Hell, I’m pretty sure this one is even out of Bebe’s price range now that she’s on her own. Her family is not super rich, but they are well-off. And Bebe had every opportunity growing up. But her parents believe in hard work and pulling yourself up on your own. Her family paychecks stopped the day she graduated from med school last May. She’s adjusted well. Not like some trust-fund kids. She knew it was coming and planned for it all through undergrad and when she was accepted into the physical therapy program at the University of Colorado Health Science Center, she roomed with three other students in a crappy neighborhood the entire time. She saved most of her living expenses and now that she’s an actual licensed physical therapist with an actual paying job at a local gym in Denver, all that scrimping and saving is gonna pay off.

My life was not so easy. I’m a few years younger than Bebe, and I have never aspired to a PhD like her. But I’m not doing too bad. I went to Colorado Mountain College, a small two-year school up in the Rocky Mountains where they specialize in hotel management, resort management, restaurant management—all kinds of recreational management, in fact. As well as culinary training, renewable energy and event planning.

That’s what I do. I’m an event planner.

Yes, like weddings and stuff. But I was mostly hired to plan parties, not weddings. You have to work up to that level of responsibility. My professional life the past few years was mostly Super Bowl parties and bar mitzvahs, but I’ve been doing more and more weddings the past several months and I’m really good at it. I just got a new job and that is a huge step up for me.

I feel like my life is finally starting. Like the past is behind me.

All this deep thinking has me turned around on the winding paths and for a moment my heart beats fast at the thought of being lost out here in the dark. Silverware clanks on plates off to the right, so I take that path to try and get my bearings.

The path turns a corner abruptly and I find myself staring at an extravagant sit-down dinner party. There are several dozen round tables covered in white tablecloths and fancy place settings. Hundreds of guests, at least. All dressed to the nines in what I’d call summer formal. Cream-colored suits, crisp white shirts, flowing linen dresses, hair up in sparkling pins, and everything has a feel of being light and airy. Like these people are all caught up in a summer breeze.

It’s a gorgeous event. There’s a path that surrounds the party and I walk along it, trying my best to remain unnoticed and invisible. I take stock of the fine china, the silver on the table, the cut of the crystal that the fresh flowers are sitting in. I notice the engraved place cards, the subtle lighting, the flowing curtains of the large tent where a band is setting up for a night of dancing. Out here in the dining area there is a string quartet playing soft melodies that allow you to enjoy the music without it being overpowering.

This event is perfect and I’m jealous. Not because I wasn’t invited, but because I didn’t plan it. I shake myself out of that stupid funk and pick up my pace. I’m going to be late for my date with Vaughn Ash—

Wait. There he is.

He’s here, at this party.

Hmmm. I stop and watch him for a few moments. He’s deep in conversation with a tall, beautiful woman. Her hair is dark, like his, and she’s dressed in a pale pink strapless gown that flows down her slender body and pools at her feet like satin water.

Vaughn cups her face with both his hands, his eyes intent on hers. Her eyes are glued to his lips as he whispers. And then she nods and wipes a tear. Vaughn leans in and kisses her gently on the cheek and then pulls her into an intimate hug.

I turn away, my heart beating so fast inside my chest I have to take deep breaths. I swallow down the lump in my throat and before I know what I’m doing, I’m running.

Chapter Eight

SecondThoughtsSuck

I FIND myself on a beach. Not the Cove Beach or wherever the hell Mr. Asher invited me to. Some other beach that’s finally open because obviously that party was the one responsible for closing down the resort this weekend. His party.

Why would he invite me out tonight if he’s at a party already? If he’s got a girl here with him? What was he saying to her? Giving her an excuse for why he needed to leave and meet me?

That’s bullshit. I’m not a boyfriend-stealer. I think girls who date married or taken men are scum. I would never do that. Not in a million years.

But I feel dirty. Like—ashamed for even thinking about it.

I know his reputation. He’s a flirt, if I want to be nice. He’s a man whore, if I want to be honest. He’s not married and most of his relationships are very private. But there are rumors about why they are so private. Something akin to a nondisclosure agreement.

Which, OK, that makes sense if you’re rich and famous. I guess. But after what I just witnessed, I think he might have those contracts because he’s hiding things.

His sexual preferences have been in the weekly tabloids more than once. But for some reason none of those stories ever affected him. Maybe people just don’t care. I never did. The thought of Vaughn Asher being a deviant in the bedroom is more appealing than not, if I’m being honest. Lots of women feel that way today, so it’s no wonder that these stories of his dark sexual side never touched his movie-star persona.

But I’m not into secrets. I have too many of my own to bother with strangers’. I like fun and flirty. Do I really want to know about Vaughn Asher’s dark side? Wouldn’t it be better to just leave him up on that pedestal I made for him and go on living in a fantasy?