“Hey, I thought I was going to be your best man!” Mark said, laughing.
I shook my head. “Sorry man, I've already destroyed my friendship with my brother once; I don't need to do it again.” I grinned.
Gretchen threw her arms around me again, burying her face against my shirt. “You're the best,” she said.
“No, you are,” I told her teasingly. I looked around. “Now, I know you all want to congratulate our beautiful bride-to-be, but let's get this luau started!”
Later that night, it was just Gretchen and me again, walking down the beach. “That was the best night,” she told me quietly, twisting her fingers into mine.
“It was,” I agreed, just as quietly. I paused. “You know, I am glad to be here.”
“I'm glad that you're here too.”
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BILLIONAIRE IN REHAB
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
BILLIONAIRE IN REHAB PART I
Chapter One
Cassidy
“This is our dining area. You should come out here for all your meals,” Ronald March was saying as he brought the new guy around the facility.
I had seen enough tours of our swanky Aspen drug and alcohol rehabilitation center that I could probably have given the tour myself if I had to. Mr. March was dressed in a custom-tailored suit and looked more like a celebrity stylist than the manager of a drug rehab center. But then again, our drug rehab center wasn’t exactly like the ones you would see on television.
My heart flipped as I looked at the man Mr. March was giving a tour to. My initial thought was that he must be famous. His deeply-tanned skin was covered with a scruffy beard, and he was wearing a winter beanie hat that probably cost more than I earned in a week.
A guy like that showing up at our treatment center wasn’t all that unusual. We were a high-end facility that cost a lot of money. But what caught me about this guy was his general level of casualness. He seemed comfortable in our facility, more like he was on a tour of a candy factory than a drug and alcohol treatment facility. I had to wonder if he was even the patient or perhaps instead he was the agent to someone famous. That wouldn’t be unusual.
But no, Mr. March had said “you” when he talked about where to eat, so the man must be a new patient. Secretly, I was happy to have such a handsome guy around; it was fun to have a little eye candy when we were busy
working such long shifts.
The whole room paused and watched as the two men made their way through the dining area. It was an open area with several tables, each seating two or four people. Most of the patients were already out of the rooms and waiting for their meals; watching a new patient get his orientation was something to keep them busy with while they waited.
People paid thousands of dollars to hide away at Paradise Peak. Many of our clients were famous actors, musicians, and children of the rich. So, I wasn’t exactly surprised at my physical reaction to seeing the man. Hot guys were just as susceptible to addition as ugly guys were.
But there was something different about this one, something in his eyes that seemed genuinely lost. At Paradise Peak, people had the opportunity to work on mental health issues, drug issues, and alcohol issues – and many people had them all. Some celebrities even came to spend a week and just get away from all the people trying to control their lives.
“Hi, Brad, are you ready for some delicious stuffed chicken?” I asked as I brought a tray over to one of my patients for the day.
“What’s it stuffed with?”
“I don’t know.” I laughed.
“I don’t eat things if I don’t know what they are stuffed with. Come back when you know what’s in it.”