Читать книгу Take It Down - Kira Sinclair - Страница 7

“WHY THE HELL ARE THESE people in my bedroom?”

Zane Edwards leaned back into a dark corner—the only spot in the place that wasn’t buzzing with activity—and prepared for an excellent show. Between the photographer shouting instructions, his assistants moving furniture, light stands and anything else that got in their way, and Marcy constantly flipping through a clipboard of papers she hugged to her chest like a lifeline, the normally large space suddenly felt pretty small.

And Simon Reeves, his boss and longtime friend, was about to make it smaller.

Even from his melt-into-the-background location, Zane could see Marcy, the resort’s manager, grind her teeth. Her skin paled before flushing an angry pink. Oh, goody, the fireworks were about to start. Up until now, his day had been pretty damn boring.

Marcy had asked him to shadow the production team there to take marketing and publicity photographs. Not exciting, although not much about his job as head of security for Escape, an adults-only Caribbean resort on Île du Coeur—an island just off the coast of St. Lucia—was.

He knew how important this shoot was to Marcy, though, so he’d do his part. She needed these photographs for a magazine ad campaign, and the deadline was fast approaching. They’d intended to feature a couple, but the pair they’d had an agreement with backed out at the last minute—after the photographs had already been taken.

The couple, Colt and Lena, had paid for the photographs and compensated the resort for the cost of production, so Escape wasn’t out any money. But they’d definitely lost time. Marcy’d had to regroup and brainstorm an entirely new concept, since she didn’t have time to hire more talent.

Apparently, Simon had forgotten he’d given Marcy permission to shoot in his private space. Not unusual when the man had his nose buried in that computer—which was always.

With a cutting tone of voice that reminded Zane of his high school calculus teacher, Marcy said, “This marketing campaign is going to bring us the kind of exposure that draws guests, Simon.”

“We don’t need more guests,” was Simon’s rather predictable response. It was entirely possible that Zane was the only person on the island who understood why the man had no desire to fill the resort to the rafters.

Fewer guests meant fewer disruptions, giving Simon the space and time he needed to write. Simon had his reasons for keeping his career as an author a secret—even from Marcy. Betrayal by someone you trusted could make you rather…reluctant to let people in. And Simon had definitely been betrayed. Courtney, his ex-girlfriend, had really done a number on him, stealing his work and passing it off as her own.

The only reason Zane knew the truth was because he and Simon had been friends since their fraternity days. They might have gone their separate ways after college, but they’d always had each other’s backs. When Zane’s life had imploded, Simon had been the first to offer him somewhere to stay, and when Zane had refused the handout, Simon had given him a job. Hence his position at Simon’s resort.

Not everyone knew Simon had bought Île du Coeur not as a business investment but as a secluded place to come and lick his wounds. Apparently, the island was good for that. Marcy didn’t know the truth, so she didn’t understand. All she saw was a man who’d bought a resort and then didn’t give a damn about actually making it run. Which was actually far from the truth. Zane knew Simon needed the place to support itself. The man had some money, but the upkeep for Escape was unbelievable and he needed to cover operating expenses.

“We have empty rooms, Simon. We need more guests. Especially during the off season.”

Simon leaned languidly against the door frame, completely uncaring that every person in the room had stopped moving to turn and stare. “I like the off season just fine. I enjoy the peace and quiet.”

Zane figured he had exactly thirty seconds to step in or Marcy was going to lose it. Her blue eyes flashed a warning that Zane knew Simon would ignore. A smile played at the corners of Simon’s lips, almost as if he were looking forward to the fallout of whatever was going to come next.

And if there hadn’t been an audience, Zane might have slipped quietly out of the room and let it happen. The two of them had been striking enough sparks off each other lately to light the bonfire they held on the beach. But they weren’t alone, so …

On silent feet, Zane moved between Marcy’s glaring gaze and Simon’s impish grin and said quietly, “Not the time or place, guys,” tipping his head to the spectators.

Simon looked over Marcy’s shoulder at the people staring, and his lips tightened into a straight line. Oh, that was worse. Marcy pissed he could handle. Simon angry was unusual and therefore infinitely more volatile. Even though Zane was an ex-CIA agent trained in fifty ways to kill with household objects, he tried to avoid Simon when the man’s temper flared.

Simon’s eyes narrowed as he looked around Zane to Marcy. “I don’t want strangers in my space. I need to work.”

Marcy snorted. Probably not the smartest thing she’d ever done. Zane widened his stance and braced for the consequences.

“Well, you’re going to have to wait. The marketing director for the campaign specifically asked to photograph your private rooms, Simon. And you agreed.”

“I did?”

“Yes. You’re on the highest floor, with the best view. From this vantage point, we can show a luxurious room with the jungle behind surrounded by deep blue water.”

It was uncomfortable, being at the center of their angry standoff. They stared at each other, through him, but Zane figured this way at least he wouldn’t have to witness a murder.

“You’re not going to go away until I let them do this, are you?” Simon finally asked.

“Nope,” Marcy responded.

“Fine,” Simon said, whirling around on his heels and heading for the door. “But I start throwing people out the window if you’re not done in an hour.”

Most people might think Simon was kidding. It was hard to take a man who dressed like a surfer seriously. But Zane knew firsthand that surf-god exterior hid a spine of steel and a drive to succeed. Hell, even he forgot sometimes. It was easy when Simon smiled that crooked grin.

With a huff, Marcy prowled over to his former corner and stood there, glaring at the production crew. They quickly found something to do and somewhere else to look.

Crossing his arms and returning to the piece of wall he’d been holding up, Zane didn’t look at her, either, when he asked, “Want to talk about it?”

“Some days I want to kill him,” she grumbled.

“I know.”

“How do you stand him? How can you still be his friend after all these years?”

“Because he’d give me the shirt off his back if I needed it. Practically did. He’s loyal to the people he cares about, Marcy. Trust me when I say you don’t know the whole story.”

She shot him a pointed look. “No one will tell me.”

Zane raised his hands in an unarmed gesture. “Not my story to tell.”

“He just…drives me insane. He knows how important this photo shoot is. And he knows what I went through to get this set up in time. If Colt and Lena were here, I might be tempted to wring their necks.…”

“You know that’s not true.” Zane bumped her hip with his own, hoping to jar a smile from her. “You liked those two. And you could have refused to sell the photographs back to Colt. But you didn’t. Admit it, you have a romantic soft spot beneath that drill-sergeant exterior.”

The ghost of a smile played at the edges of her lips. “If you breathe a word of that to Simon, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m shaking in my shoes.”