Page 19 of What Doesn't Kill You…

The Benson Security team closed in around him as Damien Poole approached. He bore down on them, drawing attention from curious tourists, and instant deference from staff. At his back, two large men, dressed in black and wearing sunglasses—at night, indoors—kept a close eye on their boss. Unlike his henchmen, Damien wore a beige suit with a crisp white shirt, an expensive watch, and handmade Italian shoes. As usual, his golden hair was styled to perfection.

Max hated everything about the man.

As he stepped in front of Max, he slid his hands into the pockets of his pants, making it clear there would be no hand offered, even out of politeness. A crocodile smile curved his lips and one eyebrow cocked in a mocking gesture.

"Maximillian," he said again. "I thought that was you. Have to say, I didn't expect to find you in one of my hotels." His tone held a hint of mockery.

Max felt his jaw tighten. "I didn't realize this was your resort," he lied.

Damien's smile was disbelieving. "Really? An ace reporter, such as yourself, didn't look into who owned the hotel? Oh wait, as I recall, this isn't the first time your research has let you down where I'm concerned, is it?"

Smug bastard. Max's hands curled into fists and to his shock, he felt Violet force her hand into his. The move seemed to ground him.

"Your hotel?" Violet said. "Are you the manager?"

It was a tiny little dig, but Max appreciated the effort.

"No," Damien's eyes tightened at the corners when he glanced her way. "I'm the owner and an old friend of Maximillian here." His gaze strayed back to Max, challenge glinting in his eyes.

"Really?" Violet said, her tone pure ice. "He's never mentioned you. But seeing as you're the owner, do you think you could do something about the quality of the toilet paper in our room. It's really on the cheap side, considering what we're paying. Would you look into that for us?"

If Max hadn't been so thrown by Damien's sudden appearance, and the fact the man had remembered him, he'd have laughed. Damien, meanwhile, was staring at Violet as though she was suddenly worth his notice. Max didn't like that look one bit, but he reminded himself that Violet could take care of herself.

"I'll ask my staff to look into the situation for you," he said with a flat smile. "After all, I wouldn't want Max here writing an exposé on the resort, telling the world all about our substandard toilet tissue." He chuckled. "Is that why you're here, Maximillian? To write another story. The great toilet paper investigation, perhaps? Sorry, I mean try to write another story. My mistake."

Max desperately wanted to punch the smug smile off the bastard's face. As though reading his mind, Violet held his arm tighter. If he hadn't been so thrown dealing with Damien, he would have been in shock that she was touching him.

"We're here to get married," Max said flatly. Hating to share anything with the man, but it wasn't like Damien couldn't get the information in an instant when they were done talking.

Damien feigned astonishment. "In my hotel? I'm flattered."

"Max didn't choose the hotel," Violet said. "I did. I'm afraid I didn't realize he was friends with the owner when I did it, otherwise I would have asked for a discount."

Again, Damien's attention turned to Violet, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Let me guess, another reporter?"

"Former cop," Violet said. "Turned florist. I went into the family business when dealing with the scum-sucking criminal underbelly became too much to stomach."

It was clear from Damien's expression he had no idea what to do with Violet. Honestly, Max wasn't sure either.

"Well then, welcome to my resort," Damien said at last. "I hope you have a wonderful wedding and a long happy life together." He turned toward the reception area. "And, seeing as we're such good friends, I'll make sure management knows to comp your meals while you're here."

"That's okay," Max said hurriedly. "No need." The thought of taking anything from Damien made him feel ill.

"It's my pleasure." Damien oozed fake sincerity. "Make sure to mention the hotel if you write about your wedding. I'm sure your publisher will be keen to hear what you think of the place. He was here only last month. We caught up on the golf course. Good times." He nodded at Violet. "Enjoy your stay."

Then he strode away without a backward glance.

Max watched him go until he felt Violet's nails digging into his arm.

"Hey!" he rubbed the small injury.

She was furious. "You didn't tell us that Damien knew you."

"I didn't think he'd remember me," he said, sounding lame.

"Well, he did." She fumed. "And it makes going undercover harder when people already know who you are."

"We're not getting into this here." Rodrigo shifted into Max's view. "Back to the bungalow. Now. We need to have a team meeting." It was an order.