“The lawyer says there’s nothing we can do about it,” Kenneth’s mom mutters to me over the phone. “ ‘As soon as something is on the internet, it’s forever.’ Very helpful.”

“Unfortunately, he’s basically right.” I plop down onto the end of my bed and re-open my laptop. The current catastrophe needs too much of my attention to handle it poolside. On my screen, an image of a boy who can’t be more than fifteen, with spiked up hair and Sharpie-drawn tattoos, jabs his finger at the viewer from the paused video.

“I thought we’d confirmed that Kenneth’s friend had deleted the video,” I said. “How did it get out anyway?”

“Oh, apparently another guy in the group who’s always been a little jealous of how well Ken is doing grabbed it off Darryl’s phone without him realizing. That group of them . . .” She sighs. Kenneth’s mom totally wishes her son were just a sweet country-loving boy. “Is this going to hurt his music career—wherever he could have taken it, I mean? He’s moping around here as if the world just ended.”

“I think we can smooth this over,” I say. The wheels in my head are already spinning. “We just have to work it right—and fast. Can you put Kenneth on?”

It takes a minute, and then Kenneth’s voice carries through the line, sounding at least twice as hangdog as last time. “Hi, Ruby.”

“Hello, Mr. Krunk.” Calling him that usually gets me a chuckle at bare minimum. Not so much today. I smile crookedly and barrel onward. “Don’t get so down about this. We’re going to spin it our way.”

“How?” he demands. “That video’s already gotten over a million views! And there’s already, like, fifty other videos up talking about how pathetic I am. I totally had cred, I am never coming back from this.”

The certainty of youth. “Oh, you are,” I say. “You’re coming back from it today. If you’re up for it.”

“Okay . . .” he says in that teenager-y way, but he sounds like he’s ready to listen now.

“You do actually like that song, right?”

“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I wanted the whole scene to know it.”

I lean back on the bed. “Sure, but they do now. So you know what a real pro does when some truth comes out that could be seen as embarrassing? He owns it. He makes it sound like it’s ridiculous that anyone would think he should be embarrassed. He pulls it right back into his brand and shows it shouldn’t change how anyone thought about him, except maybe for the better.”

“So you want me to talk about how awesome I think Harlan Everett is?” Kenneth says doubtfully.

“Nah. Talking isn’t enough. You need to give them something with a punch—something that’ll stick in people’s memories instead of that karaoke video and the stupid things people are saying about it. I’m thinking maybe . . . You’ve done medleys and mash-ups using songs that aren’t hip hop before, right? Could you make that work with this song? Incorporate it into your own style? Make it cool to your fans.”

Kenneth pauses. “I guess . . . Yeah. Yeah, I could totally do that. I actually had an idea the other day—I changed my mind because I was worried—but like you said, it’s already out there.”

“Exactly!” I say. “Pull that together as quickly as you can, do a little intro talking about how every kind of music has stuff worth loving in it and what you love about Everett’s, and we’ll get that up to ten times as many views. I promise. Just be real and believe in what you’re saying, and your fans will believe it too.”

“Got it!” He claps his hands together, and I know he’s pumped now. My smile widens.

“Get to it then. Send me the video as soon as you’re done so I can take a quick look. It’s going to be great, Kenneth.”

Kenneth does a lot of impromptu performance videos, but even those take him a little while to pull together. I watch a couple more of the reaction videos before grimacing and switching to checking my other clients’ activities. Thank the Lord, the internet is being kind to the rest of them today.

After a while, I get tired of sitting. I pace in my room a couple times before my restless legs carry me out into the hall. My jellyfish-fried calf barely throbs at all now. One victory at a time!

I’ve made it to the elevators and just turned around to wander back when Brooke comes out of the bridal suite at the opposite end. She leans against the door, and her head droops. The second I see that, I forget Kenneth and the video I’m waiting for.

I hurry over. Brooke jerks upright at the sound of my feet. “Ruby,” she says, with a smile that looks forced. “What’s up?”

“Just some client issues.” I wave my phone. “In the process of being taken care of. What’s up with you? Is everything okay?”

She laughs, a little shakily. “Yeah, of course. I mean, you know, other than the standard ‘oh my God we’re somehow going to pull off a wedding tomorrow’ jitters.”

It feels like more than that. I know her. But I can’t quite put my finger on what’s off. “If there was anything else bothering you, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? I’m your maid of honor, and your best friend. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Of course,” she says. “I promise, it’s nothing you need to worry about. You’ve got enough of that already, it looks like.”

My phone conspires with her brush-off by trilling an alert at that exact moment. My arm twitches. I keep it at my side. “If there’s anything I can help out with to make sure tomorrow goes smoothly . . .”

Brooke shakes her head. “There isn’t. It’s all set up. I’m just going down to check on the rehearsal dinner arrangements, and then that’s done too. All you’ve got to do is show up. Now get that call.”

She squeezes my arm as she passes me. I hesitate a moment longer and then lift my phone.

It’s not a call. It’s a new file in my shared cloud. Kenneth has delivered.

I slip back into my room to watch it. By the end, I’m beaming. The kid has talent. After seeing this, I’d dare anyone to try to argue that.

Great work, Mr. Krunk, I text to him. It’s perfect. Go ahead and post.

* * *

As soon as I’ve seen the tide of the online conversation turning, I reward myself with a much-needed sunbathing session on my balcony’s lounger. The sun beams down on me and the chirp of tropical birds fills the air. My muscles gradually relax into the cushions. Then my phone chimes—with a text from Will.

Officer Walters, your presence is requested on the bridge. I’ve got something hard here that requires your attention.

Looks like he finally got a break from meetings. I grin. I can certainly take the situation in hand, Captain Cassidy.

Will’s office is on the top floor, just above the jungle canopy. You’d think I’d have used up all my awe at the beauty of this resort, but when I step into the room and see the view over the sparkling ocean through the ceiling-high windows that fill two full walls, for a second I can only gape. Will leans back in his leather chair, smiling at my reaction.

“Difficult to mind coming to work when you get to look at that all day,” he says.

I shut the door behind me and walk around his desk to peer right through the glass. Down the line of the beach, I think I can spot the little pier where we set off for our snorkeling expedition . . . was that just yesterday?

Will stands up, and I turn toward him. The smolder in his gaze makes my pulse skip. I sidle closer, looking at him through my eyelashes. “You wanted me, sir?”

He pulls my mouth to his in answer. He tastes like coffee, rich and just the right amount of bitter. I hum with pleasure as I kiss him back. My hand trails down his shirt to the bulge in his pants. He is already hard. A little thrill runs through me. I stroke my fingers firmly over his cock through the fabric, and he groans into my mouth.

“I can see why you needed assistance,” I murmur, with an urge I’m all too happy to give into. I unzip his fly as I sink to my knees in front of him.

“Ruby,” Will starts. I release him from his boxers, and his voice cuts off with a choked sound.

He’s just as impressive by daylight as he was last night. I squeeze the base of his cock and flick my thumb up over the head before following with my tongue. Will lets out another groan. His fingers tangle in my hair, his other hand bracing against the back of his chair.

Just hearing the sounds he’s making, the ragged pant of his breath, gets me wet. I’m totally in charge now. He’s putty in my hands. I grip the base of his cock and suck the whole length down, reveling in the tremor that runs through his body. Maybe this is a few days’ fling, but I want to be burned into his memory.

His cock twitches as I swirl my tongue. I grin around it. Then, just as I’m angling myself to take him even deeper, the door on the other side of the room clicks open.

“Mr. Cassidy?” a male voice says.

I jerk back. Will freezes. His hand on my head keeps me in place, not that I’m particularly inclined to pop up right now. His desk and the back of his chair should hide me from view for now.

“This isn’t a good time, Boyd,” Will says with remarkable control. I can only hear a faint rasp in his voice. A mischievous impulse tickles through me. I lean forward and lick the head of his cock. His fingers tighten in my hair.

“It’s only—that email you were asking about finally came in.”

“Wonderful.”

I ease my fingers back to tease over his balls. His breath hitches before he can quite catch it.

“Are you all right, Mr. Cassidy?” the assistant says. I swallow a giggle.

“Yes,” Will manages. “Absolutely. Forward that email to me. And I don’t want to be disturbed for any reason until my four o’clock. Understood?”

“Yes, sorry, Mr. Cassidy.”

The door taps shut. I shift to take Will’s cock into my mouth again, but before I can, he’s yanking me to my feet.

“You,” he growls. He spins me around so I land on the edge of his desk, his hips between my knees. Papers scatter. Then his mouth is claiming mine, punishing and needy. His hands shove up under the skirt of my dress to wrench down my panties.

“I really should lock that fucking door,” he mutters. “But this can’t wait. If he walks back in here, he deserves to be scandalized.”

I start to laugh, and then he’s kissing me again, so hard my head spins. His fingers graze over my slit, with a little moan when he feels how wet I am. He fumbles for a condom. Then he’s pushing inside me, as far as he can possibly go.

I gasp, clutching him. I don’t think any other man has ever felt this good, the way he fills me, the slow burn of friction as he eases back and thrusts in again.

His furious urgency from a moment ago has tempered now that we’re entwined. He pumps into my sex with slow, easy strokes, as if there’s no rush now that he’s gotten where he wanted to be. Gripping my hip, he leans in to kiss me. I run my hand up his neck and down into the V at the open collar of his shirt. His fingers trace around my nipple through my dress and then tug down the strap so they can dip under my bra to fondle me skin to skin. And all the while his cock keeps up that steady pace, in and out, with a torturous friction. I arch into him.

“What do you want?” he says against my lips.

A noise of frustration escapes me. “Fuck me. Fuck me so hard I see stars.”

He hums as he kisses my throat. “Still dreaming of intergalactic voyages,” he teases. He thrusts faster, pulling me tighter against him. His fingers dig into my thigh. I rock with his rhythm, biting my lip against a whimper. The blissful pressure inside me expands. My legs tremble. I wrap my arms around his neck and bow my head to his shoulder. More. More. The ache for release just seems to grow and grow with the pleasure sweeping through me.

He bucks into me even faster, his breath hot by my ear. One hand slides between us to press against my clit, and I moan. The sharp shot of pleasure tips me over the edge. I spiral off into another galaxy, the stars I begged for sparking behind my eyes. My pussy pulses around his rigid, perfect cock.

Will moans too. He jerks into me with a shudder. His arm slips around my waist as he stills, panting against my hair. Then he raises his hand to touch my cheek. He kisses me, so tenderly it sets off a different sort of ache inside my heart.

This is so easy, the way we fit. The way we know each other, even after all this time. Why can’t it stay like this?