Page 1 of Blame It on the Bikini (Ocean Shores #4)

Chapter One

Grayson Holt's jaw tightened in frustration as his father's voice crackled through the car speaker.

"It's just one month, Gray. Four weeks. That's all I'm asking," Emerson Holt said.

"Four weeks is a ridiculous waste of time," he replied, navigating his Audi along the Pacific Coast Highway, the ocean stretching endlessly to his right.

The GPS indicated he was five minutes from Oceanside—five minutes from an obligation he'd been trying to avoid for months.

But he'd run out of time and options. "The financial analysis is crystal clear.

This building is an underperforming asset we should have divested years ago, Dad. You know that."

"What I know is that there's more to Ocean Shores than numbers on a spreadsheet."

"Actually, there isn't." Grayson fought to keep his voice level despite his rising anger. "The property values in this area have skyrocketed. We're sitting on prime beachfront real estate that's generating a fraction of its potential return. We could sell it tomorrow and make a substantial profit."

His father's sigh was heavy with disappointment. "You're thirty-three years old, Grayson, and you still think everything can be reduced to profit margins."

"That's literally the point of our business." He glanced in the rearview mirror before changing lanes. "Holt Enterprises isn't a charity. We acquire properties, optimize their value, and sell when the market conditions are favorable. You know this."

"And yet I've held onto Ocean Shores for thirty-five years."

"Which has never made sense to me."

A moment of silence followed, and Grayson could picture his father in his expansive corner office in downtown Los Angeles, staring out at the skyline, gathering his thoughts.

"That's why you need to stay there," Emerson finally said. "You need to understand why some investments are worth more than their market value."

"I don't have time for this. I have quarterly projections due next week, the Singapore acquisition is at a critical stage, and the board meeting?—"

"The company won't collapse without you for a month. Our team is more than capable."

"But—"

"This isn't negotiable, Gray." His father's voice took on the steely edge that had intimidated countless business associates over the decades.

"You want my approval to sell Ocean Shores?

Fine. But I'm not signing off until you've lived there for one month.

Helen has set everything up for you. Your apartment has been furnished, and the refrigerator and cupboards stocked with essentials. You'll have everything you need."

"That's not the point."

"The point," his father said firmly, "is that you need to experience Ocean Shores for yourself. Meet the residents. See what we'd be taking from them if we sell."

"We'd be giving them a generous relocation package."

"Money isn't everything, son."

Grayson nearly laughed at the irony of those words coming from Emerson Holt, a man whose singular focus on wealth acquisition had built a billion-dollar real-estate empire. "That's rich, coming from you."

"Perhaps I've learned a few things over the years. Things I'd like to spare you from learning the hard way."

An uncomfortable knot settled in his stomach. His dad's words were more emotionally weighted than most of their conversations, and he didn't know what to make of them.

"One month at the beach," his father continued. "Not the roughest assignment you've ever been given. You might enjoy yourself."

"One month. The second it's over, we're listing the property."

"We'll see."

The call ended, and Grayson continued down the highway for another few miles, his mind far away from the endless blue sea. He had so many more things he'd rather be doing than this, but it was four weeks. He just had to get through it, and then he would never have to think about Ocean Shores again.

A few moments later, he pulled into the parking lot behind the two-story building and turned off the engine.

He sat for a moment, staring at the structure in front of him.

He'd made a brief visit here in September, seven months ago, and doubted much had changed.

The sign at the parking lot entrance looked freshly painted, and the newly landscaped hedges and flower beds added to the neat appearance, but there was no denying the eighteen-unit apartment building had been built fifty years ago and was showing its age.

He grabbed his leather briefcase from the passenger seat and got out of the car, immediately assaulted by the pungent scent of salt air and the distant rhythm of waves.

It was a warm, sunny Friday evening with the temperature still in the low eighties.

He decided to leave his bags in the car until he located his apartment. Then he'd get settled in.

As he made his way toward the entrance, he started sweating.

He was definitely overdressed in his suit and tie, his Italian loafers crunching on the gravel as he approached the building.

The courtyard entrance was unassuming—a simple gate with a small plaque bearing the Ocean Shores name.

Grayson pushed it open and stepped into what felt like another world.

The interior courtyard was alive with activity.

A sparkling pool occupied the center of the space, surrounded by residents lounging on chairs.

Laughter drifted from a group gathered around a barbecue area, where a man was flipping burgers while telling an animated story.

At another table, two women were engaged in what appeared to be an intense card game, slapping down cards with dramatic flair.

Potted plants and string lights created an atmosphere of casual charm.

The building formed a rectangular shape, with all doors facing the courtyard, creating an odd sense of intimacy.

The coming and going of every resident would be visible to anyone in the common area, and that lack of privacy was not appealing to him, but no one in the courtyard appeared irritated; they looked happy.

As his gaze swept the area, he found some of the faces to be familiar from his brief visit months ago, although he couldn't remember many of their names.

Then he saw her , the beautiful and irritating Lexie Price, the manager's niece, the woman determined to convince him he shouldn't sell the building. She was the one person he hadn't forgotten.

As she emerged from the pool, her dark hair was slicked back from her face, highlighting her striking features—high cheekbones, full lips, and brown eyes that had challenged him the moment they'd met.

But it was the hot pink bikini that temporarily short-circuited his thought process, revealing stunning curves he hadn't fully appreciated during their previous encounter.

He quickly looked down at his phone as it vibrated with a message, grateful for the distraction. But the business text couldn't prevent him from looking up again, looking for her…

Unfortunately, his view was blocked by a colorful beach ball hurtling directly at his face. He jerked back, but he was too late. The ball connected with his forehead, throwing him off-balance. His arms windmilled as he teetered on the pool's edge.

For one suspended moment, he thought he might regain his balance. Then gravity won, and he plunged into the water with a splash.

The shock of cold water enveloped him as he sank, his expensive suit immediately waterlogged.

He surfaced, gasping and sputtering, to find the entire courtyard had fallen silent, all eyes fixed on him.

Before he could haul himself out, he saw Lexie standing at the pool's edge, a mixture of surprise and amusement playing across her face.

"Well," she said, extending a hand to him, "you certainly arrived with a splash."

Nervous laughter rippled through the gathered residents. Grayson ignored her outstretched hand and pulled himself out of the pool, water cascading from his ruined suit.

"I'm so sorry!" A young boy ran up to him with a worried expression on his face. "I didn't mean to hit you."

"It's fine," Grayson managed, noting that the boy couldn't have been more than six or seven.

"I told you to be careful, Henry," a woman said, putting her arm around the boy's shoulders. Then she gave him a wary look. "I'm Paige Kendry, Henry's mother. "If you need to have that suit dry-cleaned or maybe get a new one, I can pay for it."

"Don't worry about it," he muttered, suddenly realizing he'd lost his phone. As he turned his head, he saw it at the bottom of the pool. "Damn. My phone."

"I'll get it," Lexie said, immediately going back into the pool to retrieve his phone.

He frowned as she came back to the surface and moved up the steps to hand it to him. His phone was definitely not designed for submersion in a swimming pool. "This is done."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'm going to find my apartment."

"You're in 11B, at the top of the stairs in the corner," she added, tipping her head to the right. "You have keys, right? We sent them to someone named Helen."

"I have them." He picked up his briefcase, which he'd thankfully managed to drop on the ground before landing in the pool, and made his way toward the stairs, very aware of the attention he was drawing.

He was dripping wet, and his shoes squelched with every step, offering a wonderfully humiliating soundtrack to his arrival.

When he got upstairs, he was happy to put the key in the door and step into his apartment, away from those far-too-interested eyes.

The apartment was modern in décor, with designer touches added to the gray couch and matching chairs, the glass coffee table, and the cabinet containing the television. A white dining room table with four chairs sat adjacent to the kitchen, which gleamed with shiny stainless-steel appliances.

Before he could make his way into the bedroom, a knock sounded at his door.