Red Hot Rebel - Olivia Hayle Page 0,10

with a thick French accent. I’d been reading up on the plane, and now I know absolutely everything there is to know about St. Barts, from its time as a Swedish colony to its incorporation as an overseas territory of France.

“Yes, it is. I’m very excited.”

His smile widens. “Why, I get to play tour guide too! My favorite role.”

Warm, humid heat hits me the second we step out of the air-conditioned airport, but it’s not overwhelming. The parking lot is tiny, just like the airport is tiny. Because this island is tiny.

Étienne drives to the other side of the island, as he says, but it takes no time at all. He tells me stories throughout, of the island’s cultural makeup, of the French and Portuguese who inhabit it. My eyes are glued to the passing landscape of green hills and glimpses of blue water. At one point I consider rolling down my car window, but think better of it when I realize I’ll be sitting with my head out like a dog.

“Here we are!” Étienne slows to a crawl as we arrive at Rieler Resort. The road is lined with palm trees, and beyond them, a sliver of beautiful turquoise water glistens.

I can’t believe I’m here!

Étienne parks outside of a beautiful villa with a straw roof and begins unloading my large suitcases. “Right through there,” he says with a nod to the reception. “They’ve been expecting you.”

And so they have. Attentive staff help me with everything, from checking in to rolling in my luggage to showing me the way to my room.

Although I can’t really call it a room. It’s a poolside and oceanside villa, one on either side, with the largest king-size bed I’ve ever seen. Perhaps this life is normal for really high-end models, but not for most of us. Work is usually shooting in warehouses in Brooklyn or changing backstage for shoots while stylists scream at you for buttoning a shirt wrong. This kind of glamour, on the other hand…

I throw myself on the bed. It’s like floating on a cloud.

I let myself float for a solid five minutes before I bounce back off and head to the double doors that open up to my own private patio. The itinerary is clear. We’re not to start shooting until one of the local staff knocks on my door for hair and makeup. So I’ll stay put. It’s not a particularly hard place to be.

I’m taking pictures of the view for my sister when there’s an impatient knock on the door to my villa. “Be right there!”

Reaching up to tug my ponytail into place, I pull open the door with a smile.

It dies when I see the person on the other side. Rhys is in a button-down and slacks, a camera in one hand and a scowl on his face. Judging from the tan that dusts his skin, he’s been here for a while already. When did he arrive?

“Good,” he says. “You’re finally here.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I arrived right on schedule.”

“Come on, then. Let’s go shoot.” He takes a step back and nods toward the beach, like I’m to follow him right here and right now. Dressed in jeans. With my hair undone.

“I can’t shoot like this,” I tell him. “Besides, the itinerary clearly says that we’re to start in an hour and a half. I have hair and makeup first.”

The bastard actually looks up at the sky, like I’m being impossibly difficult. “The light is excellent right now,” he says slowly. “I’d like to shoot now.”

“All right. Perhaps you can shoot scenery? But for our shoot together, I’m sticking to the schedule.” If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years of modeling, it’s that you don’t disobey orders regarding a shoot. “There is no way Rieler Travels wants me photographed like this. I’m not even wearing makeup.”

Rhys pushes a hand through his dark hair and mutters something that sounds very much like vain models. Right, buddy, as if you’re a peach.

“It’s my job,” I grind out. “So I’ll see you in… an hour and a half for our scheduled shoot to begin.”

“Fine,” he says.

“Fine,” I repeat.

“I’ll be by the beach. Come on down when you feel inclined to work.” And on that scathing note he strides off, down from my villa and toward the glittering ocean beyond. I force my fists to relax at my sides and to not scream at him that the entire island is a damn beach and how the