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16
The manon the jet ski carves his way up to the shore, splashing as he goes. An attendant manning the cat takes it from him as Harrison King steps off.
I’m not sure what I was expecting. I knew he was a few years older, but it’s extra clear seeing him in person. He’s wearing a black short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned, board shorts underneath. His dirty-blond hair is a mess, his designer sunglasses covering half his sculpted face.
He stalks up the beach with even, purposeful strides and stops in the sand with his bare feet. He tugs off the sunglasses, surveying us with narrowed eyes. Harrison’s attention cuts to my fiancé. Then his imperious face breaks into a grin. “There he is.”
He crosses to Tyler, clapping him on the back, and Tyler does the same. “You’re here. How the hell did that happen?”
“Someone was persistent.” The crisp English accent is one thing, but King looks past my fiancé, his laser eyes finding me.
Tyler introduces me, then I let them catch up as I go over to Rae, who’s drawing in the sand with Sophie. They’re building what looks like a compound with outbuildings and a moat.
“What is this?” I demand.
“It’s Sand City. Less castle, more Coachella. There are ten stages”—Rae gestures to elevated flat platforms—“and a spot for camping.”
“And the truck parking is there,” Sophie points out.
“Right. That’s where you’re going to park when you get your license?”
“Yup. Rae’s going to teach me to drive.”
I notice Harrison watching Rae intently.
“What’s his deal?” she asks under her breath.
“Apparently, he had some big breakup and went from being front page of every tabloid and loving it to a near recluse.”
She doesn’t take her gaze from his. “Girl could do worse than shacking up with that. Long as the place she does it is big enough for him, her, and his ego.”
Guilt floods me. I need to tell her the truth: that Tyler’s friend runs the company she wants to hang by the toes.
But Rae finally seems as if she’s having a good time, and this would ruin it.
She shoves herself out of her seat, dusting off and heading across to where the drinks are.
“Thank you for coming,” I say to Harrison, who approaches but still watches Rae.
“You were obscenely persistent, but I couldn’t miss Tyler’s wedding. Who’s your friend?”
“I don’t think she’s your type.”
He cocks his head, amused. “You’d be surprised how many women are.”
“Exactly.”
The challenge on his face lingers as Tyler approaches, clapping Harrison on the back.
Harrison turns, starting across the sand to get a drink.
“I don’t know how the hell you made this happen. Thank you.” Tyler wraps me in a hug, his strong arms every reward I could’ve wanted.
“You really wanted him here,” I say against his bare shoulder.
I wish I could talk to Tyler about Rae’s situation, but I’m not going to drop this at his feet when he’s grappling with enough already.
He scans the beach behind us before grabbing my waist and backing me toward the water, an expression of mischief on his face.
