Page 77 of The Money Shot
“This is going to be amazing,” Liam grinned. “Do you think we’ll see the beach as soon as we land?”
“I think you’ll be too busy navigating customs to notice much,” I replied, but I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. Seeing him like this—bright-eyed and talkative—was one of my favorite things. It reminded me why we’d become friends in the first place. His energy was infectious, a perfect counterbalance to my more grounded nature. I didn’t just like how different we were; I loved it.
The first-class cabin was nearly empty, just as the rest of the plane had been when we boarded. Getting bumped up had felt like a stroke of luck, one that I was beginning to think might be a good omen. Everything about this trip had fallen into place smoothly so far, and now I was about to spend several days alone with Liam in paradise. If there was ever a moment to tell him how I felt, this was it.
“I can’t wait to explore the island,” Liam continued, already plotting out our itinerary in his head. “We could rent scooters, go snorkeling, maybe hike to one of those cool ruins—”
“Don’t forget this is a work trip,” I reminded him. “I’ll be busy much of the time. You’ll have to find ways to entertain yourself.”
He turned to me with a mischievous grin. “Oh, don’t worry. I brought a few toys to keep me occupied.”
Heat rose to my face, but I didn’t miss a beat. “Save the toys for when we’re shooting videos.”
His eyes sparkled with delight as he leaned closer. “Speaking of which, you still haven’t made a solo video. We’ll shoot one of you on the island. You’ll look so good, Jack. All tan, sweaty, and naked.”
I groaned and shook my head, but the idea wasn’t entirely unappealing. Still, I wasn’t going to let him win this argument so easily. “Focus on landing first, then we can discuss your grand plans for me.”
The plane shuddered gently as the landing gear extended, and the intercom came alive again with the flight attendant’s final instructions. Liam grabbed my arm, his excitement reaching a fever pitch.
“We’re here, Jack. St. Kitts. Can you believe it?”
I nodded, unable to suppress a grin. I believed it, all right. What I couldn’t quite believe was how much I wanted to tell him I loved him. But that would have to wait until the perfect moment presented itself.
The terminal was small, with palm trees swaying just outside the windows and a warm breeze wafting through the open doors. As we stepped out, a sharply dressed older man holding a sign with my name approached us.
“Mr. Barrett?” he asked in a rich, melodic voice.
“That’s me,” I said, extending a hand.
“Charles Monfils,” he introduced himself, giving me a firm handshake before turning to Liam with a polite nod. “I’ll be driving you to your hotel.”
He led us to a gleaming vintage BMW parked just outside. The car was immaculate, its navy blue paint catching the sunlight. Liam’s jaw dropped in admiration as we slid into the leather seats.
“This is incredible,” Liam whispered, running his hand over the polished wood trim.
Monfils smiled faintly as he started the engine. “She’s an old girl, but she runs well.”
The drive to the hotel was picturesque, the road winding through lush greenery with glimpses of the turquoise ocean in the distance. Liam was glued to the window, taking in every detail, while Monfils and I settled into a quiet conversation.
“I’ll admit, Mr. Barrett,” Monfils said after a pause, “I’m a bit apprehensive about this contract. Ms. Van Alen has been... difficult.”
That was putting it lightly.
“How so?” I asked, though I already had a pretty good idea.
He hesitated, as if weighing his words. “She’s been quite rude during our conversations. Changing her mind constantly, making unreasonable demands, and… well, she’s not exactly pleasant to deal with.”
I nodded slowly, choosing my words with care. “Evelyn has a strong personality. She’s… passionate about her projects.”
Monfils shot me a skeptical glance in the rearview mirror. “Passionate, yes. But passion without respect can be a dangerous thing, Mr. Barrett. She’s already mentioned slashing the budget, and I’m not sure how much more we can cut without compromising the integrity of the project.”
I wanted to tell him he wasn’t wrong, that Evelyn’s behavior had been testing my patience too. But I couldn’t. Instead, I did my best to reassure him.
“I understand your concerns, Mr. Monfils, and I’ll do everything I can to make sure this project is a success. We want the same thing: a med-spa we can both be proud of.”
He nodded, though his expression remained tense. I couldn’t blame him. Evelyn Van Alen had a way of turning even the simplest interactions into a power struggle. But if I played my cards right, maybe I could convince her to back off—or at least compromise.
“Thank you, Mr. Barrett,” Monfils murmured.