Grand Escape (Grand Love Book 1) Read online

  Grand Escape

  Copyright © 2021 Rachel Blaufeld

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 978-1-7340017-6-1

  Edited by

  Pam Berehulke

  Proofread by

  Virginia Tesi Carey

  Cover design by

  © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, LLC

  www.okaycreations.com

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  Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Warning:

  This book is intended for mature audiences.

  Interior design and formatting by:

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Books by Rachel Blaufeld

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of Love is Grand

  Sneak Peek of Faded Sunset

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Grand Love Series

  Grand Escape

  Love is Grand

  World of True North Series

  Friendzoned

  Stand Alone Titles

  Break Point

  To See You

  Heart Stronger

  Hot for His Girl

  Wanderlove

  Love Disregarded

  Faded Sunset

  Love at Center Court Series

  Vérité

  Dolce

  The Electric Tunnel Series

  Electrified

  Smoldered

  Tinged

  Crossroads Series

  Redemption Lane

  Absolution Road

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  With sultry beach vibes, Caribbean tunes playing in the background, and the smell of coconut and money all around, welcome to the Grand Escape.

  Blond and beautiful Rylan needed to escape her life, so she ran off to a job in paradise. Surrounded by fresh salt air and the sound of ocean waves lapping in the background, she now mixes cocktails better than any other bartender at the Grand Escape.

  It’s the perfect situation for a commitment-phobic woman who wants to be nothing like the family she was born into. Each week, guests check in, spend time at her bar, and then go home.

  Until the day some heartsick jerk who checked in under just his initial and last name sits down at her bar.

  With sad eyes and a gritty voice, A. Stern is more than Rylan bargained for, so it’s a good thing she no longer gets tangled up with men. But this lawyer by day, alpha by night, keeps pushing his way through the barricade she’s built around her heart.

  Thinking she knows why he’s heartbroken, Rylan is determined not to be his next victim, but he continues to shatter all her misconceptions.

  With only a week until his vacation ends, can she avoid falling for the guy at the end of her bar? And can he manage to capture the heart of the only woman who has made him want to try again?

  My stepdad took me on my first airplane ride to the happiest place on earth. He taught me the love of going places (mostly warm-weather climates), and when he passed, left me with a healthy dose of wanderlust.

  I wish he were here to head to the Caymans with me, but instead, I’ll take all of you.

  Rylan

  “What can I get you?”

  I leaned on the bar, my elbow perched along the plastic drain, a good bit of my typically golden skin on display. It was a common stance for me—there was no reason to read into it. Focused solely on my newest customer, I was in work mode. After all, it was a Sunday, usually the slowest night of the week, and I was laying it on a little thick.

  Hey, I work for tips.

  Not really, but they were a very much-appreciated bonus to my well-paid bartending job in the islands. Also, it was fun to think of tips that way as I channeled my whole Donna Summer “She Works Hard for the Money” vibe.

  It was worth mentioning, this new guest was easy on the eyes. Okay, more like smoking hot and in need of a drink, and I was here to serve him one.

  Or several.

  He aimed his baby blues at me, which were like a couple of Caribbean-blue plunge pools, encouraging me to dive right in. Although they were pretty, pain lurked behind those eyes, leaving them sad. Blond hair fell around his face, a tad too long for the serious businessman or lawyer I expected he’d turn out to be.

  Vacation-mode hair was what we called it BTS. That means “Behind the Scenes,” in case you didn’t know.

  His voice, rough and deep, dragged me out of my thoughts. “That depends on what you’re serving.”

  “Oh, we’ve got a live wire tonight.” I stood up straight and my long wavy ponytail fell behind my back.

  He let out a little snort as he stared at his hands, clasped together on the bar. “I don’t know about that. Long travel day. How about a Tito’s straight up with lime.”

  Broken-heart alarms rang out in my head, and I wished we were busier behind the bar. Despite him being a hottie, I now dreaded listening to this one bellyache all night. Being the bartender/therapist wasn’t my strong suit. Brianna or Billy would have been a way better choice for that. They actually had feelings.

  Without another word, I snatched the glossy bottle of vodka from the palm-frond-lined shelves behind me and a chilled lowball from under the bar. No need to measure—I’d been doing this a long freaking time. I poured the right amount of vodka in the glass and slid a lime wedge onto the rim.

  “On me.” I set it in front of Mr. Sad Eyes and turned to move away.

  Surprising me, he only said, “Thanks.”

  I nodded without turning back around and went to check on Ronnie and Sheryl, the honeymooners who’d been here for almost two weeks. He was a techie
and, wait for it . . . she was an influencer.

  Like every other night, Sheryl was busy shuffling her drinks all around the bar, mixing and matching with various other objects, taking pictures while Ronnie busied himself on his own phone. Tonight, she was occupying herself with a glass of sangria, a cocktail napkin, and a cocktail stick of Luxardo cherries, her freshly manicured nails matching their deep burgundy color.

  I forced myself not to roll my eyes. The couple tipped well and were pleasant enough, so what did I care if her little vignettes were absurd?

  “Anything else?” I asked, staring at the top of their heads as they were hunched over, scrolling or tapping on their phones.

  Ronnie’s head popped up. “Oh. Hey, Rylan.”

  Sheryl followed suit, giving me a broad smile. “Any chance we can get some chips and salsa?”

  Knowing she wasn’t actually going to eat them, I nodded anyway.

  “And a shrimp cocktail,” Ronnie said. “We had a late lunch and a rendezvous. It’s our honeymoon,” he added, waggling his eyebrows.

  When I first started, I thought this type of banter was unnecessary, but now I knew it to be part of the job.

  Dragging Sheryl closer to his side, he kissed the top of her blond curls. “Isn’t it, baby?”

  Ugh. I wished for a busier bar. At this point, the sad sack down the bar seemed more appealing than these lovebirds. I wanted to tell them to keep their smooches to themselves.

  Putting on a fake smile, I said, “You two are never going to be able to go home after this honeymoon. Everyday life is going to be so drab.”

  “I know, right?” Sheryl perked up, sitting tall and flipping her hair.

  “Right. Well, you two go back to your stuff,” I said, wiggling my fingers at their phones. “I’ll get you those snacks.”

  I couldn’t turn away fast enough to key their order into the computer for the kitchen to send it over.

  “Can I get another?” The order from down the bar came out deep and hoarse.

  My heart cracked a little for this dude. Poor guy was sitting at a beachside bar, drowning his sorrows in Tito’s and wearing khakis while doing it. You can’t get much sadder than that.

  I noticed that last fact as I leaned against the bar again. “You sure I can’t get you something more tropical? You are on Grand Cayman, you know.”

  The guy ran his left hand through his hair, and I noted the absence of a wedding band.

  So, which is messing with his emotions . . . ex-girlfriend or ex-wife?

  “Oh, I know.” He glanced out at the ocean. “But I like my Tito’s, thank you very much.”

  I nodded. As I refilled his glass, I glanced at him. “This one isn’t on me.”

  Sliding his room key across the bar, he actually chuckled, showing me a tiny glimpse of what could be a great smile.

  As I slid the keycard back to him, I said, “I don’t need that, and I don’t think you need to be losing your room key. Just your room number will do.”

  I’d made a rule a long time ago about returning drunk guests to their rooms or villas. It was a hard no. I’d learned my lesson the hard way outside Mr. Miller’s presidential suite during my first year. Wet behind the ears, I’d fallen for his ploy back then.

  Sad Eyes slid the keycard into his pocket before grabbing his lowball and tossing back the Tito’s.

  My eyebrows shot up. “Pretty sure that wasn’t meant to be a shooter.”

  “Room seven-three-six, and I’ll have another shooter. Thanks again,” he said, his voice somewhat dulled by the alcohol.

  I did as he asked, pouring another Tito’s and turning to type his room number into the computer. Of course, I glanced at his name—A. Stern—but didn’t ask him to confirm the details for me.

  What kind of prick signs in with his initial?

  “You always give everyone such a hard time?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

  Swiveling to face him, I snagged my own mineral water along the way. “I’m a bartender. It comes with the job description.”

  The ghost of a smile lifted one side of his mouth. A very nice mouth, by the way. “Huh. So, you’re a regular stand-up comedian.”

  “I try my best.”

  Swallowing a sip of my water, I watched his eyes following me. After the equivalent of six shots of Tito’s, they were a little cloudy, but beautiful, nonetheless. I’d always had a thing for blue eyes.

  “You don’t drink on the job?” he asked.

  “I’m drinking right now.” I lifted my glass bottle as proof.

  “I meant the real stuff. But I guess that’s an occupational hazard.”

  Interrupting the moment, our food runner, Sean, called out, “Hey, Ry. Here’s your food.”

  “Thanks, I’ll take it over,” I said, taking the basket of chips and chilled tower of shrimp for the lovey-dovey honeymooners.

  When it was slammed, I had Sean deliver the food, but tonight was all about the extra service and tips.

  “You going to the party later?” Sean asked.

  Frowning, I shook my head.

  “Worth asking,” he said with a shrug, then hurried back to the kitchen.

  Poor Sean had been after me for months to go to a staff party on the beach. That was always a big no for me. I didn’t do big groups, loud parties, or late nights. At least, not any later than my shift. The Grand Escape sure lived up to its name when it came to the surroundings and the guests, but the staff? We were here to make everything grand for everyone but ourselves.

  It’s okay. I was lucky to have the gig and spend my days in the blue skies and sunlight.

  “No party?” Mr. Stern asked, his eyes tracking me as I dried a few glasses from the rack.

  “Not tonight.”

  “One more?” He tilted his head as if begging my good graces in pouring him an ungodly amount of vodka in a short period of time.

  “You’re not driving, are you?”

  “Touché.” He huffed. “That’s a no.”

  I tossed the bar towel over my shoulder and poured his poison. “Look, if you want to wake up with a raging hangover in paradise, that’s your choice. Plus, it’s good for my business.”

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  Frowning at him, I said, “What’s yours?”

  “You don’t know? You looked up my info . . . stalker.” He whispered the last word with a small smirk.

  Obviously, this guy held his alcohol better than I thought. His hands were now in front of him, intriguing little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and he licked his lips after taking another slug of vodka.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “If people call you A, then I know your name. Either that, or you’re a two-bit celeb who thinks traveling around on an initial keeps you under the radar.”

  “You have bite. Anyone ever told you that before?”

  This made me laugh. “A few people. It’s how I survive the job. Bachelor parties. Bachelorette party catfights. Weddings gone wrong. Honeymoon spats. I have to handle all of that BS.”

  “Adam,” he said, extending his hand over the bar.

  I took his hand for a quick shake. “Rylan, and I’m not in charge of handling whatever you have going on.”

  I needed some space from this sad but intoxicating man. He was drawing me in with his cat claws and puppy-dog eyes.

  He paused for a moment with a considering look. “Rylan, interesting. Never heard that one before. What’s it mean?”

  I shrugged. It was time for me to leave some mystery on the table.

  “I’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice getting hoarser by the second, and I had a thing for sexy hoarse voices.

  “While you’re doing that, maybe you want to change into swim trunks and a T-shirt. You know, match the vibe here.”

  Bob Marley’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” began playing over the bar’s speakers, a stark contrast to the contemplative look on Adam’s face.

  “She would have liked you,” he said, picking up his glass with
a sad smile. “Really. Liked. You.”

  I tapped my palm on the bar. “I see you’re nursing some wounds. Sorry for all the jokes. Have a good night.”

  I was a good bartender—no, a fucking great one—but I didn’t tend to shattered hearts while being compared to the ex. It wasn’t good for my lonely soul, even if his words were meant to be complimentary.

  Adam didn’t seem too upset with my brush-off, only nodding before downing the rest of his Tito’s and tossing a fifty on the bar. Since he’d told me to charge the drinks to his room, I assumed it was a tip and overcompensation for his blunder.

  Taking the money, I felt my heart sink a tiny bit. I might live in paradise, but to me, this was all just a living.

  Rylan

  “Welcome to your own personal paradise,” Tony, the valet, said brightly as he opened the door to a shiny black Suburban.

  Three travelers climbed out of the vehicle, looking like triplets in various maxi-dresses and straw cowboy hats. Tony remained patient as they laughed and took selfies in front of the car.

  It was early, just past dawn, but we received guests at all hours here, the result of private planes and people arriving from various time zones. Tony turned and winked at me as I stepped behind the valet counter and grabbed the water bottle I’d stashed there before going for my run.

  “Is there anywhere around here to grab coffee?” the last of the three women asked, her voice groggy and hoarse.

  I’d bet if she took off the big black shades, she’d look strung out and hungover. Guzzling my water, I took in the other latest arrivals, placing them around nineteen or twenty years old. No doubt spending their parents’ money.

  “Right inside, miss. As soon as you walk into the lobby, there’s a coffee station,” Tony told her. “It’s open every day from six to ten in the morning, and then you can get coffee any time of day from the lobby bar or room service.”

  “Oh, thank God. I could kiss you.” She flashed Tony a megawatt smile before flipping her hair off her shoulder in a well-rehearsed toss.