Brothers of Paradise Series

“They’re here,” he says with a subtle nod to the corner.

“The owner?”

“Yes. He’s interviewing the first potential new chef now.”

I peer around the corner at the two men shaking hands. I can’t make out either of them at this distance.

So I take another lap around the room, eyes shifting over the few guests that remain. Lunch has always been the yacht club’s most popular time. People across Paradise Shores come by, often to eat before heading out on their boats. We’re in May still, but come June and July, this place will be packed.

“Sweetheart!” someone calls. “Get us another round of beers, will you?”

Me?

I turn to the table with the extra mayo men. The guy who’s spoken has gray at the temples, a crooked grin on his face. His eyes travel over my uniform and pause at my chest, right where the white shirt fits a bit too snug.

Anger rolls over me, tempered by a fear I hate. A fear I can’t shake. So I zero in on the empty glasses at the table, speaking to them rather than the men. “Coming right up,” I say, leaning past him to grab them.

A clammy hand curves around my bare thigh and slides up, under my skirt.

“Good girl,” the man says. “You new around here?”Content rights by NôvelDr//ama.Org.

I take two steps back and away from the grip.

My heart pounds in my ears.

“Welcome to town,” he says, like he didn’t just touch me, and his smile widens.

I’m frozen to the spot, shame heating up my skin.

A man steps past me and puts a firm hand on the creep’s shoulder. “John,” he says. “I’m going to insist that you settle your bill and leave. Right away.”

The voice is familiar. I stare at the short, dark blond hair that curls over the tan neck, the broad back beneath a linen shirt. If I’d been frozen before, I’m boiling now. Embarrassment crawls its way up my cheeks.

“Marchand,” the creep says. “How’s it going?”

“Now, John.”

He sighs and gets to his feet. “Sorry, fellas,” he says. “I guess someone’s in the mood to play bad cop.”

“Settle your bill with Stephen,” Parker says, because it has to be him. “And John? I don’t want to see you here again.”

John’s eyes narrow. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” Parker says. I can’t stop looking at him. It’s Lily’s older brother.

He has to be the new owner.

The other two men mumble something and rise from their seats, eyes downcast. The three make their way over to where Stephen is waiting.

John gives Parker one last glare. It’s the sort of look that promises a strongly worded email in a few hours. Coming to an inbox near you…

Parker stares back at him without the grin I’d always associated with him. He’d been Paradise Shores’ greatest sailor, Lily’s older brother, one of the shining Marchand siblings.

I haven’t seen him since I’d been twenty-two. He’d been a college athlete, with sun-bleached hair that fell over his forehead and a sorority girlfriend.

Now he must be thirty-four.

Parker doesn’t turn to me until John is out of the restaurant. “I’m sorry. That should never have happened, but I can promise you that he won’t bother you again.”

He looks at me, eyes steady. Voice sincere. Tanned from the sun and grown, hardened, in a way he wasn’t the last time I’d seen him.

He doesn’t recognize me.

I don’t know if the crushing feeling in my chest is relief or regret.

“If you’d like to file a report I will help you every step of the way.” Parker ducks his head slightly and gives me a smile. It’s polite and conspiratorial and something thumps painfully in my chest. “How does that sound? Let me give you the rest of the day off, too.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m okay.”

He pauses. Eyes pass over my face and down to where my nameplate rests. Stephen had made it with a little laminating machine and presented it to me with a flourish. Jamie.

Deep blue eyes return to me. He has new wrinkles at the corners from sun and sea. “Jamie? As in, Jamie Moraine?”

I nod. “Yes. Hi, Parker.”

“Hell, it’s been years! I didn’t know you were back in town?”

My hands shake at my sides. He’s going to tell Lily, I think. And Jesus, I work for him. Mortification makes my voice thin. “I just got here. Sorry, I shouldn’t keep you.”

“That’s all right,” he says, his smile turning into a frown when I start to back away. “So you work here?”

I give a few nods. “Yes, and I should get back to work. Good luck with your interviews.”

He looks after me, a frown between his eyebrows. “Jamie,” he says. But I’m already hurrying toward the kitchen.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape the questions in Paradise Shores. Wouldn’t be able to escape the past, the confrontations. If Parker knows, it’s only a matter of time before Lily will too.

I avoid the table in the corner for the rest of my shift, but I can feel the weight of his gaze more than once. I finish up the last tasks. I fill up salt in the shakers on the table and wipe down the menus again.

And by the time my shift is done, the table in the corner is empty. Parker is gone.

“Thanks for today!” I tell Stephen and change in the staff room. Biking home in a skirt won’t be possible. I sling my bag over my shoulder and step out through the back entrance, into the late-afternoon sun.

I can’t wait to get home, to close my eyes and breathe. To count down the days until the paycheck arrives.

But there’s someone waiting for me in the parking lot. There, leaning against his dusty Jeep, is Parker Marchand. And he’s looking right at me.

JAMIE