"You can’t sit still for a second, can you?" Max asked, feeling brazen enough to engage her in a real conversation.

Sami turned to him, surprised. Although she considered herself a country bumpkin, there were strict boundaries between the occupants and the staff at Winthrop Towers.

Boundaries Regan would have Max’s job for crossing. Still, Sami was elated that Max talked to her, and, well, if Max didn’t care about his job, who was she to argue.

"No. I’m always so busy at home. Even when I’m not working, I’m swimming or boating or hiking or camping. Not much down-time for me," she said, hoping she didn’t sound like a dork.

Max had assumed she was a trust fund baby. Before, Sami had always arrived dressed in, well, a dress, and perfectly coifed hair and manicured nails and expensive shoes. He found he preferred the rough and tumble look she sported today.

"Where is home?"

"I live upstate, on Little Island."

"Which little island?"

Sami laughed, a common misnomer. "The name is Little Island."

At that moment, the elevators slid open and out sprang Regan. She flew into Sami’s arms, and they giggled and chatted at the same time like they were still teenagers.

"Where are your bags? Never mind, I’ll have Max get them." Regan, always in a hurry, called, "Max, get her bags! Send them up."

Sami turned to him, her pulse beating a hasty tattoo, "No, Max. I didn’t bring any bags with me, only this one," shaking the small tote in her hand.  The elevator doors closed.

"Okay, spill it," Regan said.  Although exceedingly self-absorbed, Regan could also be very perceptive at times, especially in the case of her dearest friend.

"What?" Sami stared into the corner of the elevator farthest away from Regan’s telepathic gaze.

"Don’t ‘what’ me, Sami King. I know that look. I saw it when you had a crush on Dewey Hoyle.  Gawd, what a mess he was."

"You sound like my mother."

"Well, she was a smart woman," Regan patted her hair, making sure no wayward curl needed punishing. "A security guard, Sami?" She was warming up to her cause. "What is wrong with you? And why didn’t you say something before. Here I am, trying to set you up with all these exciting, successful men, so you can move here, closer to me, and all this time you wanted a security guard."

"Regan, we’ve had this conversation a hundred times. I don’t want a relationship with someone in the city. Not a doctor, not a lawyer, not a security guard. I live in the boonies, and I like it there."

"Yeah, well, who are you going to marry up there? You’re related to nearly everyone on the island except Mr. Peterson, and that’s just gross." Regan wrinkled her pretty nose at the thought. "I guess it’s okay if you have a fling with Max."

"How generous of you to give me permission," Sami said. Her irritation at Regan’s matchmaking was blatantly apparent. She threw her bag into the nearest chair as they walked into the penthouse.

"This is all you brought? Good Lord. No self-respecting woman can pick up a worthy man with a grocery bag full of clothes. Come on, Sami. We’ve got to shop."

"Wait, wait. I want to say hi," John, Regan’s mega-rich husband, popped his head into the living area. He took his pipe from his mouth. Although he never actually smoked his pipe, he liked the way he looked.

"Hey, gorgeous, I think Regan may have a new list of men for you to check out.

"What did I say?" Sami heard John asking Regan as Sami stomped to her room. The pictures rattled on the wall as she slammed the door behind her.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

Little Island -3 (Continue)