Hard Dive

by Megyn Ward

  Hard Dive

  Paradise Lost: Book 2

  maegan beaumont

  Shanen Black

  Ardor Press

  Contents

  1. Kylie

  2. Zach

  3. Kylie

  4. Zach

  5. Kylie

  6. Kylie

  7. Zach

  8. Zach

  9. Zach

  10. Kylie

  11. Zach

  12. Kiley

  13. Zach

  14. Kylie

  15. Kylie

  16. Zach

  17. Kylie

  18. Zach

  19. Zach

  20. Zach

  21. Kylie

  22. Kylie

  23. Kylie

  24. Kylie

  25. Kylie

  26. Zach

  27. Kylie

  28. Kylie

  29. Zach

  30. Zach

  31. Kylie

  32. Zach

  33. Zach

  34. Kylie

  35. Zach

  36. Kylie

  37. Zach

  38. Kylie

  39. Zach

  40. Zach

  41. Kylie

  42. Zach

  43. Kylie

  44. Zach

  45. Tobias

  46. Silver

  47. Tobias

  48. Silver

  One

  Kylie

  My high hopes for the evening take a spiraling dive as Trevor From Boston knocks back another margarita. If I didn’t remember the blast furnace of puke raking my throat and the cluster bomb headache from last week’s tequila overindulgence, I’d pour more down my own throat just to shut Trevor out of my mind.

  Diana, all exotic latte-colored skin, bats deep, mysterious eyes at Don Something III. I barely register his first name and that he is the third in line from some shipping mogul. He interests me even less than Trevor From Boston.

  Trevor leans on the coffee table and pushes himself to stand. He slaps Don on the shoulder. “I gotta water the palms and you need to get us another round.”

  Don bends close to Diana, a hand on her smooth thigh. He seems at least as drunk as Trevor, and he blinks as if replaying the syllables to see if they make sense.

  Trevor takes a wad of Don’s t-shirt and yanks, dragging Don to his feet. His words slur “Le’s keep the party alive.”

  They wander off across the lobby of the resort. A high ceiling cavern lined with lazy spinning fans covers the colorful tile of the expansive space open to the tropical night breeze. A reception desk tucked against the far wall and a collection of potted palms and colorful hibiscus shelter the entrance to the five-star restaurant we’ve just exited. Now we sprawl on rattan furniture next to a trickling fountain filled with koi. Trevor From Boston and Don the Third want another cocktail before deciding on our next party spot.

  “Maybe they’ll get lost,” I say, checking the time on my phone before tucking it back into my purse. It’s a recent splurge. Not one I can afford or really even need but I bought it and signed up for a plan as a sort of affirmation. My life is going to change.

  Soon and for the better.

  I feel bad for complaining. I hadn’t wanted to join Diana on the fiasco. She’d begged me. She’d met Don the Third on Seven Mile Beach, where she often spends her days off trolling for rich guys in the Caymans on vacation.

  She’d charmed him, which isn’t hard with her high, firm tits and rock-hard ass. She knows how to use her assets. Maybe too much, since she spent them a lot but hadn’t any returns on investment, yet. Her failures don’t stop her from playing the market with Don.

  But since he’d brought his college roommate with him, Don wanted to keep him occupied so he’d asked Diana to bring a friend along. In a moment of weakness—and hunger, since we had no groceries in the house and wouldn’t get paid for two more days—I agreed. I now regret letting my growling stomach make my dating decisions.

  Be nice for Diana’s sake.

  Diana watches them with a smile, then spins back to me with a frown. “Don’t ruin this for me, Kylie.”

  I sip my watered-down rum punch. “What do you see in that loser?”

  She picks up her sangria. “A cool few million and a life where I don’t have to schlep drinks to tourists and assholes with more money than me.”

  She has a point. Still…. “There has to be a better way to make your fortune.”

  She pulls lip gloss from her bag, slides it across her lush lips, and drops it back in her bag. “Says the genius with an accounting degree who is also working at a bar on the beach.”

  Ouch. What’s keeping you from moving forward? Don’t even think it has something to do with Zach.

  I don’t plan on being broke forever. “It’s temporary. I’m heading back to the states to make my fortune soon.”

  She smooths her hair, though it already showcases her flawless face. “I hate to tell you that a bookkeeper is never going to afford the kind of dinner we just ate and the cover charges for the clubs we’re going to later.”

  “Not a bookkeeper. An investment goddess. I need to get my CPA certificate and I’m on my way. Just watch me.”

  Watch me leave the island and sever any connection I might have with Zach.

  There is no connection.

  He hasn’t called.

  He doesn’t want you.

  She sits back and eyes me critically. “Honey. It’s taken Don’s family three generations to pile up his money. No way you can do it in a few years of nose to a computer under artificial lights for seventy hours a week.”

  A pang of sadness grabs hold at the thought of locking myself in an office and only diving during vacations. I won’t even have vacations until I establish myself. I’m not afraid of hard work and eventually, I’ll get to where I’ll be able to afford weeks at the best dive locations.

  But in the meantime, I have to dedicate myself to making bank. I have something to prove to Mom, to Jonas-fucking-Knightly, but mostly to myself.

  And Zach. Prove I don’t need him for my happiness.

  My plan needs a jumpstart from Jonas Knightly and that wouldn’t have made Mom happy.

  But Mom is gone and I’m alone. Why throw away what is rightfully mine?

  Diana rummages in her bag and pulls out the lip gloss and hands it to me. “This is much easier.”

  I don’t take the gloss. “But…Don?”

  Trevor’s loud voice echoes on the tile of the resort lobby. “I wanna go swimming.”

  Don dogs him, baggie shorts and flipflops, shaved head and goatee. “That’s what got us kicked out of the Rio last year. Man, let’s just go drink.”

  Diana cringes before brightening and pasting on a smile. “He’s fun. Likes to have a good time, is really sweet when he’s not drunk.”

  I wonder how often that is. Trevor stumbles across the lobby, still arguing his case about how swimming will sober him up. As bleary as his eyes are, I could make a quick getaway. The lobby opens to the pool and beyond that, the lapping ocean of Seven Mile Beach. An hour’s walk in the sand, watching the ocean foam glow in the moonlight, will get me to The Green Frog, where I can probably pick up a few hours of waitressing before closing. Earn fifty bucks in tips if it’s crowded.

  My feet itch to take off. The boys get closer. My window of opportunity starts to inch closed. I bend over and slip the strap of my sandals off my heels in preparation for my getaway. Then glance up at Diana.

  Her eyes plead with me.

  “Come on, Di. This guy’s a loser. You’re better than this.”

  Her big dark eyes fill. “You are. But this, this is the best I’ll ever get.”

  And then the window slams shut. Trevor falls beside me on the co
uch and plops his head in my lap. I yelp, but a ruckus in front of the resort creates noise and confusion and no one hears me. I feel like a giant cockroach landed in my lap and I want to brush it off, leap up and run.

  I look over at Diana, knowing she’d understand. Don stands behind her, his doughy hands resting on her shoulders. He bends over and whispers something to her. She catches my eye and her mouth forms one word. “Please.”

  For fuck’s sake. I’m stuck.

  A clatter and burst of voices by the front of the resort draws our attention. All, that is, except Trevor From Boston, who is snoring in my lap.

  When I spot the bearded man in scruffy jeans and t-shirt, walking backward with a camera the size of a small goat propped on his shoulder, I start to shake Trevor’s head. “Hey. Asshole. Wake up.”

  Diana’s future happiness or not, I have to get out of here. Now.

  More noise and confusion at the entrance as an advance team of a young woman with a bowl of black hair and round glasses, wearing shorts and wrinkled golf shirt walks in with an iPad cradled in the crook of her arm. She’s with a hulking shiny-skulled man whose previous job has obviously been a bouncer. He quietly escorts, and in one case shoves anyone in the large lobby back to the sides.

  Trevor doesn’t wake up, in fact, he lets out a deep snore. Diana strains to see around Don. I try to wriggle out from under Trevor’s head that now feels like it weighs eighty tons. All I succeed in doing is hiking my dress nearly up to my crotch.

  I’ve got to escape.

  I hear her first. Of course, the whole world hears her first, last, always. That petulant wailing voice like aluminum foil on a filling. “You called ahead, right? Because if they don’t have those scallops I like, then we’re not staying.”

  Diana twists toward me. “Oh my god. It’s her!”

  Christ. I’m pinned on the couch and she trounces into the lobby. She wears gold stilettos and the shortest, tightest black dress that looks like someone wound electrician’s tape around her thin frame. Her long, blonde hair—that can only be described as flowing tresses—sways as she makes her way into the lobby. She is my worst nightmare.

  Followed by my most perfect dream.

  Two

  Zach

  “Zach. Are you paying attention to me? I asked you a question.” Liesa’s voice is like a dentist’s drill into my head.

  You got yourself into this mess, buddy. No one to blame but you.

  “They promised me you’d be happy,” I mutter. Two shots of tequila haven’t been enough for tonight. Jonas gave me the lecture last week about drinking too much. His threats are enough to curb my habits, but I miss the sedative, especially when Liesa’s mom, via email, demanded we spice it up for this week.

  This drama is getting old. The same fits, the same whining, impossible demands, tears and slamming doors. How can TV viewers stand this shit week after week? I’ve only been in the picture for three months and I want to wind a rope around my neck and tie it to a ski boat.

  Liesa Temple makes a fortune by being the biggest and most spoiled bitch not only on this island, this hemisphere and planet, but possibly in all history since the Big Bang. She is my very public girlfriend. And together, we’re marching Liesa’s Life ratings right up the charts. The gnat in the bourbon on that scenario is that all the money Liesa and I generate funnels away from us.

  A good portion goes to Liesa’s mother, Simone, who taught Liesa everything about manipulating, fit throwing, spending money, and generally making everyone around her miserable. The bulk of the profits settle themselves in the accounts of producer, Jonas Knightly, the man who controls my life.

  If you hadn’t fucked it up, you could be walking on a moonlit beach with Kylie, not stuck in this shitshow.

  Jeri and Tom, the director and handler, have cleared the path to the restaurant, leaving enough stragglers to make it seem like the resort is occupied.

  Jeri’s straight black hair chopped at the base of her skull with a fringe of bangs, has all the style of a three-year-old playing with scissors. She stands about five feet, two, but manages to direct everyone around her. If anyone is bossier than Liesa and Simone, it would Jeri, with her ever-present iPad. She rules our world. Tom, her assistant and henchman, does her bidding. Add to that Bob, the cameraman and Lurch, the 6’5 guy with the boom mic, and they really are an Axis of Evil.

  A few people sit in the rattan arrangements and I…

  My breath leaves me in a whoosh, kicking my heart against my chest. My skin heats, then freezes and I can’t tear my eyes away. An electric buzz fills my head and the only thought in all three pounds of my brain is Kylie. Kylie. Kylie.

  She looks shocked, but I swear a smile spreads across her face before it disappears and she narrows her eyes.

  Her blonde hair spills over bare shoulders kissed by the tropical sun and glowing under the low lights of the lobby. From this far away, I shouldn’t be able to see her eyes but I know their sky blue depths, the dark lashes. My tongue tastes the salt of her skin, my fingers feel the silk of her thighs, and I smell the sun and ocean in the warmth of her neck. My brain is flooded with the memory of her sweet, lemony scent.

  Jeri holds her hand behind the head of Bob, the cameraman. She waves it frantically and points to Liesa, who makes her way across the lobby. I blink and swallow, trying to ground myself.

  But Kylie hasn’t moved. Her roommate and waitress from The Green Frog, I think her name is Diana, swings her head from me to Kylie and back again, her eyes wide and mouth half-opened. Kylie shifts her gaze away as if dismissing me.

  Some guy sprawls across the sofa with his head in her lap.

  What the fuck?

  Her dress has ridden far up her thighs. She glances up at me, then bends over the guy’s head, her hair making a curtain to hide her kiss. My mouth goes dry with rage.

  She’s got a right. You screwed her over.

  It feels as if a knife rips through my ribcage and tears at my heart.

  “Zach!”

  I try to look away, to mask whatever my face might reveal. Too late.

  “What the hell is your—” Liesa stops mid-shriek when she realizes what I see. She glances at me, then back to Kylie. Liesa squares her shoulders.

  There must be noise in the lobby. It’s wide open, tile floor, probably a band on the beach outside, voices, canned music. All I hear, though, is the click, clack, click, clack, of Liesa’s Manolo Blahniks as she crosses the lobby.

  The cameraman scurries to position himself to Liesa’s left side. She’s so adept at ignoring the camera, as if she didn’t realize it is with her almost all the time. I get caught glancing at it every now and then, which makes Jeri lose her shit.

  Diana and the bozo standing behind her gape as Liesa clack, clacks to stop in front of Kylie. No way Kylie doesn’t know Liesa is there, but she doesn’t look up.

  Liesa folds her arms and taps her toe and when that doesn’t get Kylie’s attention, she raises her voice to ear-shattering level. “Kylie! I haven’t seen you in ages? Are you still waitressing?”

  Kylie whips her head up, sending her hair out of her face. She plants a hand on the dead guy’s head and shoves it off her lap.

  At least he’s not touching her anymore.

  He slumps over the side of the sofa and she extricates herself. With a last ditch effort at dignity, she straightens the dress that had crept high enough to reveal a bit of lace at her thigh.

  Stop looking at her like she just ripped your heart out.

  Like you want to kiss the place on her throat where her heart beats.

  Stop thinking about Kylie like she’s your very breath.

  “Liesa.” Kylie takes a moment to nod at Bob and Lurch. Her eyes flick to me and her lip curls up. “I see you’ve brought all your friends out tonight.”

  Liesa’s usual claws don’t come out, which is weird because normally, she’d be ready to shred flesh. “You’ve made some new ones since I saw you last.” She taps the guy’s foot with the toe her
Blahniks.

  Kylie’s eyes flick to me. She hates me. She should. And yet, there’s something else in her expression.

  Don’t hope.

  Don’t go there.

  She deserves better.

  You can’t bring anything good into her life.

  Liesa is cucumber cool. “I don’t think you’ve met my boyfriend, Zach Lowery.”

  I never know Liesa’s game. Is she on my side or are we adversaries? Is she purposely keeping Kylie out of Jeri’s firing line, or is she rubbing Kylie’s nose into the public fact that Liesa and are a pair? Either way, hearing her say it out loud makes me want to hurl.

  Kylie. I’m so sorry. So. Sorry.

  I stride over to Liesa and thread my arm around her shoulder. “We’d better get going. Our table should be ready.”

  Liesa pulls back and flicks her chin toward Kylie. “Zack, this is my friend, Kylie Sawyers.” She’s trying for super casual, but there’s tension along her jawline.

  “Hi.” I don’t look Kylie in the eye. How can I and not show her everything I feel? The guilt. The pain. The desire so strong I can’t sleep at night. The erection I get whenever I think about her, about those few times we’d made love. And I think about her every day. “Nice to meet you.” I pull Liesa away. “We really need to go or they might give your scallops to someone else.”

  She spins out from under my arm and flounces toward the restaurant, the cameraman backing up and racing behind the sofa where Diana and her soft frat boy still watch with amazed expressions. Liesa raises her nose in superiority. “They’d better not. You promised me they would make them with a touch of garlic, just the way I like them.”