Brothers of Paradise Series

“Skeptical, Rhys?” the first voice asks.

I dare a glance over.

The man who watched me is leaning forward now, hands braced on his knees. I’d wager he’s about thirty.

“You know I am. You’re making it too easy for people.”

Another of the men laughs. “Yes, and god forbid anything be easy. Where did you just return from? The Andes?”

“Yes.” A wild, taunting grin on his face. “You should try hiking sometime.”

“No, thank you. I’ll leave that to the customers.”

The dark-haired man named Rhys gives a snort of disdain. “As if they’d leave a five-star resort.”

“Some do. It’s all part of the experience.”

“The carefully packaged, curated experience, you mean.” He leans back in his chair and turns his gaze back to mine, catching me eavesdropping. Our gazes lock.

Again.

“Can we help you with anything?” His raised voice isn’t friendly, an eyebrow cocked in the same expression as earlier. Like he’s skeptical of the world at large.

Crap.

“No.” I toss my hair back. It’s a vain move, but it’s part of the role I’m playing tonight. “Sorry.”

“Can’t fault the woman for getting bored,” one of his friends points out. He turns drink-glazed eyes on me, sweeping them up and down my form. It’s a perusal I’m used to.

Doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable.

“How long do you have to stand up there, sweetheart?”

I keep from gritting my teeth at his tone, at the epitaph. Acting professional is all I have to do.

“Until the end of the party,” I say, waving a hand over my dress. “Showcasing the upcoming collection.”

Well, that was a mistake.

All four of the men now look down at my minuscule dress, and I don’t think it’s to admire the intricacy of the pattern. Rhys leans back in the sofa, an arm outstretched along the back of it. He doesn’t say a thing, even if he’d been the one to call me out on my staring.

“Are you allowed to drink?” one of his friends asks. “Are you even allowed to talk?”

I give them a polite smile. “There are refreshments for us in the back. They said nothing about talking, but I’m guessing it’s not what they had in mind, no.”

“I don’t know how you do it. I’d be bored after a few minutes.”

“You’re bored with everything after a few minutes,” Rhys drawls at him. “This isn’t an exception.”

Making my expression apologetic, I turn back to the crowd beyond. The sun is setting, and the pool reflects the glorious colors of the sky. Summer in the Hamptons, and all these rich people are enjoying themselves. I still haven’t seen the designer, despite it being his party.

The men’s conversation is hard to tune out, though.

“Harsh to hire models and not let them mingle with the guests. What’s the point of having them here?”

“To look at, of course.” Rhys’s voice again. It’s sardonic-like he hates the practice, or considers it beneath him.

“Hired eye-candy,” another one responds. “Here to tempt us, but not to touch.”

Okay.

Disgusting.

I glance over in time to see Rhys give a dismissive flick of his hand. “They’re just models.”

“Oh?” his friend asks, grinning. “I’m sorry, what was I thinking. They’re obviously nothing that’d ever tempt you.”

“That’s right,” Rhys confirms, ignoring the sarcasm. “After a lifetime of being around beautiful women, I’m immune.”

“Well, I’m not. I like the look of the dark-haired one over there.”

I know without looking that he’s talking about Jordan on the other side of the pool. I grit my teeth and look back out at the crowd.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

Their words shouldn’t bother me. They’re strangers. Rich, asshole strangers, but strangers nonetheless. And yet their comments slide like splinters beneath my skin.

“Ours is better,” the fourth man responds. “Blonde, busty-and look at those legs.”

It takes every ounce of self-control not to turn and glare. I’m standing right here, and they know I can hear them.

Which means they don’t give a damn.

Privilege rises from them in waves, like a too-thick cologne, oozing from the tailored clothing and disdainful voices.

I can’t wait until this party ends and I can return to the real world, my world, filled with cheap coffee, textbooks and gym sessions.

An edge of steel enters Rhys’s voice when he speaks again. “They’re just models. Air-headed and vain, here to do a job and then to leave.”

My head whips around to glare at him. He ignores me, but the surrounding men don’t. The two who’d commented on Jordan and me just laugh at my outrage.

“We have better things to discuss,” Rhys continues. The tone brokers no future deliberation on the topic.

The men fall silent.

Anger curls in my stomach, sharper than before. Who does he think he is, to comment on our purported intelligence while he knows I can overhear?

A movement to my right. I turn my head in time to watch Jordan fall from her spot by the pool, and break the surface of the water.

She’s not moving.