I didn’t have friends until Blaire. She was engaged to Rush Finlay when I met her, and I immediately liked her, because there was a kindness in her eyes. Also, if someone could make Rush fall in love with her, she had to be special. He used to be one of the most cynical people I knew . . . until he met Blaire. And now they had their son, Nate. Rush was a totally different person now.
Having Blaire to talk to was wonderful, but walking into Kerrington Country Club wasn’t something I wanted to do just yet. Blaire had casually mentioned that my evil half sister was in Paris right now, but I was still on edge. I didn’t want to see Nan. Ever again, if possible.
Grant had been with Nan once. Forgetting that was easier now. He loved me; I knew that, and I was secure in that. But still, Nan was the kind of beautiful that I couldn’t compete with. I had hidden from the Nans of the world until my dad had sent me to live with her while he went on tour.
“You look like you want to throw up. Are you OK?” Blaire asked as I walked beside her toward the entrance to the restaurant at the club where we’d be having breakfast this morning.
“I’m fine,” I assured her.
The door opened, and we were greeted by a guy dressed in the typical uniform of slacks and a polo with the Kerrington Club monogram on it.
“Good morning, Mrs. Finlay, Miss Manning,” the guy said with a polite smile.
“Morning, Clint. Is Jimmy working the morning shift?” Blaire asked.
The guy’s grin got bigger, almost as if hearing Jimmy’s name made him happy. “Yes, he is.”
Blaire chuckled softly and thanked him, then we walked to the hostess.
“Two, Mrs. Finlay?” the girl asked, her eyes quickly darting away from me as if she was trying not to stare but wanted to be sure she was seeing me. I hated this sudden fame that came with my dad.
“Please, and we’d like to sit in Jimmy’s section,” she replied.
The girl nodded, still staring at me with wide eyes. Crap, this could not be good.
“And”—Blaire paused and looked at the girl’s name badge—“April, if media of any kind were to show up at the club, Mr. Kerrington would be very upset. I’ll be sending him and Della a text once we’re seated asking them to up the security. Do you understand what I am telling you?” Blaire was a badass. I wanted to be like her.
The girl bobbed her head and swallowed nervously. “Yes, Mrs. Finlay, of course.”
Blaire beamed a smile at the girl. “Thank you, April. I appreciate your help.”
April blushed as if Blaire had just paid her a high compliment, then led us to our seats. I don’t think the girl wanted to leave our table; I was almost prepared for her to ask for an autograph.
“All right, April, stop your fangirling, and let these women breathe. They came for breakfast, not to be gawked at. Damn, girl,” Jimmy said as he walked up to our table.
Poor April scampered away.
“She’s new, but she’s sweet. I can work with that,” Jimmy said, then blasted a smile our way. “Look at you two gorgeous women without your overprotective men, eating here alone. I might take advantage and make my move.”
Blaire’s eyebrows rose, and she looked knowingly at Jimmy. “I think Clint might get a little upset if you did that, hmm?”
Jimmy laughed and shot her a wink. “You picked up on that one fast.”
“He was all smiles when I asked if you were here. I’d have to be blind not to pick up on it.”
Jimmy smirked. He knew he was beautiful, but he was one of the nicest people I’d met here in Rosemary Beach. “What can I get you two to drink? Coffee, maybe? Or cappuccinos?”
I had strict instructions to stay away from caffeine. “I’ll take an orange juice,” I told him.
“I’d love a cappuccino, thanks, Jimmy,” Blaire said, and glanced down at her menu.
I wondered if she even had to look at the menu. She had worked here until Rush had demanded she stop when she got pregnant. I assumed she knew the menu by heart at this point.
“The quiche is great, but then, so are the raspberry and cheese scones,” Blaire told me.
I decided quiche with a whole-wheat croissant would do. I was trying not to eat sugar—it was healthier for me to avoid it.
“Uh-oh, he looks like he’s on a mission,” Blaire said in a whisper, and I looked up to see Woods Kerrington taking long strides toward us. He looked concerned. He stopped at our table and turned his attention to me. Those dark eyes of his were serious, but Blaire was right: he meant business.