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“Are you hiding?” he asks, smiling. He seems friendly and offers me his hand.
Jett turns around instantly.
“I’m not hiding,” I tell him, but it feels wrong, even though I’m being civil and just answering a question. I can somehow sense that Jett doesn’t approve, even though this is normal. “I’m with Mr. Knight,” I say weakly. I don’t know what else to say.
“Hey, Jett,” the guy says, breezily. His blond hair is short at the sides, with longer, curling locks on top. With his tanned skin and green eyes, he wouldn’t look out of place in a boy band.
“Jacques.” Jett’s tone is clipped.
“Good to see you again,” the young man continues. Then, “Hey Brooke.” He squats down and shakes her hand, pretending to act all business like. She giggles.
He stands up and turns to me again. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met.” I shrink back because he’s a little forward for my liking.
Jett answers before I say a word. “She’s Brooke’s nanny for the trip, and she’s looking after her tonight.”
The guy blinks, clearly thrown by Jett’s sharp tone. “Okay. Well, when you’re off duty, there’s a bunch of us hanging out over there. Come over.” He points towards a fire pit further out, near the sea.
Jett looks displeased. “She won’t be. She’s taking care of Brooke. Remember, I just told you that?”
I stand there, heat flushing my cheeks, utterly humiliated. Why does he have to sound all bossy and patronizing?
Jacques frowns, as if Jett has suddenly developed a split personality. Come to think of it, I’m wondering the same thing. He’s turned into a possessive, territorial beast, only I can’t work out what the territory is—is it me, or Brooke?
Jett crouches down to Brooke’s level. “You have fun, okay? I’ll be right over there.” He points at a table nearby then walks away, heading toward a group of men sitting at what I can only describe as a power table—cigars, whiskey tumblers, and too much testosterone.
Jacques hasn’t moved. “I’m sorry about that,” I whisper, not wanting to talk about Jett in front of his daughter. “I don’t know why he said that.”
“He’s known for being grouchy,” Jacques replies. “But, if you do manage to escape, we’ll be over there. I’m Jacques. Welcome.”
“I’m Cari.” We shake hands.
“My parents are hosting this barbecue,” he explains.
“Oh. I didn’t know. I don’t know anyone here.” I look at the sea of strangers around me.
Jacques’ smile is pure American apple pie—sweet and wholesome. “I figure you probably won’t want to talk business, so if you’re in the mood for fun, just come over. Don’t be shy. And,” he leans in and whispers in my ear, “You’re the nanny, right? You’re allowed to have some fun.”
“Thanks.” But there’s no way I’m going against Jett’s orders. He heads back to his friends, and I survey the couples and older people milling around. My heart sinks. This is not going to be a barrel of laughs for me.
Brooke is gazing at a group of girls around her age, and tugs me to go to them. As soon as they see her they fuss over her. A few older women come by and greet Brooke, then ask where Jett is. I might as well be invisible.
After a while, it’s just a few girls and Brooke. I sit alone and watch them play with hula hoops.
The deck is decorated with string lights that cast a warm, golden glow as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. Lush tropical plants surround the edges, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze, creating a private, cozy atmosphere despite the open expanse of ocean before them.
A long wooden table, set with colorful ceramic plates and glass tumblers, holds an impressive spread of food. Platters overflow with freshly grilled seafood—lobster tails, shrimp skewers glazed with honey-lime sauce, and charred mahi-mahi fillets. Bowls of tropical fruit salad glisten, with pineapple, mango, and papaya chunks, next to a crisp green salad tossed with avocados and a zesty citrus vinaigrette. On the grill, thick steaks and marinated chicken thighs hiss as flames lick at their edges. The smoky scent of barbecue sauce, spiced with a hint of island rum, perfumes the air.
Guests gather in clusters, their laughter blending with the soothing sound of the waves lapping against the shore. Some lounge on cushioned rattan chairs with drinks in hand, while others drift toward the pool, where lanterns float like tiny stars on the water’s surface. Brooke skips across the deck, a plate of grilled corn in her hands, her laughter ringing like a bell as she chats with other children.
I linger close by, watching her, and enjoying the breathtaking view. I marvel again that I’m here. Really here, in paradise. I wish Eliana and Bianca could see this. I wish Aunt Scarlett could see this. I wish my mom had lived to see this.
I look around to see where Jett is, and that’s when I see her—the pretty woman from the plane. She’s talking to Jett, laughing at something he’s said, her hand brushing against his arm. She flips her hair, her eyes locked on his in a way that makes my stomach churn.
Of course. It’s always someone else. I remind myself that I’m here for Brooke. I sit up straighter as I remember the promise I made myself on the flight over.
I’m here to have some fun.
A month from now I won’t be working for Jett Knight anymore. I‘m only here to help him because he was stuck. I’m doing the man a favor.