4. Cat

The last thingI want to see while I'm stressing about money is a man who has so much of it he could pay Otto's bill ten times over and not even feel a dent in his finances.

Stupid buttmunch billionaire.

I mean, what's the point of amassing that much money? So he can buy more designer suits like the ridiculously well-fitted one he's wearing right now? Good freaking grief, the man is on an island. Why is he walking around like he just stepped off an episode of Suits?

Why is he walking around my house at all?

I'm in cut-off shorts and Birkenstocks, so next to him I look like little orphan Annie. I could use a Daddy Warbucks right now though. So I'll take it. Maybe the outfit will bring me some good karma.

"Kylie loved the ferry," Meg Carmichael says, carrying the baby on her hip while her husband leads the toddler through the door. They aren't much older than me, but they clearly have their life together. I recommended they ride the ferry to the mainland for the three-year-old and the dolphins.

Connor Carmichael grins. "You'll never guess who we found on our way back to Sunset Harbor. My old college buddy."

Noah. He went to school with Noah Belacourt. That's fun. "Oh, how nice," I say, my smile straining as I force it wider. I shut my lips, thinking of the bad luck poppyseeds. It's time for bad thing number three and I'm not prepared.

Or maybe I'm off the hook. Noah Belacourt standing in my house on the tail of me finding out that my life might be imploding is pretty awful. Connor's "old college buddy" is famous, irritatingly handsome, and uber rich. And he's judging me from the foyer of my quaint, creaky, hundred-year-old island house that I might lose if Otto can't find ninety-two thousand dollars. That's what happens when things say final notice, right? The bank takes your house to pay off the cancer-curing treatments.

Hey, sorry you're homeless, but at least you're alive.

"Yeah, he's the reason we're here," Connor continues, unaware of the turmoil in my head. He flicks his head toward Noah since his arms are full of bags and a little girl. "He recommended your place."

My gaze shoots to Noah. "You recommended my BB instead of your own resort?"

He clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. He slides a hand effortlessly into his pocket, his dark hair impeccable, his brown eyes shifting to his friend, then back to me. "It was a while ago."

A while ago, as in long before I mauled him on the beach, then threw a bucket of sudsy water over his face? Noah's family wasn't a fan of me already, but I'm guessing his dislike has only grown in the last seventy-two hours.

"Don't be modest," Meg says. "You told Connor we'd love it here, and you were right."

Noah clears his throat and moves his weight to the other leg. He's uncomfortable, and something about that makes me ease into my skin a little better.

Where's flirty Noah now? He's no longer accusing me of admiring his pecs—and I, for the record, am actively ignoring the way his Oxford shirt fits like a glove or remembering how his back forms a V. Definitely not thinking about shirtless Noah right now.

"We didn't expect to see him though," Connor grins, slapping Noah on the arm and bringing me back to Earth.

"I didn't think I'd be around." Noah catches my eye for a second before looking at his friend again. "It's pure luck I bumped into you on the ferry."

The ferry? Noah doesn't take a private boat when he wants to hop over to the mainland? For some reason, that surprises me enough to make me pause.

"Our luck." Connor grins. "I wish I brought something better to wear to dinner though."

"Don't worry about it," Noah says.

Meg starts for the staircase that leads up to their room, then pauses, moving the baby to her other hip. "Hey, Ms. Keene?"

"You can call me Cat."

"Cat." She smiles. "You don't offer babysitting services here, do you? Or know of someone who might? Noah invited us to dinner at his resort. He says it's fine if we bring the kids?—"

"It is fine," Noah interrupts.

Meg goes on as if he hasn't talked. "But I know he's just being polite. If we could find someone to watch them, that would be easier."

Babysit? I haven't babysat since the Nelsons lived next door?.?.?. probably five years ago. Meg mentioned that their baby Willow recently hit the six-month mark, which meant nothing to me, because I had no idea what a six-month-old baby was capable of. But, apparently, we need the money. How hard can it be? The Carmichael girls are cute—and the Carmichaels are clearly wealthy. "I can do it," I say, trying for a confident tone. Holland won't care if I reschedule our movie, especially after I tell her why I need the money.

"You can?" Meg grins, her shoulders sagging in relief. She looks at her phone, then up at the ceiling like she's calculating. "If I feed her now, we have until eight before she'll want to eat again." She gives me an apologetic nose-scrunch. "She's nursing."

"Not a problem," I say, because I'm not sure why it would be. She knows her kid's schedule. She just has to tell me what to do, and I can handle it.

Connor doesn't look as confident. "You sure, Meg?"

"Yeah. If Willow gets hungry, we can come home early."

"Or—" Noah starts, then looks at me uncertainly. I guess he chooses to power forward. "If Cat watches the girls at my house, they'll be close to the restaurant."

"Oh, would you?" Meg asks hopefully, her wide eyes rounding. "We haven't left Willow yet, and I'm still a little anxious about how she'll react."

Should I tell her yes, but only if she pays double? The idea of spending my evening in Noah's family mansion gives me the ick.

"Unless being in a stranger's home makes you uncomfortable," Meg says, not reading my hesitation accurately.

The problem isn't Noah; it's that he's a Belacourt.

Okay, so the problem is that he's Noah a little.

He must feel the shift in my energy, because he takes a small step closer to me. "Cat's familiar with my house. She's been there a few times."

He forgot to add the part about me cleaning it because I'm the help.

"You two are friends?" Connor asks, looking at me appraisingly.

"We know each other," Noah says.

"Everyone who grew up on the island knows each other." I give him a look I'm hoping he'll accurately translate. I'm trying to say, Let's not make this sound like something more than it is.

He picks up what I'm laying down because he drops the subject. "What do you say, Cat?"

Money. I need money to the tune of ninety-two thousand dollars to save my uncle and my home. Anything helps. "Sure."

Meg crosses the entryway and pulls me in for a quick hug. The baby grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks. I suck in a breath while pain reverberates from my scalp.

"Willow!" Meg says, taking her pudgy fist and unfurling her fingers. "Sorry, Cat."

"No problem," I say through my teeth.

So apparently six-month-old babies are capable of that. I'll have to put my hair up before we head over.

Noah watches the whole interaction with a guarded expression. I hold my breath while his friends take their girls upstairs to change for dinner and re-pack their diaper bag. It might be the opposite of how I really want to spend my evening, but the Carmichaels have money, so I'm hoping they'll pay well.

Noah looks around the house, his eyes trailing from the wooden floorboards and floral runner to the quirky wall decor and seafoam green wallpaper. Trying to look at my house from his perspective, I can see why our BB gets so many reviews commenting on the quaint, beachy, hip-grandmother vibe we have going here, and I'm proud of it. We might not be worth a billion dollars, but our house vibes and people love being here.

That's a lot more than I can say for his cold, sterile, modern resort.

In his eyes, this place is probably heavy on the grandmother and light on the trendiness. The smell of boiled peaches isn't helping, either. His eyes are sweeping over everything, but his face is a wall of impenetrable blankness. Judgy McJudgerson, just like the rest of his family.

Noah's eyes flick to the floor, then meet my gaze. He takes a tentative step toward me, bringing attention to all six-something feet of him in his sleek suit. "Listen, Cat?—"

Willow wails upstairs, her cries piercing the house and making us startle. I look up and wonder what I got myself into here.

"She has some lungs on her," I mutter, a little disappointed that the baby cut him off from whatever he was going to say.

Noah catches my eye and smiles. "So, you babysit, too? What can't you do, Catalina Keene?"

His use of my full name sends a zing of awareness through me. How does he even know it? We might have known each other for a long time, but we were never friends. The way he's looking at me now, his brown eyes deep and piercing, makes my skin itch.

Instead of answering him—I'm not sure if it's weird teasing or an attempt at conversation—I brush past his shoulder to lock the back door and fetch my phone.

I might need the money, but I don't need to sit here and let him judge me and my house. I've dealt with that from his family enough for a lifetime.

Noah

The restaurantat the Belacourt Resort has been fine-tuned to create a soothing atmosphere and delicious, Michelin-star quality food. Chef Gotier would have that star if she worked in a big city instead of our little island, for sure.

Seated next to the open windows with the sunset on the horizon and the breeze coming in off the water, we're listening to waves crash on the beach in between the tinkling of silverware and soft din of conversations. My family's resort is small, but it's high-quality, and even in the island's off-season, we're never empty.

A blessing and a curse.

It's been great catching up with Connor and his wife over dinner, but I haven't missed the way Meg has checked her phone every ten minutes or looks outside like she's eager to return to her kids. It's sweet that she loves them so much. Someday I want a wife who enjoys being with her kids, too.

Connor has kept the conversation running on a steady stream of college memories and gossip about some of the friends we shared when we went to school. He cuts a bite of his prime rib and chews, giving me a once-over. "So, you and our BB host?"

"Her name is Cat," Meg supplies.

"You and Cat," Connor says, chewing his steak. He leans back a little in the seat and smiles. "Do we have a leg up on Page Six?"

My stomach roils at the thought of any magazine linking me with Cat, mostly because of how much she'd hate it. I haven't had many relationships over the last decade. I learned quickly that not all women are into me as much as they like my no-limit black card and easy entrance to New York clubs. It's cliché, I know, but when you find out your girlfriend cheated on you, then hear she misses your apartment more than you, you get a little wary of women and their motivations.

Not to say I don't date. I do. Somewhere out there is a woman who will enjoy my leather sofa and my laugh and not make fun of me when I get sucked into World of Warcraft until three in the morning. I'll date until I find her. But girlfriends? Linking my name to one woman so the people of Instagram can scrutinize our facial expressions every time we step out together? No thanks.

"I think your silence is answer enough," Connor says, grinning.

Being with Cat Keene is an old fantasy, not something I can afford to spend too much energy on imagining in my current life. It's almost laughable that Connor's mind would go there. Did he not see Cat's reaction when I stepped into her house? I wouldn't have gone inside at all, except the Carmichaels were my ride home. My boat broke down on the mainland, and I had to hitch a ride back on the ferry to Sunset Harbor after work, where I conveniently ran into them. But since I had driven myself over to the mainland in my boat, there was no golf cart waiting at the ferry to drive home.

Connor offered me a ride. It would have been weird not to accept, and even weirder to hang out on Keene BB's golf cart while the Carmichaels went inside to change out of their swimwear for dinner.

Cat didn't hide her feelings well when she saw me. I could tell the moment I stepped into her home that I'd made a mistake in going there.

"She's not into me," I finally say. "Even if she was, I'm not sticking around, so it doesn't make sense to start something with an island girl."

"Come on, Noah," Meg says, leaning forward on her elbows. "Have you ever had a summer fling?"

Had I? There were a few times I wanted to, but the girl was taken, and she was all over my next-door neighbor and his pool. I shake the mental image of teenage Cat in Jake's arms and paste on a smile, reaching for my drink. "Sounds like a recipe for disaster."

"Summer romances," Meg says with a sigh. "I miss those."

Connor raises his eyebrows. "What do you call this?"

"Family vacation."

"You want a summer romance? I'll give you one." He leans over, kissing her long enough that I have to look away. It's cute that you love your wife, but get your own table, man.

Meg pushes him away and leans close, but her cheeks are flushed. "Can we get the check? I know I'm being crazy, but Willow has never been away from me this long. I'm kind of eager to get back to the girls."

"I've got dinner." I lift my hand to Kendall, our waitress, and look out over the darkening sky while the sun slips to the other side of the earth. I'm eager to get back to the girls as well, despite how much Cat isn't feeling it.

Maybe there won't be a summer fling between us, but I can get to the bottom of her plain dislike while I'm here.