Page 29 of Maneater (The Mavens #1)

NINETEEN

ROWAN

Because I’m a complete and total idiot, I don’t take Josie to one of the six restaurants that are probably full of guests having brunch.

Instead, I call Sutton and ask her to arrange a private meal at one of the beach cabanas.

I tell myself it’s what she deserves, considering she got injured on my watch, and if I weren’t being such a judgmental ass, she probably would have continued to talk my ear off instead of moving up front with Jeff.

Deep down, though, I know that’s not the truth.

Otherwise, why would I endure what I know is sure to be a near-painful interrogation from my assistant the next chance she gets?

Between a private breakfast and the expensive bottle of whiskey I had Sutton help me send to her room, I know she has questions.

To be honest, I don’t think I have the answers.

Whether I like it or not, I’m intrigued by Josie.

Not just because she’s gorgeous and funny and confusing in a way no woman has ever been, but because she’s hiding something, and I’m not the kind of man to let that kind of thing go.

Not when she showed up at my resort right after a catastrophe and seems to be finding herself in the vicinity of every single sabotage since.

“Do you do this a lot?” Josie asks after we’re served giant platters of fresh fruit, waffles, and bacon laid out on the table before us. She holds an iced coffee in her hand, using the straw to stir it to her liking before taking a long sip.

“Do what?” I ask, pretending like I don’t know, as well as that I haven’t been watching her mouth the entire time.

“Fancy private breakfasts? Taking advantage of the benefits of this place? You don’t seem the type.” I shrug, then give her a half lie.

“I don’t know. Not a ton, but not never.

” Because the only time I’ve done something even close to this was to wine and dine a high-profile client or a potential investor.

Not as an apology to a woman I can’t stop thinking about, despite my best efforts.

She had reached out then, grazing along the spot where the sleeves of my tee end and pushing it up, revealing more of the tattoos on my arm.

“These are hot,” she says with a smile, taking each one in. “What made you get them? And get them here?”

I’m having a hard time focusing as her fingers lightly dance over my heated skin, but I clear my throat and answer all the same.

“Peer pressure,” I say, and when she lets out a joy-filled laugh that warms my core, I can’t help but expand, wanting to hear that noise again.

“That one was my first, an impulse decision in undergrad.” Her fingers trace over a horseshoe in a traditional style that I got as a lucky charm kind of reference.

“And these?” Her fingers move along the others: a swallow, a nautical star, 777, and a set of dice. I’m hoping she doesn’t look at the inside of my arm where the passcode to my phone is in old script. I don’t need her asking what it means.

To be honest, I’m still not sure why I got that one.

“After the first one, I won this huge scholarship, and I decided it was a sign. Every time after something big happened, I got another tattoo.”

She smiles at them then and pulls her hand back. “But not too far down that you couldn’t hide them.”

I shrug. “You nailed that part of your profile,” I say.

She lets out a little hum, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as a warm breeze licks over our skin. “I haven’t been out on the beach yet, but it’s nice. I also love how you have to leave your phones behind when entering shared spaces. Makes for more mindfulness.”

“That’s the hope,” I say. I don’t tell her that that’s a relatively new policy, that the “no phones in shared spaces” rule was added to prevent unapproved leaks, or how my own phone is right beside me, the ringer on loud just in case yet another emergency arises.

Suddenly, though, I’m wondering—when was the last time I turned it off?

Even more, when was the last time I intentionally didn’t work?

The revelation that I can’t actually identify it hits me in full force, and for the first time, I wonder if Annette’s constant musing that I need to take some time for myself actually is founded in some truth.

“You seem stressed,” she says with a laugh, and I realize I was lost in my own thoughts, staring out at the blue ocean rolling in while contemplating my life.

I shake my head and sigh, trying to focus.

My focus doesn’t improve when my eyes shift to the gorgeous brunette next to me, grabbing a strawberry by the stem and biting into it.

“Sorry. I’m a shit companion. I’ve got a lot going on, with the mess that’s going on at the resort.

Even here, I can’t help but let it weigh on me. ”

On its own track, my mind moves to things that could be done in this private cabana that would relieve stress adequately before I force myself to wipe it clean. A boner in a cabana with a guest would absolutely not help any of my current issues.

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks. “Why?”

I turn to face her, not understanding the question, only to see she’s not even looking at me.

“Why?”

“Why are you under a lot of pressure?” She sits back in the chair, as if she doesn’t have a single care in the world, and stares out at the ocean. Her dark hair is out of its hair tie and draped over one shoulder, her long throat beckoning my lips, that workout set still hugging every lush curve.

This is probably the most off her flirting game I’ve ever seen her, but somehow, it’s also the most gorgeous, the most tempting. I shake my head to knock the thoughts out of my mind because I have enough going on without adding a woman, much less this woman.

Before I can think of a way to answer, her head turns to me, those wide green eyes opening to lock on me before she speaks again, this time softly and filled with empathy. “What pressure are you under, Rowan?” And then she does something so strange, so soft, it throws me aback.

Her hand lifts, reaching over and grabbing mine, squeezing it tight.

I don’t know if it’s the Florida heat or the fact that I didn’t sleep much at all last night, or the chaotic morning, or the way she’s touching me so gently, or maybe it’s just Josie, getting to me the way she always seems to, but I answer all the same.

A deep sigh leaves my chest, and I close my eyes.

“Something’s going on with this place.” The words are quiet, but her hand tightens around mine, so I know she heard me.

“Small things, stupid things, but they’re getting worse.

First the fire, now this injury on the hiking trail.

” I wait a moment, and then the words keep spilling out, each one easing something in me as I share it, like giving a piece of this burden to Josie is actually easing it.

“It’s my ass on the line if I don’t figure it out.

Some people in the Daydream hierarchy opposed this location.

It’s not fancy enough, not elite enough, but I saw the appeal, and I pushed for it.

And now…” I take a deep breath that doesn’t seem to get deep enough into my lungs before I let it out.

“The fire report said it was arson. Someone started it intentionally. And things are going missing, and tips keep getting leaked, which is a huge fucking privacy concern, of course.” I’m rambling now, but it feels good to finally lay this at someone’s feet, to share all of the shit weighing me down.

“Tips?”

“Celebrities. The fact that they’re here and who they’re with.

This place is supposed to be a place of solitude.

Somewhere, they can come and hide away from the cameras, and someone is spilling that intel to the press.

” I sigh, remembering the call I got late last night from Leo, checking in on what we’re doing to ensure the privacy of his clients.

This sabotage shit won’t even matter if Leo decides our resort is untrustworthy.

He could destroy a business with the quietest whisper if he wanted to.

“So who’s the leak?” she asks, looking at me.

I smile, and it feels genuine, something I’m noticing more and more around her. “If I knew, it wouldn’t be an issue, would it?”

She returns the smile before tipping her head to the side. A gentle wind blows, and a few pieces of hair shift in front of her face. She reaches for a clip on her bag, then raises her hands and twists the hair up until it’s a dark mess on the top of her head.

I force myself not to look at her breasts, at the way they perk up with her arms lifted like that, or the mouthwatering way right below that her waist dips in before flaring to her full hips, a perfect hourglass.

If I had a type, it would be Josie.

But I don’t because having a type leads to relationships, which I have negative time for—not these days.

“Is it just this location?” she asks, and I furrow my brow, confused, mentally stuck on her curves and my own desires.

“What?”

A dark lock slips from its hold, and she tucks it behind her ear. I’m mesmerized by her, watching each movement intensely.

“Is it just this location that the leaks are coming from?”

I hesitate for a moment, then shake my head because Fan Magazine has gotten at least four exclusive stories about events at resorts across our portfolio. I’m never this open about things, but it seems Josie has some kind of innate skill at pulling information from me.

“No. Four others as well.”

She nods like that makes sense.

“So it’s unrelated to whatever is going on around here?”

“Why are you so curious?”

She shrugs nonchalantly, then a playful smile appears across her lips. “I love good gossip. I love eavesdropping. I love tea and mysteries and a good, juicy story.”

For a moment, my mind freezes on her words, words that ring true in my knowledge of her.

It’s something a reporter would say.