“I’m sitting down.” He goes over to the closest lounge chair and sinks into it gratefully, head tilted backward into the sun. “Anyway,” he calls across to me. “She came highly recommended by—”

“Shut it.” I’m standing by his chair in a matter of seconds. “Don’t shout business details across the pool.”

He cracks one eye open and looks at me. “There’s nobody here.”

“Just don’t do it.”

“Can you sit down? It’s weird to talk when you’re hovering over me like this.”

“Fine.” I take the chair next to him. “Now’s a good time to explain to me exactly what you’ve done and why you did it before I drown you in the pool with my own two hands.”

“Such threats,” Beau says, then takes another sip of his drink. He doesn’t speak until he’s leaned back against the padded surface of the lounge chair and closed his eyes. “She had a great reference from her previous employer.”

Now I wish I had my own drink. “This person was so good that their previous employer found it more beneficial to let her go? That doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence.”

“It’s not like that. She’s freelancing.” Beau raises his free hand and runs it through his hair. When he’s done, it seems to have made no difference at all. “It’s perfect, actually. We need someone who’s available quickly because I can’t listen to you bitch and moan about this for another day of my life.”

“I mentioned it at one dinner—”

“—and we need someone who knows the area.”

“Knows the area?” Jerry comes around to the side of the pool where we’re stationed. I don’t care what he hears—he’s been here at least ten years. But I am genuinely confused about why Beau thinks this. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Beau waves a hand above himself, indicating the space all around us. “The resort is in the area. We can’t just sell the resort amenities. We need to sell...you know, the area.”

“I’m not interested in selling Ruby Bay.”

My brother sits up and looks at me. “For the guy who’s supposed to be in charge of everything, you’re being really stupid.”

“I’m not the one drinking a foot-long mimosa at nine a.m.”

He scoffs. “When else would you drink a foot-long mimosa?” He looks so indignant that I have to laugh. “Seriously. You’re being a dumbass. Dad was all over the city council, planning social engagements that the resort could be part of.”

“That’s not what he was doing. He took meetings with city council whenever...” My own sentence runs out of steam.

“There it is,” Beau says.

“Shut your mouth.”

He shrugs. “If that’s what you want, my liege.”