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“Rafael,” Valentina calls before I get more than a few feet away. I turn around. “Lexie told me that you read my parents the riot act before we got to the house last night. Thank you.”
“No big deal.”
She raises a brow. “I don’t know. Sounded like a big deal to me. You made my father practice. Is there a recording of that somewhere?”
I snicker and wink at Lexie.
“Seriously. Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me, menina. I might be an asshole, but I’d do anything to save you pain.”
I glance at Lexie, who looks like an angel, her light casting a glow so bright that it softens any bitter feelings Valentina still harbors toward me. I smile at her before I turn, cursing that cockblocker Marco under my breath.
It’s a six-hour flight, I remind my disappointed dick. He can’t sleep the entire time.
46
LEXIE
It’s a gorgeous day—sunny, warm, and no humidity to speak of—and a group of us—mostly women and children—are relaxing by the hotel pool. Marco’s here, too, and I counted about a dozen guards. Even though we’ve taken over the hotel, security has been tight.
Vivi and Anabela are taking turns jumping into the water, and I’m contemplating joining them, when Valentina’s phone vibrates. She picks it up and blinks a few times as she reads the screen. “Excuse me,” she says, slipping on a cover-up and sandals.
“Everything okay?” Daniela asks from the edge of the pool, where she’s sitting with Alma, watching the kids.
“Fine,” Valentina replies, striding toward the door, followed by a guard. But she doesn’t look like everything is fine. She’s pale and white-knuckling her phone.
“Want me to come with you?” I ask, reaching for my sarong.
She shakes her head. “It’s the caterer for tomorrow night. They have a question.”
Why is the caterer contacting Valentina instead of Julia, the party planner? It’s her job to coordinate the vendors so that everything is streamlined through one person. That way, nothing slips through the cracks.
Daniela glances at me as Valentina disappears into the building. I’m sure she’s thinking the same thing I am.
I sit back on the lounge chair and glance across the pool at Marco, who seems to be engrossed in a book. I wonder what a man like him reads. Art heist thrillers? How-to manuals? Our Bodies, Ourselves?
I need to stop. Rafael’s bad attitude about him is rubbing off on me. The truth is, Marco’s been fine on the trip.
Last night, there was a family dinner with a few close friends included, and earlier today Premier hosted an event for mixologists and bartenders. He was pleasant and doted on Valentina, rarely leaving her side.
Tonight’s events include a cocktail party for local and national distributers, and a dinner with club owners. The goal is to make everyone feel special so that they’ll want to carry and promote the product. Tomorrow night is the big bash.
I pick up my phone to see if there’s a message from Rafael, who’s making calls in the three-bedroom suite they’re using as a command center. He promised when he was done, we would do a little sightseeing. “Check out the spots where those traitorous colonists plotted their coup,” he teased this morning as he tossed me over his shoulder and into the shower.
Fifteen minutes pass, and Valentina’s still not back. I tie on the sarong and slip into my flip-flops.
“Let me know if there’s something I can do,” Daniela murmurs as I walk past her on my way inside, Giana at my heels.
I have no idea where she went, but if I can’t find her, I’ll have Giana text her guard.
But it’s not necessary. Valentina’s in an alcove outside the locker room, pacing, her phone to her ear, and her hand shaking.
“What’s going on?”
She holds up a finger. “This is Valentina Cruz, again. I just spoke with the caterer, and there seems to be some misunderstanding. Call me as soon as possible.”
“Everything okay?” Marco asks from behind me.
