I try not to roll my eyes at him and shrug. “It’s really not my problem.”
“It is. Because I’m the guest.”
I count to ten in my head as I turn off the vacuum again and look at him indignantly. “And as the guest, if you’ll let me finish, I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
He huffs, crossing his arms. “Fine. I’m parched. I’d like a coconut water and maybe a smoothie. I’d prefer kale, but if they don’t have that, just something light.”
My right eyebrow lifts so high, I’m sure it touches my hairline. “Are you putting a drink order in?”
He just stands there, staring at me. He looks confused as he cocks his head to the side. “Yes.”
I snort a laugh and shake my head. Is this guy for real? I’ve met spoiled brats before, but he’s something else. “Yeah, you’re talking to the wrong staff member for that.”
“But you are staff.” It’s a question and a statement in one, as he stands with his body stiff and his arms still folded over his chest.
“I’m on the cleaning crew.”
He uncrosses his arms and waves one in the air. “Same thing.”
“No.” I’m quickly losing patience. “It’s not.”
“Listen . . .” He looks at my chest as if he’s looking for the nametag I don’t have and then back at my face. “You . . .” He drops his hand to his side, looking totally flustered, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. “I was told this place would have everything I’m used to. I have coconut water and a smoothie when I wake up.”
I want to ask him if that’s required before he can take a nap after a long morning of sleeping in and lounging around, but I don’t. “The island has everything you need, but it isn’t catered. You’ll have to venture out.”
He looks absolutely horrified by that thought. “They won’t bring it to me?”
Good lord, the sweet life he’s lived. Everything served to him on a silver platter. Again, I try counting to ten in my head very, very slowly as I breathe deeply. “No. But go . . .”—I gesture toward the front door—“venture out. Explore. It’ll be good for you.”
He frowns, his lips forming a little pout. “Explore?”
I stare at him, not sure what to say. He’s no doubt had everything taken care of his entire life. I doubt he’s ever been on his own.
God knows, that’s pretty much all I ever knew. By the time I was seven, I made dinner for myself while my mom was at work. Took a shower and then tucked myself into bed because she couldn’t be home in time for me to get to bed early enough to wake up and get to school.
But it’s clear, Elijah Hunt hasn’t had to even think about anything on his own, let alone do anything for himself.
Instead of wasting time giving him any more instructions, I turn my back to him and start the vacuum again.
I’m not his tour guide.
It’s time for him to do some things for himself. And if he does find some poor bastard to do it for him, that’s on them.
It won’t be me.
CHAPTER SIX
Elijah
I cannot believe that man. That big, burly, sexy . . .
No.
Stop that.
He’s not sexy. He’s vile. He’s rude. For no reason at all.
I wander around the small island, on the hunt for something to drink, and then see a building with a cool sign hanging by the door. Still feeling residual frustration, I pull the door open with a huff and am relieved to see a bar with a few tables. The room is empty at first, but then a guy enters from a back room.
Of course, this man is absolutely gorgeous too. His smile is bright as he looks me over. “Well, holy shit. It’s Elijah Hunt.”
Okay, finally. Someone recognizes me. I mean, of course it would be fine if he didn’t. But come on, I am famous. “Yes,” I say as I approach the bar.
He’s studying me carefully but still wearing a nearly contagious grin on his face. I’d smile if I wasn’t so annoyed by that big brute back at my villa. Just taking over like it’s his and not mine. “Bad morning?”
He sounds amused as he makes his way behind the bar. “Awful. Absolutely awful. Some man just barged into my villa this morning and wouldn’t keep it down.”
“Some man broke into your villa?” He leans back against the counter behind the bar. The shelves to his back are lined with every type of alcohol you could imagine. Although, he doesn’t look worried, just totally amused. But for some reason, it doesn’t piss me off.
“Yes. Some”—I wave my hand furiously—“cleaning crew man with an attitude.”
His grin only widens now. “Ah. A big blond man with tattoos and a beard, that’s trying to be a beard but just isn’t quite there?”
My lip twitches at that as I try not to smile. Did he have tattoos? I don’t remember seeing them, but I think I was too focused on other things. “I don’t know about the tattoos. But yes, that sounds like him.”
He grins again. “He has a few, but they’re usually covered by his shirt if he’s wearing one.”
My face heats, thinking about this guy seeing the cleaning man without a shirt. I suppose that wouldn’t be weird around here. “You know him?”
He laughs and holds his hand out to me, which I reluctantly shake, keeping eye contact. “I’m Holden.” He drops my hand, the playfulness still in his eyes. “And the guy you’re talking about is probably Atlas. It sounds like him.”
He’s smiling wide now, and I wonder if he’s very familiar with this Atlas. An uncomfortable feeling slides through me, and I don’t understand why that is. I try to push through.
“Atlas.” I let the word sit there for a moment. “Well, he’s an asshole.”
I tense at my inability to keep my mouth shut. This guy could be with Atlas, for all I know. They could be lovers. And I just insulted him.
But thankfully, he only chuckles, shaking his head at me. “Nah. I mean he can be.” He nods to one of the barstools. “Sit down.”
I don’t argue, my body still amped-up from my earlier confrontation, and I take a seat across from him. “Atlas isn’t that bad. He’s a little grumpy around celebrities though.”
I flinch at that. Why would he be? What did we do to him? “We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
Nothing seems to bother this guy because he just nods with a genuine smile. “What can I get you?”
“I suppose you don’t have smoothies.” I look at the alcohol behind him, never wanting to drink again after what happened with Christopher.
“I can make you a smoothie.” He winks at me and turns his back, instantly busying himself with a blender and all sorts of fresh fruits.
Huh. See? It’s not too much to ask. I knew I wasn’t wrong.
“I’m guessing Atlas and you are friends?” Why I’m asking about that man, I’m not sure. Maybe I’m dying to talk with someone instead of seclusion.
Maybe I can be a little freer here on this island. No worrying about the media getting hold of something. Maybe I can make friends. Go out. Who knows?