Stuck On You: A Bliss Brothers Novel Read online

  Stuck On You

  A Bliss Brothers Novel

  Amelia Wilde

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Connect with Amelia

  Also by Amelia Wilde

  1

  Beau

  You just know it’s going to be a great morning when the first item on your agenda is to get a spanking from your oldest brother.

  Not literally, of course.

  Although after what happened last night, I’d probably deserve one, even if it would rank among the most awkward things ever to happen at the Bliss Resort.

  “Get in here, Beau,” Roman bellows. I nod to a woman standing stock-still at the desk closest to Roman’s open office door, just one of the many witnesses to Roman’s displeasure. She nods crisply back at me, and the intensity in her eyes—green, a startling emerald green—sends a jolt of excitement screaming through my chest. I’ve never seen her here before, but the cold set of her lips sings of a challenge. If she’s going to be in the office, maybe I could be convinced to spend more time here.

  Sadly, I’m in no position to take the time to ask her what her name is. I may never be in such a position again, depending on how this meeting goes. At the moment, I’m only in a position to finish the long walk into my brother’s office.

  “I’m here, Roman. Stop acting like the resort burned down.”

  Technically, it was early yesterday morning when the Bliss Resort’s second disaster of the season—if you count my brother’s accidental exposure, shall we say, on Instagram as the first one of the season—concluded. And the resort is still here, so….

  He fixes me with a look that could nail me to the doorframe. “The resort almost did burn down.”

  “Whoa.” I raise my hands up defensively in front of me, pasting what I hope is a non-threatening smile on my face. “That’s a little melodramatic. Let’s stick to the facts.”

  Roman narrows his eyes. “What are the facts, Beau? Because last night, five hundred people showed up on our private beach expecting free alcohol and setting up an illegal fireworks display from a rowboat. Is there something I’m missing?”

  I can’t help laughing. “I’m sorry—it’s just that it’s so stupid that it seems like something out of one of those novels that—” Roman’s expression transforms from thunderous to lightning strike. I clear my throat and wipe the smile off my face. “I know it wasn’t fake. I was there, same as you. And I take full responsibility for the typo.”

  “The typo.”

  “Yes, the typo.” It was one slip of the thumb on a quick post that Jenny, Roman’s hot girlfriend and our resident social media director, didn’t need to be bothered with. “Do you honestly think I intended to invite five hundred people to the beach with that little warning? That would be over the top, even for me.”

  I doubt it’ll come to him in this particular moment.

  “Would it? I’m beginning to think this carelessness of yours isn’t a bug in your personality—it’s more of a standard feature.” Roman is clearly proud of this insult.

  “Very fancy.” I ignore the customary hurt curdling in the pit of my gut and wish for an alcoholic beverage. “I didn’t know you considered yourself a tech bro, too. Tell me, Roman. What are my other features?”

  He has the grace to look slightly ashamed. “Okay. That was at least fifty percent uncalled for.”

  “And the other fifty percent?”

  “What are you doing, Beau? This kind of shit should be easy to avoid.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We are booked to the point of being overbooked, so your job—” He looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time, which I know for a fact isn’t true. “It should be getting easier. You have a captive audience. There was no need to invite half the drunk public of Ruby Bay to your party.” His voice rises at the end of the sentence. It doesn’t take a genius to know the entire bullpen is listening with rapt attention. And here I’ve forgotten to close the door behind me.

  “For the last time, Roman, I did not intend to invite all of Ruby Bay to the party last night. There was no way for me to know that an entire fraternity was going to show up and commandeer that rowboat.”

  “It wasn’t even our rowboat. You know that, right? I also have to contend with our wealthy neighbor before he goes down to the yacht club and tells all of his friends the Bliss brothers harbor criminals.”

  “Okay. First, they gave the rowboat back.” I let the hint of a smile slide onto my face. “And second, we are...also wealthy. Couldn’t I go down to the yacht club and tell everyone that this was all a hilarious misunderstanding and no rowboats were harmed during the situation?”

  “The rowboat was scorched on one side. Then they sank it into the water to put the fire out. I had to have several of our staff members go out into the water to haul it to the surface. Where were you for that, restocking the bar? Hell, I bet you stopped by the damn thing on the way over here.”

  I can tell, because I’m not a fucking idiot, that now is not the time to tell Roman that he’s been taken in by the illusion of my fun-loving ways. The vein in his forehead is already pulsing. There will be other opportunities to confront his misunderstandings as soon as I smooth this over…and as soon as the poor guy has had a nap. “It was my fault it happened. I get it. I know there are things to be improved upon when it comes to event planning and execution.” I keep the automatic smile from appearing on my face. Sinking a rowboat—good God. I was too busy trying to clear out the “guests” to get a good visual of the rowboat shenanigans, but now I wish I had.

  My brother crosses his arms over his chest. “Then it should come as no surprise to you that we’re changing how we do things.”

  I groan. “Oh, God, please. Tell me it’s not one of your lengthy approval processes. I thought you were past that, after what happened with Driver’s deal.”

  “You’re right. I have moved past micromanagement.”

  “Good, because I can fix—”

  “Ms. Cashmore?” Roman calls out loudly. “Could you step inside my office, please?”

  Cashmore? What kind of name is that? Who— The woman with the emerald eyes from outside Roman’s office appears at the door like she’s been waiting for this moment all her life, or at least part of this morning, which she clearly has.

  “Beau, this is Claire Cashmore.”

  I wasn’t looking before.

  I wasn’t looking, because if I had been looking, I would have seen that Claire Cashmore is exactly the kind of person I want nothing to do with.

  It’s true that I haven’t exactly been forthcoming with my brothers about my feelings when it comes to the endless nights out on the beach, but this woman? This woman? She’s standing so straight and tall she could be a robot, albeit a robot with a very nice body. A robot swathed in a pencil a skirt and a blazer—long-sleeved, despite the summer heat. And that face. That. Face.

  “Hello, Claire.” I turn back to Roman, ignoring the buzz singing in my veins and the faint scent of her perfume wafting in the air. “You don’t need to overreact to this, Roman. You can let it fade into a faintly hilarious memory and move on. Things are good. We got past the last crisis
, and this doesn’t have to count as one.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “The last crisis pales in comparison to what happened on the beach last night, and I think you know that.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Claire pursing her lips. I bet that’s her default expression. Oh, I’d love to loosen up that smirk, even if it meant tossing her fully clothed into the pool and jumping in after her. She needs it. I can tell by the uptight energy coursing through the room. It’s like the highest note of the soundtrack of a slasher film, running over and over in my head. I could probably dull the noise if I was as much of a drunkard as Roman thinks I am. Alas, I am stone-cold sober, and I have been since before the fateful rowboat incident.

  I relax my own shoulders then, even though I don’t feel very fucking relaxed. It’s habit now, more than anything. You can’t be the guy at the center of the party if your shoulders are hiked up to your ears and you’re wearing a perma-frown. “It was ten fireworks, maybe twenty, and I can handle this. I’ll even go down to the police station.”

  Roman scans my outfit—shorts and a button-down—and frowns in disapproval. If Claire Cashmore wasn’t standing in here, I’d call him out on it. The shorts are pressed, for God’s sake. It’s a clean button-down. Roman might not have slept last night, but neither did I. I won’t get any brownie points for telling him that I went to the gym at dawn and ate a fucking egg white omelet even though it was like eating a tasteless, joyless cloud, but he should at least be able to see that I’m dressed. Even if it’s not in a blazer that’s straight out of our father’s closet. “No, I don’t think you will. It’s me they want to meet with, since everything that happens on this resort is ultimately my responsibility.”

  “Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” I cite in a world-weary tone.

  “See? You can’t be serious for long enough to meet with the police. We’re trying to avoid a hefty fine. We’ll be lucky if the city council doesn’t sanction us.”

  “When is the last time the city council sanctioned a revenue-generator like the resort?”

  “I don’t know,” Roman says lightly. “Maybe the last time one of the resorts on the lake scared everyone half to death with an illicit fireworks show. That shit is dangerous,” my brother scolds, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes right out of my head. “People could have been seriously injured.”

  “I know that. I feel that—in my heart.” Roman takes this as a joke, but it’s true. I felt as sick as anyone last night when I realized what was happening. I was on the beach right next to him trying to control the situation. “But no one was seriously injured, so I think we can all take a deep breath and move forward from here, with the intention of—”

  “Claire, we’ve been so rude,” Roman interrupts. I don’t bother to tell him that cutting me off mid-sentence is also rude. “This is my brother, Beau. He’s been in charge of planning entertainment events here at Bliss.”

  I don’t like the sound of that. He’s been planning sounds like something that’s firmly in the past.

  It has been eight hours since the rowboat incident.

  Roman cannot possibly think that firing me in front of Claire Cashmore, who is still looking at the both of us with the seriousness of a brand new military recruit, is the right thing to do, rowboat incident or not. The last time he made a hasty decision about changing things at the resort it backfired. He’s not doing it again now. Is he?

  Claire steps forward and offers her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Beau.” She doesn’t sound pleased to meet me. We shake, and her grip is firm—but there’s something about touching her skin that seems potentially far more dangerous than fireworks going off in the lake.

  Roman considers us both, his arms crossed over his chest again. “I don’t have any more time to spend on introductions. Beau, Claire is here for the next two weeks.”

  “For what?” I take a step back, putting some distance between us so I can breathe. “If you hired me a handler, then we should really sit down and talk.”

  My brother lets out a harsh laugh. “Not a handler, no. Claire is an event planner. She’s going to be taking over planning all events and activities on the resort for the next two weeks. You’ll be helping her.”

  2

  Claire

  “What do you mean, helping her?”

  The newly introduced Beau Bliss tears his riveting blue eyes away from me and follows his brother out the door and into the larger office, which they call “the bullpen.” I’m not in favor of terms like that, since they tend to bleed the class out of whatever they’re attached to, but that’s clearly not on either of their minds. I do a quick mental calculation. Is it more awkward to stand in here alone, or to follow them both out into the common area? I settle for the doorway. My mother would hate that, hovering in the doorway, but Roman could call for me any moment, and I won’t be doing myself any favors standing in here staring at the wall of an empty office.

  “I meant what I said—no, actually a little more than what I said.” Roman adjusts the cuffs of his shirt sleeves. I wish he was the one I was set to work with instead of his younger brother. I know his type. Sloppy. Exuberant. Out. Of. Control. It took a single glance at his clothes to arrive at that assessment of him, and still—still. My heart beats hard, like I’m looking at someone extraordinary. “We need good press, and we need it now. So she’ll be arranging the events for the next two weeks.”

  “All press is good press,” Beau remarks with a casual shrug. “I’m not sure it’s in your best interests to fire me when all that happened was something to create a little buzz.”

  “We’ve been over this.” Roman looks like he’s losing patience. “It wasn’t a little buzz, and you know that. Unless you’re too drunk to know that, in which case you should go sleep it off.”

  “I’m completely sober, but thanks for the offer. I’d rather nap than—”

  “When you wake up, you can get started with Claire.”

  Oh, no. No, no, no. This is not what I signed up for.

  I happened to be checking email late last night when Roman’s first message came in. It was about event planning, not babysitting, and this latest announcement sends an anxious twist flaring my gut. It’s my job to plan flawless events. Anything this man touches will be undeniably, irrevocably flawed.

  “Get started with what?” Beau laughs. “I’ve been handling the events here since the day I graduated college. I don’t need a second-in-command.”

  “She’s not a second-in-command. If anything, you are now co-directors.” Roman narrows his eyes. “For the next two weeks, you two are attached at the hip.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “You don’t know what you need, Beau.” Everyone in the bullpen has been valiantly trying to work through this interlude, but a quick hush falls at Roman’s outburst. He steps closer to his brother, who slips his hands in his pockets, his posture as casual as if he was standing on the beach holding a drink in his hand. It’s not the attitude of someone who’s been taken down several pegs. Stand up straight, I want to hiss at him. Have some decorum. “I don’t know what’s been going on with you. But you’re off the rails, and it’s starting to affect the resort.”

  Beau looks at Roman like he might laugh, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from saying something. Brothers or not, Roman is in charge of the Bliss Resort, and Beau—I didn’t know it was possible to stand so insolently.

  I also didn’t know that it was possible to look quite so....attractive while being insolent. There’s something about the way Beau’s untucked button-down glides over his hips that has me hotly curious about what I’d find if I unbuttoned the shirt, but that’s—that’s not appropriate. I look away and shove that assessment deep down where no one will ever find it, least of all me.

  “If this is about Jenny, I’ll apologize.” A half-smile slides across Beau’s face, and once again I’m forced to ignore a strange and unwelcome heat pooling low in my belly. “I’m sure she wasn’t happy to have
you pulled away in the middle of the night, and I swear, I’ll run the social media posts by her in the future. Okay? We don’t have to go this far.”

  Roman cracks a grin. “Let’s meet in the middle.”

  Beau’s shoulders tense, but he only shakes his head. “Nobody wants that.”

  “Everybody wants that. Trust me on this one, Beau.” The noise drops back in then—people at their desks, talking to one another. A phone ringing. I feel like I’ve been released from prison. This whole episode is so outside the bounds of propriety. My mom would have a fit if she saw two brothers brawling it out in the middle of their workplace. Roman straightens up, becoming another impossible inch taller. “I have to go, or I’ll be late for the meeting to smooth over your fuck-up.”

  “I won’t hold you up any longer.” Beau delivers a little bow. “We can continue this later, your grace.”

  “Ha. If you’re coordinated enough to do that, then you can meet with Claire about the first event. You’ll be there, of course, lending your presence to the evening and making sure that nothing goes wrong.”

  “Will I?”

  Roman turns around, his back now to us, and walks through the rows of desks at an even pace. “If you want to keep your job, you will,” he calls over his shoulder.

  Beau watches him go, hands still in his pockets, the long lines of his body still relaxed. I don’t know how he does it. Part of me desperately wants to know. The other part wants to clear my throat to remind him that he is in an office, not barefoot in the sand.

  Roman Bliss is completely out of sight by the time Beau turns to face me, that careless smile still draped across his face. Does he care about anything? Judging by the conversation of the last several minutes, probably not.