoped he hadn’t noticed. There was no doubt this man’s touch did things to her body. She was definitely attracted to him, no matter how much she tried to deceive herself. The feeling reminded her of the eighth grade when Todd Valentine had grabbed her hand and leaned in for a kiss. Her heart had pounded and her stomach had done somersaults. This was ridiculous—feeling this way about a man like some silly schoolgirl.
“Your nails aren’t that bad,” Vince said as he caressed every one of her fingers with his thumb. She wondered what she would do if he placed one of her fingers into his mouth.
“So you made it.” The sound of her mother’s voice killed whatever moment she was having with Vince. “I’ve been all over this property looking for you!”
“Mother. Hi.” Sasha hopped from the barstool and gave her mother a hug. She peeked over her mother’s shoulder and noticed her father standing there, too. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Hello, sweetheart,” her father said and went in for a kiss on the cheek. “Glad you made it in safely.”
“You both know Vince, right? Derrick’s friend. Um...he’s the best man.”
“Of course,” Brian Winters reached his hand out to Vince for a firm handshake. “We’re still on for this afternoon, right?”
“Of course, sir. Looking forward to it.”
Sasha wondered what Vince and her father had planned for the afternoon.
“The girls are waiting for you in the lobby,” Charlotte Winters said, casually changing the subject. “If you don’t get going, you’ll be late for your appointment.”
She felt as if she should say something to Vince, like hope to see you later, but there was no time. Her mother nearly dragged her down the sidewalk toward the lobby.
Rubbing her fingertips across Sasha’s brow, Charlotte said, “Sasha, make sure that you do something with these eyebrows. Get them arched. And make sure that when you get your manicure that your nail polish is a neutral color. Nothing outlandish. In fact, just a French manicure would do just fine.”
“Ma, please.”
“I know you’re conservative, sweetie. You don’t really need this speech, but some of these girls just don’t know any better. Those girlfriends of Bridget’s...” Charlotte lowered her voice to a whisper, “...one of them is actually wearing a tattoo, right there on her boobs. What is this world coming to?”
“Ma, she’s young.” Sasha knew that her mother was referring to Deja. “And it’s trendy to have a tattoo there. I think it’s cute.”
“Cute? It seems slutty to me,” said Charlotte. “How is that going to look in the wedding photos? The dresses are low-cut, and...”
“Ma, no one will even see it in the photos.” She couldn’t understand why she was even having a conversation about the boobs of Bridget’s friend with her mother. She thought it more appropriate for her mother to have this conversation with the bride. Or even Deja for that matter, “Ma, I love you. We’ll talk later...when I get back. I promise.”
It wasn’t unusual for Sasha to have conversations like this with her mother. In fact, they