Rhett
Chloe Devereux, the lifeguard. She was a distraction. I found myself taking frequent walks down to the pool to survey the property, but honestly, it was to catch a glimpse of her. She was a minx. I watched her tease the flirts by the pool and cajole the members into participating in activities. She was a bolt of electricity lighting up the entire area. It had been too long since a woman had caught my eye. Far too long.
The accounts were a mess, as was the employee roster. There were far too many staff, even as the membership numbers had dropped. I worked late and was coming out of the office when I heard a shrill and unwanted voice.
“What do you mean he’d working? I told him I’d be here at eight.”
Fuck. Victoria Blakely couldn’t take a hint. I heard Evan’s soft murmur, clearly trying to placate the club’s former owner. I’d bet a million dollars she had no idea of the circumstances that led me to buy the club. She thought it was because I wanted to be closer to her, a laughable prospect. I’d known Victoria at University, which was the extent of our acquaintance, except for frequent glimpses at events in our mutual social circle.
“Victoria, stop bothering Evan. He’s had a long day,” I said, appearing behind the reception desk. Victoria’s scowl immediately became a bright smile.
“Darling, there you are,” she simpered.
I stared at her, taken aback by her delusion. Evan made his excuses and disappeared. I couldn’t blame him. There was a worrying light in Victoria’s heavily mascaraed gaze.
“I thought you’d forgotten about our dinner.” She pouted.
“Not forgotten. We didn’t have a dinner planned. I told you as much.”
“Rhett, stop being so rude,” Victoria snapped. Her voice carried across the foyer.
My eyes drifted to a figure who had stopped, staring at us curiously.
It was Chloe. She was wearing cut-off denim shorts, which showed an expanse of her slim, tanned thighs, and a white vest top with some kind of bohemian shawl across her shoulders. Her long blonde hair was loose, rippling in waves across her shoulders, and her dark eyes seemed amused as she watched the scene Victoria was causing. An idea occurred to me as I watched Chloe, wishing it was her demanding dinner and not Victoria, who I couldn’t stand.
“I’m afraid I already have dinner plans. Chloe,” I called loudly across the lobby. “I’m ready for dinner now. Thanks for waiting.”
Chloe’s brown eyes widened as Victoria turned and fixed her with a frown. She looked side to side as if checking that there wasn’t another Chloe around before pointing to herself. The little minx.
“She doesn’t look like she’s expecting to have dinner with you,” Victoria pointed out.
“And you look like you are, so appearances can be deceiving.” I rounded the reception desk, leaving Victoria open-mouthed at me before striding across the polished marble floor toward Chloe.
She raised an eyebrow as I approached. “I wasn’t aware my hot takes had to be delivered immediately.”
Christ, she was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made it hard to breathe. “Humor me. I’m the victim of sexual harassment right now,” I muttered.
She laughed and peered around me at Victoria. “Your harasser is on her way.”
“Of course, she is.” I gestured toward the bar. “Shall we get that bite to eat?”
Chloe narrowed her eyes at me, tilting her head a fraction. She shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
It wasn’t quite the enthusiasm I usually saw from a woman when I asked her to dinner, and it was intriguing. Chloe wasn’t a simpering sycophant, despite knowing I was the club's owner. She wasn’t sidling up to me or begging to spend time with me, and it was refreshing as fuck. Leaving New made it clear how wary I’d become of people. Most people weren’t worth my time, but my gut told me Chloe was an exception. Not to mention, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Too bad she was too damn young for me.
“How old are you? Considering you’re employed here, you must be over eighteen,” I said casually as if it hadn’t suddenly become deadly important that this woman be a legal adult.
“I guess you didn’t realize that pools often hire sixteen-year-olds for part-time summer work?”
Her words stopped me dead, and I turned a horrified look on her.
Her beautiful mouth split into a wicked grin. “Gotcha. I’m twenty-two.”
I blew out a hot breath. Damn, she’d had me there.
“Why are you asking about age, anyway?” Her innocent question caught me off guard.
What could I say? I’m fantasizing about taking you against the wall in the cabana. Sliding your little red bathing suit to the side and feasting on your body until I have to gag you so you don’t scream and let everyone at the pool know what we’re doing.