Red Hot Rebel - Olivia Hayle Page 0,2

exception.”

Making my expression apologetic, I turn back to the crowd beyond. The sun is setting, and the pool reflects the glorious colors of the sky. Summer in the Hamptons, and all these rich people are enjoying themselves. I still haven’t seen the designer, despite it being his party.

The men’s conversation is hard to tune out, though.

“Harsh to hire models and not let them mingle with the guests. What’s the point of having them here?”

“To look at, of course.” Rhys’s voice again. It’s sardonic—like he hates the practice, or considers it beneath him.

“Hired eye-candy,” another one responds. “Here to tempt us, but not to touch.”

Okay.

Disgusting.

I glance over in time to see Rhys give a dismissive flick of his hand. “They’re just models.”

“Oh?” his friend asks, grinning. “I’m sorry, what was I thinking. They’re obviously nothing that’d ever tempt you.”

“That’s right,” Rhys confirms, ignoring the sarcasm. “After a lifetime of being around beautiful women, I’m immune.”

“Well, I’m not. I like the look of the dark-haired one over there.”

I know without looking that he’s talking about Jordan on the other side of the pool. I grit my teeth and look back out at the crowd.

Their words shouldn’t bother me. They’re strangers. Rich, asshole strangers, but strangers nonetheless. And yet their comments slide like splinters beneath my skin.

“Ours is better,” the fourth man responds. “Blonde, busty—and look at those legs.”

It takes every ounce of self-control not to turn and glare. I’m standing right here, and they know I can hear them.

Which means they don’t give a damn.

Privilege rises from them in waves, like a too-thick cologne, oozing from the tailored clothing and disdainful voices.

I can’t wait until this party ends and I can return to the real world, my world, filled with cheap coffee, textbooks and gym sessions.

An edge of steel enters Rhys’s voice when he speaks again. “They’re just models. Air-headed and vain, here to do a job and then to leave.”

My head whips around to glare at him. He ignores me, but the surrounding men don’t. The two who’d commented on Jordan and me just laugh at my outrage.

“We have better things to discuss,” Rhys continues. The tone brokers no future deliberation on the topic.

The men fall silent.

Anger curls in my stomach, sharper than before. Who does he think he is, to comment on our purported intelligence while he knows I can overhear?

A movement to my right. I turn my head in time to watch Jordan fall from her spot by the pool, and break the surface of the water.

She’s not moving.

My reaction is borne from instinct. I dive off the edge and break the surface of the cold water. The pool isn’t large and I reach Jordan quickly, wrapping my arms around her.

She’s limp in my arms. The flowy fabric of her dress is heavy, pulling her down, and she’d fallen into the deep end. I kick my legs against the weight of the water to keep us both afloat. Stunned guests look at us around the edge of the pool.

Nobody helps.

Strong arms brush against mine beneath the surface, wrapping around Jordan. She’s pulled out of my grasp entirely.

Rhys comes into view. The man who’d disparaged me as vain and air-headed, his dark hair now plastered in unruly curls over his forehead. He moves in two strong, skilled strokes and then he’s reached the stairs in the pool.

I swim after him, gaze locked on Jordan’s face. She lolls against his shoulder.

“Jordan?” I kneel on the steps, half-submerged in water. “Jordan, wake up.”

She blinks twice, and then coughs, struggling to sit. Rhys releases her but stays next to us in the water.

“Fainted,” she whispers, and then breaks into a coughing fit that racks her body. I put an arm around her shoulders and look over at Rhys. He gazes back with serious intent, none of the snideness I’d seen earlier.

“Help me get her to the pool house,” I tell him.

He doesn’t respond, simply slides his arms around Jordan and lifts her straight out of the water. The crowd parts around us as he carries her toward the adjoining building.

I rush ahead, shaky from the adrenaline, the dress clinging like a second skin to my body. I pull open the door for him. “Put her on the couch.”

Grabbing towels, I drape them over her and smooth her hair back from her forehead. She’s starting to shake.

“Jordan? Are you okay?”

She nods, then closes her eyes. “I can’t believe I fainted here.”

“Lucky you fell into the pool,” Rhys says. He’s retreated, hands deep in the