The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,11

A female American voice drifts into my ear as if carried by the light sea breeze and interrupts my afternoon nap. Reluctantly, I open my eyes slowly and sit up. I squint against the afternoon sun’s glare and sweep my eyes over the huge veranda. I’m as alone as I’d been when I first came out here to lie down.

I listen and don’t hear anyone talking. I walk over to the ornately-carved stone wall and rest my forearms on the smooth, sun-warmed cement rail and stare out at the view.

The sweeping green and blues of the sea, sky and verdant, lush landscape seem endless. The light breeze isn’t stiff enough to do more than ruffle the very fine hairs on my arms. But it carries with it the smell of lemon and pine. The salt of the sea spray gives the air a bite that’s softened by the sound of the sea’s lazy current.

The sea stretches and disappears into the curve of the horizon. I gaze at it and understand why people thought the world was flat. From here, I can imagine falling off the illusion created by the glancing kiss it shares with the sky.

The mossy cliff that runs along this stretch of beach surrounds the villa making it feel secluded even though there are neighboring villas on either side. My room is one of only two massive suites on the fourth floor. I thought it would be quiet. I hoped that if I had neighbors, they would be people who wanted to be as far away from the festivities’ noises as possible.

A cacophony of excited women’s voices tears a hole in that hope. Laughter and unintelligible shouts of delight spill through it and splatter all over my mood. It was good while it lasted, I tell myself. I pull out my phone and scan my emails.

I scroll through email after email of bad news. Kingdom is being hit with lawsuits left and right. From breach of contract to improper dismissals. In the last fifteen years, my uncle’s failure to manage Kingdom and all of its holdings properly is matched only by his lack of transparency. He’s stacked the board with his minions instead of competent people. We are in violation of hundreds of regulatory guidelines in nearly every facet of our business, and everyone is looking to me for answers I don’t have.

It’s been two weeks since I became chairman of the board. The first email I received in my official capacity was from my newly-appointed executive assistant. In it, she asked me to send her a guest list for my swearing-in ceremony and banquet. My reply informed her that, until we had something real to celebrate, the banquet was postponed.

This wedding couldn’t have happened at a worse time. When Gigi asked me to attend on her behalf, I said no.

She pinched my ear, told me not to talk back, and booked my flight.

So, here I am.

“Let’s go out here. I want to see the ocean,” the same voice that woke me says. Even though I can hear the women, I can’t see them, and they have no idea I’m here.

“Yeah, I can’t believe we’re here. This is beautiful,” another voice gushes.

“You know, I live forty-five minutes from the beach, and I don’t think I’ve seen the ocean all year,” another voice raves. Like the other voice, hers is bubbling with excitement.

“It’s the sea, Cass. The Ligurian Sea. Not the ocean, and I’ve got a headache. I’m going to lie down. Have fun with the girls, okay?” This voice makes my ears perk up. It’s my elevator girl. But she sounds decidedly unhappy.

Who wouldn’t be happy to be here?

You. That’s who. I remind myself.

“Oh, come on, TB, it feels so good out here,” the enthusiastic voice calls out to her.

“No, you guys have fun. I’m just tired after that trip,” she says, her words muffled by a very fake yawn.

A chorus of pleasant goodbyes rings out behind her, and the door closes with a sharp rattle of wood and glass.

Then the claws come out.

“God, Cass. Why did you bring her?” one voice drones as if she’s in pain.

“Actually, I brought you. She’s my plus one. And she’s having a hard time, so you guys better not be dicks,” Cass responds.

“Well, from what I heard, it’s her own fault,” another voice chimes in.

“And why is she dressed like that? I mean, if I had thighs like that, I’d never wear shorts.”

“I think her thighs look great,” Cass says defensively.

“I