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Chapter 4

HARRY

As I walk toward Splash to meet Wayne, I hear my name float across the air.

"Quit staring!" a brunette says sharply.

I glance up. Two girls are standing on the pier by the speed boats and jet skis. The blonde is giving me a look I know all too well—undressing me with her eyes, shameless and unbothered.

I'm used to being stared at. Comes with the job. People are curious. I get it. And girls—women, really—eye-fucking me? That's not exactly new either. I don't crave it, but it's flattering... sometimes.

I lower my gaze, pretending not to notice, and keep walking. Still, I can't help sneaking another look. The brunette—I've seen her before. She's the one with the bandana at the hotel lobby yesterday.

Damn. She's fit. That kind of fit that doesn't just happen—you earn it. Gym hours. Discipline. All tone, soft curves, long brown hair, confidence in the way she moves. They're on the jet skis now, unbothered by my presence, laughing as they pull away from the dock.

They don't seem to care who I am. They're not even looking at me anymore.
Which means I get to look.
And that is rare. And weirdly... kind of precious.

She adjusts her bandana, flicks her sunglasses into place, and doesn't glance back. That—oddly—is hotter than all the stares I usually get.

"Mr. Styles?" Wayne clears his throat, clearly trying not to laugh.

"It's Harry, Wayne. Thought we settled that last time," I grin, catching him watching the girls too.

"Yeah, Harry... you ready to go?" he asks, nodding toward the water, but his eyes linger on the pier.

He gets it. He totally gets it. I smirk.

"I know, man. I know," he says with a knowing shake of the head, handing me my gear as we head toward the boat.

ASHLEY

"Mr. Davy, nice to meet you. I'm Ashley Cameron. This is Elizabeth Byles, my associate," I say, extending a hand. Liz, still slightly sun-struck from our morning on the jet skis and water skis, manages a polite smile.

"Pleasure," he says warmly, shaking both our hands.

"This way." He leads us to a sleek conference room where two men are already seated—Nick and... Patrick? I think? Both are from Action1D.

Liz sets up the computer while I begin explaining the structure of the upcoming speech. They're engaged, nodding along as I run through key points, especially once I mention we've integrated U.S.-specific statistics into the messaging.

"These are the numbers," I say, turning the laptop toward myself. Liz has connected it to the large screen, and the room dims slightly as the slideshow begins. I remain standing, pointer in hand.

"In New York alone, 28% of students have reported—"

The door swings open mid-sentence.

"Sorry to interrupt," says a tall, polite-looking young man. "I'm Liam."

Nick and Patrick immediately rise, offering their seats, but the newcomers wave them off. The one Liz referred to as Louis yesterday drags extra chairs into the room, handing one to Liam and another to a blond guy who hasn't stopped grinning since he entered.

I can feel Liz vibrating beside me, but she's playing it cool—barely. I want to laugh, but I keep it together.

"Apologies for being late," Liam says. "We got held up by—never mind. Please, go ahead."