From New York Times Bestselling authors Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward, comes the first book in a new, sexy duet.
How to kick off a great summer in the Hamptons:
Snag a gorgeous rental on the beach. Check.
Get a job at a trendy summer haunt. Check.
How to screw up a great summer in the Hamptons:
Fall for the one guy with a dark leather jacket, scruff on his face, and intense eyes that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the tony looking crowd. A guy you can’t have when you’ll be leaving at the end of the season.
Check. Check. Check.
I should add—especially when the guy is your sexy, tattooed God of a boss.
Especially when he not only owns your place of employment but inherited half of the town.
Especially when he’s mean to you.
Or so I thought.
Until one night when he demanded I get in his car so he could drive me home because he didn’t want me walking in the dark.
That was sort of how it all started with Rush.
And then little by little, some of the walls of this hardass man started to come down.
I never expected that the two of us, seemingly opposites from the outside, would grow so close.
I wasn't supposed to fall for the rebel heir, especially when he made it clear he didn’t want to cross the line with me.
As the temperature turned cooler, the nights became hotter. My summer became a lot more interesting—and complicated.
All good things must come to an end, right?
Except our ending was one I didn’t see coming.
Rebel Heir
by
“I’ve never even had sex on the beach, no less made one.”
“There are two other bartenders. They can help you make whatever you don’t know. Pleeeeaaase. My sister’s water just broke, and I want to drive back to New Jersey tonight to avoid the morning traffic.
I’ll owe you one.” I heard Riley pouting through the phone.
“But I was going to write tonight.”
“You didn’t come to the beach today because you were going to write all day. How many words have you written so far?”
I looked down at my laptop. Seven. I wrote seven damn words today. “More than yesterday.” Sadly, that was the truth. “But I’m on a roll.”
“Pretty please. It’s an emergency, or I wouldn’t ask.”
I huffed, “Fine.”
Riley squealed. “Thank you! Oh! And wear something low cut to show off that big rack of yours. No one will care if you don’t know how to make a drink with those on display.”
“Goodbye, Riley.”
I looked in the mirror. My dark hair was in a messy bun piled on top of my head. I had no makeup on and already switched out my contacts for glasses that hid my tired, blue eyes. I sighed. At least I’d showered today.
My roommate, Riley, bartended in one of the trendy Hampton bars down by the beach. It was the type of place that snotty, rich, yuppie guys sported polos with little horses embroidered on them and loafers with no socks. The women were all thin and flaunted excessive, perfectly tanned skin. After
the last run-in I had with a guy there, I definitely wasn’t looking to attract attention. I brushed on some mascara, let my hair down from the bun, and didn’t bother to put my contacts back in. Good enough.
The parking lot at The Heights was packed. The place had a rooftop bar. Thus, the name. People were smoking out front, and the music from inside blared so loud that the windows vibrated. I remembered from the one time I’d come that there were three bars…the rooftop, one inside, and one outside on the deck that overlooked the beach. There was also an adjacent restaurant that seemed to be popular before the bar crowd took over. I wasn’t sure where my roommate was working tonight.
A giant man opened the door as I approached, so I went to check inside first. Riley spotted me right away. Yelling, she waved two hands in the air from behind the bar, then cupped them around her mouth. “Come on back. I’ll give you a quick tour.” I walked to the end of the long bar and lifted the hinged top for access.
“This is Carly.” She pointed to a redhead wearing pigtails and a half-shirt. The woman waved. “She works the outside bar with Michael. Just popped in to steal some of our glasses because she didn’t stock her own bar well enough.”
Carly shrugged before lifting a box and yelled over the music. “I’m always late.”
Riley pointed to a shorter, blonde girl who made Carly’s skimpy outfit look matronly. For a second, it made me regret not changing into something a little nicer or at least fixing myself up a bit. “And that is Tia. She works the left half of the inside bar. I work the right.”
Tia waved.
Riley drummed her fingernails on the top of a row of taps. “Okay. So we have Bud, Stella, Corona, Heineken, Amstel, and Lighthouse Ale, which is a local brew. Push the local brew if they tell you to pick one.”
“Got it.” I nodded.
She turned to the mirrored shelves behind us. “Everything is top shelf. The most popular stuff—
vodka, Jack Daniels, rum, Fireball, tequila—are all stocked on the left and right side of the bar so we’re not banging into each other as much.” She pointed to beneath the bar. “Glasses, syrups, sinks, and coolers for bottled beer are all under here. On top of the red cooler, there’s a laminated book that gives you the ingredients to any cocktail you don’t know how to make.”
“Red cooler. Got it.”
She tapped her finger to her lip. “What else? Oh. If anyone gives you any problems, just whistle, and Oak will take care of it.”
“Oak?”
She motioned to the front door manned by the huge man that I’d passed on the way in. “The bouncer.
I don’t know his real name. Everyone just calls him Oak. I assume it’s because he’s built like a tree.
He’s the bouncer and fill-in manager when the owner isn’t around.” Riley pulled her purse from
under the bar and lifted the strap onto her shoulder. “Which, lucky for me and you, he shouldn’t be tonight. He’d freak out if he knew I left someone without experience behind the bar.”
My eyes widened. “He shouldn’t be in tonight? What happens if he shows up?”
“Relax. The rich prick was in the City for some board meeting today. He’s not going to show up.”
Riley kissed my cheek and ran out from behind the door. She yelled over her shoulder, “Thanks for doing this. I owe you one.”
My first few customers ordered beer. Aside from some extra foam because I hadn’t mastered the art of pouring yet, no one seemed to be the wiser—that is, until a group of four women approached.
“I’ll have a Cosmo.”
“I’ll have a Paloma.”
“I’ll have a Moscow Mule.”
A what?
“I’ll take a Corona, please.”
At least the one with manners wouldn’t be getting her drink screwed up. I poured the Corona, shook up a Cosmo—since it happened to be my favorite, I actually knew how to make that one—and then started to flip through the drink mix book that was on top of the red cooler. Only…it didn’t have a recipe for a Moscow Mule or a Paloma. I headed down to Tia.
“Hey…what goes into a Moscow Mule?”
“Seriously? I’ve never been asked to make one, but I think it’s two ounces of vodka, four ounces of ginger beer, and lime juice.”
“Thanks. What about a Paloma?”
“Who the hell are you serving?” She laughed. “Two ounces of tequila, seven of grapefruit soda, and lime juice. The weird drink mixers like ginger beer and grapefruit soda are in the bottom of the cooler. You’ll have to dig.”