Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“I review all of my lead employees personally, and that includes the gardener,” he says, straightening his tie.
“Can I pick one?” I ask.
“Normally, I’d say no. But since I owe you, take one.”
I try not to squeal with delight as I pluck a small hibiscus and tuck it behind my ear. “What’s the point in having a garden this beautiful and keeping it a big secret?”
“That exit I took you through is a secret, but we rent these gardens out for weddings. This is a popular spot for photos. There’s another entrance guests use,” he tells me.
Interesting.
Brock leads us down a path that snakes directly to a long line of white shimmering sand. “This is the same beach your balcony overlooks.”
“I don’t see anyone there. How does a beach this beautiful not get used?”
“It’s the closest you can get to a private beach on this island. The garden is the only real access that doesn’t involve tromping across natural fences of rocks, and since there’s no wedding on-site, you’re in luck.”
I stop and stare, taking it all in, smiling at the thought of some blushing bride enjoying the ceremony of her dreams.
“This would be wedding heaven,” I say.
“Today, it’s yours. You should watch your step, though, Miss Renee, there’s—”
I don’t let him finish.
White sand sprawls out in front of us. I run toward it at a ground-eating pace, feeling like I might break into song.
“This is so awesome!” I belt out, loving the warm sun on my shoulders.
“It’s a beach. And be careful, you’ll want to keep your sandals on to avoid any stray lava rocks. They can get sharp,” he warns.
I can tell by his tone he thinks I’m overreacting, but who cares?
Once he catches up to my reverie, I hold my phone out.
“Can you get a video of me, please?”
He takes my phone and stares at it like it’s an alien object.
“I’m your photographer now? Damn. I would’ve thought you’d be the selfie queen with what you post on your channels.”
“Oh, I am. But it’s windy out here and it’d be hard to get good video without fighting my hair the whole time. Let me know when you’re recording.”
He messes with my phone for a minute.
“Okay, go.”
I fall backward into the warm white sand.
“Hey, Pippa party people!” I chirp, flashing my brightest smile. For once, it’s not forced. “It’s your girl, coming to you from the beau-tiful Hawaiian island of Lanai. We’re practicing the best beach angels ever. Watch this!”
I move my arms and legs in the sand, my eyes closed, totally lost in the moment until I feel his gaze drifting over me.
Before I even look at him, I know.
He eyeballs me like he’s found tonight’s dinner, standing on this beach like he owns everything on it—including me.
Before him, I never understood how a look could be mesmerizing.
The kind of pure sorcery that reaches down inside you, strokes something deep, and makes every last bit of you shudder.
Something else he said hits me then.
Didn’t he mention my channels? Like he’s watched them?
Now, I’m burning for a different reason.
I don’t even know what to think or feel or hate about that.
“Are we still rolling?” I ask weakly.
I’m not sure if he hears me in the loud wind. He doesn’t move for at least ten seconds.
But Brock nods and taps the phone before holding it out to me.
“Here. I’m not responsible for any unflattering angles,” he says.
Shaking my head, I get my phone back and take a quick photo of my sand angel. “Don’t worry, I always do a little editing.”
“A little? Don’t influencers edit everything they post?”
“Some do, but I make an effort not to. Authentic, remember?”
He stares at me like he’s shocked.
“I love being an influencer, but there’s a dark side,” I say, turning to face the rolling ocean. “There’s a lot of talk about the toll social media has on mental health, and the way people suffer when this stuff gets so embedded in our lives.”
He nods slowly.
And I feel his eyes roaming me again. I’m bracing for another dick comment, but he just waits for more. It’s weird having a real conversation with this man.
“I like to share travels. They help the people who help me travel by watching my stuff and viewing ads. They also give me honest feedback about where I’ve been. I mean, if someone saved up for two years to take an amazing vacation, I hope my feedback helps them fall a little more in love with their free time.”
“You’re not in it for the comps,” he says vacantly, as if he’s surprised.
My hair tumbles in the breeze as I shake my head.
“No way. Life is hard enough, and we never get enough breaks.” I clear my throat, something harsh and sad at the edge of my words. “But a vacation is only a break if it’s the right experience at the right time. That’s why so many people come home saying things like ‘I need a vacation from my vacation.’”