Page 51 of Work: Strictly Professional

Miller’s eyes are watering, and he’s cackling loudly at our ridiculous display. Wyn’s mouth is pinched into a tight circle. He is the opposite of amused. If anything, his patience is being severely tested. I understand. He’s a general headed for battle. He has an army to command. He doesn’t have time for this bullshit.

“Let me give you Joel’s contact details,” I say, tugging my shirt down to straighten myself out and claw back a smidgeon of dignity. “We need to get him on the next flight out here.”

“I assume by we you mean me.” His tone is a little snippy, and he realizes it immediately. He tacks on a slightly breathy “h-honey,” at the end.

I’m not sure if it’s how adorable I find him or if it’s actually funny, but that breathyhoneycreases me. It makes me want to double over and fall to the ground laughing. It makes me so happy that I can’t resist sliding my hands into his hair, leaning down, and pressing my nose against the velvety tip of his.

“Thanks, bunny,” I whisper. “I appreciate you.”

“Really?” he says when we’re out of earshot of the others. “You went with bunny?Bunny?”

“You left me no choice.” I shrug. “It rhymes with honey.”

That incenses him so much that I make a firm decision to call him nothing else for the rest of the trip.

His phone pings, and he looks down to check it. His face lights up. “The peach blossoms are here!” he cries.

“Peach blossoms?”

“Yes, from Australia, and the lemon and lime trees.”

“Lemon and lime trees? Trees?Trees?You imported trees?” That explains why I nearly passed out when I got the bill for the flowers.

“Yup.” He looks pleased with himself. His eyes glitter, the picture of innocence, but the smirk on his face comes straight from the devil. “Told you I’d go over budget.”

There’s a jaunty bounce in his step as he walks off. He must have been expecting today to be a workout because he’s wearing a neon-green tank, matching shorts, and a pair of running shoes that look brand new. It’s so different from his office attire that it confuses my senses. It activates me. Heightens me. Hungers me.Makes me want to spar with him. He just landed an impressive blow with that business about the budget.

I felt it. I liked it. I respond with one of my own.

“Hey, bunny,” I call after him. “How much to teach me to rim you?”

21

Wyn

I head to theoutdoor lounge, a plate of freshly air-fried nuggets in hand, to look for Jamie. It’s almost lunchtime, and I’m hungry too. I think I might have a salad today. I haven’t had one since I arrived, and I think today is the day. Maybe I’ll have a nice chicken salad with lots of avocado. No, maybe a grilled steak salad with a nice balsamic vinaigrette. On a bed of couscous. Or maybe mash. You know what, maybe I’ll just have steak and mashed potatoes again.

I spot Ryan and Miller in the outdoor lounge. They’re squished into a hammock together and Barbara Anne and Sage are draped on a double lounger. Barbara Anne must be fresh off the beach because she’s wearing an elaborately beaded kaftan, an obnoxiously big hat, and a pair of dark glasses. She looks like a famous Hollywood star in disguise.

The bitch.

Honestly, don’t even get me started on that little display between her and Derek earlier. It was horrible. I didn’t know what to do with my face. I haven’t been able to think of anythingelse, so it’s kind of a relief that the scene I’ve just stumbled upon is so peculiar.

Ryan has his head on Miller’s shoulder and is making strange, happy sounds as he nuzzles his face into Miller’s neck. Miller’s face is tight with concern. When Ryan looks up, I see why. He doesn’t look like himself at all. He looks severely stoned, mouth lax and turned up goofily at the corners, but his eyes are bright and crystal clear. There’s something very, very wrong about all of it. It takes me a beat to work out what’s wrong with him, and when I do, it doesn’t make things less odd at all. He looks relaxed. Ryan Haraway looks relaxed.

“Sage,” Miller warns, “if you broke Ryan, you better hope you know how to fix him.” He pats Ryan’s hair down and examines his face. He’s not pleased with what he sees. His voice turns into a wail. “I want my rude, complicated little stress ball back.”

Ryan laughs uproariously at that, and Barbara Anne preens, giving an unmissable told-you-so look.

The shape of a dark, broad-shouldered man emerges from the path that leads to the beach. I dump the nuggets into Jenna’s hands and make a run for it without waiting to see if it’s Derek or not. I have to. I humiliated myself earlier. I wasn’t expecting Derek’s latest request. Maybe I should have been, but I wasn’t. I had a strong reaction to it and gave him my stupidest quote yet. I basically just said every number I could remember.

Five hundred and seventy-six dollars and eighty-three cents?

What the hell kind of number is that?

Just my luck, I’m such a fucking over-achiever when I’m in go-time mode that I even set a time for our little—I don’t know what you’d call it—meeting, I guess. So now, here I am, having one of the highest-pressure days of my career, and instead of focusing on that, I’m spending most of my time counting down the minutes to four p.m. this afternoon.

The curtains are drawn in the suite. It’s dark and sultry despite the fact the sun is still up. Derek is on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles, reading a book. He looks up and flexes his toes when he sees me.

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