Back at the resort later, I settle in by the pool for some lounging.

If, by lounging, you mean work. What can I say? The Ruby Walters PR empire isn’t going to run itself.

Lulu drapes herself over the back of my lounger to peer over my shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

I guess that’s a reasonable question to ask when you see someone sprawled out on the pool deck working on their laptop rather than their tan. “Checking back into reality,” I say. “I like to keep an eye on the latest internet gossip in case I can head off any impending catastrophes for my clients.”

“Oooh,” Lulu says. “Anything juicy going down?”

“Not really,” I say, “but that’s a good thing. My life is easier if we skip the catastrophes altogether.”

“So basically this is depressing work.”

I laugh. “Well, I’ve also found some of my best clients this way too. Seeing who’s starting to get buzz, the new cool kids in town who might need someone handling PR on their behalf. That part is fun.”

“Ah,” Lulu says, her voice dipping suggestively. “You’re on the prowl.”

It’s really uncanny that she can make almost anything sound dirty. “You could put it that way,” I say, although that’s the last way I want to be thinking about my years-from-legal clientele.

“It’s kind of sad that you’re working at all, don’t you think? I mean, the weather’s gorgeous, the water’s gorgeous, the men . . .” She gazes through her lashes at the buff guy manning the pool bar. “I know you take your job seriously and all, but if you can’t even chill out here . . .”

Actually, turning to work is my last ditch attempt at being able to chill out. I was hoping that getting swept off to the galaxy of internet celebrity culture far, far away would re-circuit my brain enough to cut off my growing Will obsession before that becomes a full-blown catastrophe. If it isn’t already.

The strategy has been reasonably successful. Since I booted up my web browser I think I’ve cut my X-rated imaginings by about 95%. Which basically means I’m still flashing back to last night once every five minutes, but it’s a start.

“I’m just taking a quick peek,” I say to Lulu. “I can relax better knowing there aren’t any flash fires on the horizon. What are you doing these days? Are you finished with college—what was your major again?”

Lulu drops into the lounger beside mine and stretches out to show off her string-bikini-clad figure in all its College Gone Wild glory. “Just about. I graduate this summer—accounting.”

“Accounting?” I can’t help repeating. I should probably be ashamed of myself for stereotyping. The image that pops into my head at the word “accountant” is a reed-thin guy with thick glasses and a pocket protector, but it’d be silly to assume that’s reality.

Although to be fair, my actual accountant is a reed-thin guy with thick glasses and a pocket protector.

“Numbers can be fun too,” Lulu says. “They’re like men, you know. You figure out how to read them properly, and you can wrap them around your finger and get them to do your bidding just like that.”

Forget that “almost”—Lulu can make even math sound dirty.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoy it,” I manage to reply. “Just . . . make sure you don’t wrap those numbers too far, all right? I have a client whose dad is currently in jail for tax evasion.”

“Don’t worry,” Lulu says. “I know how awful I’d look in an orange jumpsuit. Although . . . I do have to say I’m starting to consider hotel management as an alternative career.”

She’s lowered her sunglasses to peer across the deck to where Will has just walked out, the elegant dark-haired woman—Helene, he called her yesterday—beside him. At the sight of him, my heart makes an unfortunate lurch. Thankfully Lulu is still fully consumed with ogling him. Even though I shouldn’t be letting myself think this, I’ve got to admit that collared button-down shows off the impressive muscles underneath to full effect.

I stick my legs over the edges of the lounger to scoot it farther back, where the scattered vegetation will better hide me from view. I can still see Will, though—and Helene touching his hand as she points out something beachward. My chest goes tight.

“I definitely wouldn’t mind running a hotel and its owner at the same time,” Lulu murmurs.

It takes a moment for everything Lulu said to penetrate. “She manages the hotel?”

“Yeah,” Lulu says casually. “We chatted a bit this morning. She seems nice—at least, she does when you’re not steaming at the thought of how close she’s getting to a certain hunk of manhood.” She shoots me a sly smile.

“What?” I sputter. “I—no. Obviously they just work together.”

Lulu laughs.

She can think whatever she wants. There isn’t any reason for me to see Helene as a rival. We’re both successful professional women. If anything we should have each other’s backs. Heck, I’ll walk right on over there and start a friendly chat with her myself, like a totally non-jealous person would.

As soon as Will’s no longer in orbiting distance.

Lulu shakes out her shoulders and gets up to slip into the pool. She makes a beeline for the underwater stools at the bar, where Trevor’s musician friend is staked out. She’s already brushing her hand against his toned bicep as she sits down. The girl does know how to play the field.

I try to go back to my internet perusing, but Lulu’s interruption has knocked me out of my flow. My gaze keeps creeping up over the top of the laptop screen to chart Will’s course around the pool. He leaves Helene sorting through some papers by the grill area and ambles across the deck, pausing to say hello to a guest here and to make a comment to the towel boy there.

It’s really not my fault. There’s something magnetizing about the way he holds court here. He leaves everyone he talks to smiling, the staff standing a little straighter, no matter how large or small their role in the resort.

He always was good at seeing the importance in all the little facets of a business set-up—the ones I was sometimes inclined to overlook while I was chasing after the big picture. “Let’s think it all the way through and take care of everything, Troi,” he teased me more than once. I guess that’s why he’s running a many-multi-employee business and I’m flying solo.

But somehow I wasn’t a part of his life worthy of even that much respect.

That last thought hardens my resolve. I’m not jealous, because I don’t want him in the first place. When he heads off toward the recreation center, I close my laptop and stroll over to the grill area where Helene is still poring over her work.

“So, I hear you’re the manager,” I say, leaning my elbows onto the countertop. “I wanted to say you’re doing a great job here. My stay has been amazing so far.”

Aside from my interactions with the owner.

Helene glances up and considers me for a moment. Her cheek dimples with a small smile. I hadn’t known a dimple could look elegant—you learn something new every day.

“Thank you,” she says. “Is there something I can help you with?”

She has a faint accent, too soft for me to place, but I don’t think it’s Spanish. “No,” I say. “I’m good. I, um—where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I grew up in France,” Helene says in the same even tone. “We moved to the United States when I was fifteen. And now I live here.”

“France!” I should be able to say something interesting about that. “Where in France? I’ve been to Paris and . . . er . . . just Paris.”

Helene’s smile doesn’t falter. “Lyon. We’re more laid back there than Paris.”

Laid back? That’s not how she’d have struck me. But then, she is taking my current ineptitude at putting together sentences in stride. Come on, Ruby, you know how to talk to people. There’s no reason talking to this particular woman should be hard.

No reason except—

“So you know Mr. Cassidy,” Helene says. “From before your visit.”

My pulse skitters. How does she— Did she hear something—did she see something?

My panic must show in my expression, because Helene quickly adds, “He mentioned it to me, after he went to pick you up on your arrival.”

Oh. Right. My adventure with the demon chicken in the jungle. Not exactly my best moment.

“Yeah,” I say with an awkward wave of my hand that I hope conveys that nothing involving Will matters very much to me. “We went to school together.”

“Ah,” Helene says. A single syllable, and yet it could contain so much meaning. Was that a skeptical tone? I felt better when we were talking about her.

“So I guess you and Will must talk a lot, working so much on the resort,” I say. No, no, that’s not the direction I wanted to go in.

Helene shrugs. “He’s a good boss. He’s open to ideas, whoever they come from. Some of the men I’ve worked for aren’t quite so . . . encouraging.” She gives me a wry look. “They prefer to be the ones calling the shots. It’s rare to find a man willing to listen to a woman.”

Yes. It is.

A man who listens, and encourages, and looks excellent naked on the massage table . . .

“Look at the time! I think—” I blurt. I glance at my wrist. I’m not wearing a watch. Oh well. Onward I barrel. “I think I’d better get ready for dinner. It was nice talking with you.”

“Same to you,” Helene says smoothly as I turn away. She was absolutely, 100% nice, like Lulu said. So why can’t I shake the idea that she’s laughing at me inside as she watches me hurry off?