Chapter 3 of the book Billionaires and Maid

After reviewing several dismal ratings reports in the privacy of his suite, Rob was in a shit mood. His botched meeting with Logan hadn’t helped things, and by the time three in the morning rolled around, he was done with Seaturtle Cay, done with jackasses who didn’t want to give him the time of day, and done with a lot of things. Unable to sleep, he phoned up his assistants and told them to pack up and be down at the lobby within an hour. They were heading back to California.

After all, there was no point in hanging around in the Caribbean not getting any work done when he could be back in California not getting work done. And he sure as shit wasn’t going to the beach again. Not after the near-drowning. He’d be happy to never hit the fucking waves ever again.

At four am, two of his assistants were in the lobby with their luggage, yawning, and the third was nowhere to be found. Impatient, Rob checked his watch again and handed his bags to the valet, who scurried away.

Everyone just stood there like lumps, clearly waiting for instructions.

“Get a fucking cab here ASAP,” he said to one of his assistants. “I’m tired of this place.”

“Yes, sir,” the pimple-faced kid said. “Right away, sir.”

“Good.” He peered at the guy. He knew he was an assistant, but wasn’t sure of the name. “Which one are you?”

“Cresson, sir.”

“Okay, Cresson. You get to keep your job because you know how to follow orders.” At the guy’s relieved look, Rob rolled his eyes inwardly. So hard to find good help. He pulled out his phone and texted the missing assistant again. You have 3 minutes to get your ass down here or you’re fired.

As he was looking down at his phone, someone bumped into him, and the phone went flying out of his hand.

In a rage, he turned on the person that pushed him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

It was a drunk woman with bright red hair, her arm around a brunette’s shoulders. Both of them were wearing what looked like Mardi Gras beads covered with penises.

“Oh,” slurred the redhead. “Oops. My bad. We didn’t see you there.” She peered at him.

Great, just what he needed. “Is this entire resort full of drunks?” He stalked away from the women and recovered his phone, checking the screen. No cracks. Thank god for that. “You’re lucky this isn’t broken or you’d be buying a new one.”

The brunette’s eyebrows drew together and she looked as if she’d protest, but the redhead stumbled forward and pointed a finger at his face. “Don’t be a dick, sir. We saw plenty of those tonight. We’re full up.”

The brunette convulsed into laughter.

“Get your finger out of my face,” he told the obnoxious redhead, and looked over at the front desk. “And where’s my damn cab already? This fucking island isn’t that big.”

“We just left one,” the redhead said, still wiggling her finger in his face. “But youuuu can’t have it—”

Like hell he couldn’t. Shouldering past the two drunks, he headed for the curb outside, just in time to see three other women emerging from the cab. A pretty blonde with a wild haystack of hair was drunk and hanging off of an extremely pregnant woman, and a lean woman had her back to him, her front half in to the passenger window, paying the driver. Good.

Rob pushed forward and tapped the taller blonde on the shoulder. “If you and your drunk friends are done making everyone miserable, I’d like your cab—”

As the woman turned, Rob realized two things.

One, that it was the woman who’d rescued him on the beach.

And two, that she was really, really damn tall.

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