The Boys of Blueberries

2

Rhysand Harton arches an eyebrow and lazily drawls, "So your secretary and bodyguard resigned and now you need him back because of your scandal. What's wrong with the one you have now?"

"I can't stand him," Sabina snaps, gripping her wine glass between her fingers. "And it's not just the scandal—" she pauses, a bitter taste in her mouth from saying the word. She doesn't like referring to what happened as that, but it's what her agency, her company, and the media calls it. Sabina rolls her eyes. "I just want the three-year secretary, who also happened to be my bodyguard, back."

She's perfectly aware Denver can hear her. He's standing behind them on the deck, beside Rhysand's own security team. She just doesn't care.

He's doing everything by the book—the bodyguard part. But whenever Denver reaches out to tug her by the arm, completely harmless, just to lead her away from a crowd, Sabina gets alarmed, and she yanks it away before skittering off. And whenever he stands behind her, she gets stiff, like she's about to punch the guy if he ever put a hand on her back.

Was it the same way when Tristan first started working for her? It didn't seem like it.

And Denver as a secretary is a fucking mess.

Adrian's loud laugh pulls her out from her thoughts. "You can't stand anyone in your work, Sabina, come on. And give the guy some credit, he's sweating and it's only been his, what, second, third week? And you're not dead yet." He flashes her a dazzling smile from where his head is perched on MJ's lap. "Well. Emphasis on yet."

"Baby," MJ scolds him, smacking him lightly on the shoulder, but she returns to threading her fingers in his disheveled hair and grins at Sabina. "Well. He has a point. But Tristan was good, he pointed a gun at me and he was extremely hot."

Sabina scowls at her. Even though she agrees—he is extremely hot, and talented, and good at his work, and apparently, he's the only one who can touch Sabina without her wanting to rip his arm out of his socket.

"Sab, hold on," Andy cuts in from the other side of the sectional sofa, scooting closer to her fiancé, and Sabina resists rolling her eyes at the way Rhysand puts his hand on her thigh, "What about Heath?"

The name sends Sabina's blood boiling, but she keeps her cool and takes a sip before shrugging. "What about him?"

Andy raises an eyebrow. "I didn't say anything when you were headlines and front page last week, but he's married. With kids."

Sabina smiles. Andy's accustomed to her sex life—Sabina doesn't shy away from anything, gives them all the details, lets the media know her body's hers and hers alone and she will do with it whatever the fuck she wants to—and Andy isn't implying any sort of accusation. She's not like that.

She's pissed Sabina's being called a homewrecker. "And I would've stopped fucking him if I knew that. I wouldn't have, at all, actually. I like a lot of things in bed, but I don't like complications."

"The guy's an asshole, sunshine," Rhysand mutters, fingers caressing Andy's skin. To Sabina, he says, "Glad to know my wedding's not the only thing making the headlines these days."

Jenner steps out into the patio in nothing but beach shorts, five bottles in two hands. "Who's up for more?"

"No more," Andy says harshly with her eyebrows scrunched, standing to push Jenner back into the house. "No one's going to my wedding hungover, or tipsy, or drunk, or I won't let you in." She purses her lips and looks at MJ, and then at Sabina with her arms crossed. Sabina wants to laugh—she looks adorable trying to look firm. "Maids of honor or not. Best man or not."