Page 10 of Beauty and the Beach

“I. Do. Not.Care,” I hiss at him, turning on my heel and poking him hard in the chest.

Ooh, muscular.

“I am broke,” I say, seething, “and my little sister just got her first period, and I need supplies for her, and I need her to believe that I’ve got my crap together so that she doesn’t worry. All right? So I am buying the cheapest tampons and the cheapest pads, and I would very much like for you to take your commentary and shove it up your?—”

But I break off and stumble out of the way as the man bumps me to the side—not at all gently—and swipes his card. The little light that flashed red at me turns green for him, accompanied by the kind of blip I was denied in favor of my angry beep.

I swallow, relief and humiliation warring for control of my mind and my body. “Thank you,” I say stiffly, grabbing theplastic bags and hurrying out of the way. “I would be happy to pay you back on Friday.”

“Please don’t bother,” he says, like I expected he would.

I just jerk my head in a nod. “Inthat case, thank you. I sincerely hope we never meet again.”

“Likewise,” the man says, his voice flat. “Have a lovely day.”

I leave so quickly I almost trip, but I don’t turn back or look at him again. I book it back to my little sister, and I forget all about the man in the suit.

Phoenix

“She’s impossible.”

They’re the first words that burst out of my mouth when I storm into my office, followed closely by my assistant. Wyatt closes the door behind us and then moves wordlessly to one of the leather chairs by the bookshelf while I begin pacing in front of the window.

“Mm-hmm,” he says once he’s seated. His hum is absentminded, even bored, and when I glance over, I find his attention not on me but on the leather folder open in his lap.

“She does the stupidest things,” I go on. “She’s stubborn on purpose.”

Another droning hum from Wyatt. I shake my head and resume my pacing, passing back and forth in front of the large window.

The view from my Sunset Harbor office is nothing like the view from my office on the mainland. When I first set up here five years ago, I wasn’t sure how it would feel; I’d been visiting and then working at headquarters since my senior year of high school. Not as an executive, of course—I did a little of everything, though not necessarily well. I was horrible at product development; generating ideas isn’t my strong suit. I’m not particularly creative, so design and ergonomicsweren’t great either.

Implementation and logistics, though? Organizing all the moving pieces and making sure they do what they’re supposed to do? That’s where I found my niche. Now I oversee teams of people putting plans into action, taking care of the tedious details—and I do it from my office here on Sunset Harbor. I traded in the city skyline for a distant view of the ocean and the faint jingle of bicycle bells as people pass.

Never thought I’d live on an island where no cars are allowed, but here we are. Wyatt came with me, of course, because I’m one of those unfortunate workaholics who would not function without someone keeping track of all the little details in my own life.

He jots something down in his folder; the leather chair dwarfs his slight frame, but the seat still squeaks as he leans forward and continues to write. Since it doesn’t appear he’s going to respond, I speak again.

“And half of my time is spent chasing along after her, making sure she doesn’t catapult right over the edge of a cliff.”

“I think it’s possible you’re underestimating her ability to avoid cliffs,” Wyatt says, finally looking up at me.

“She was trying to work at the adoption fair, Wyatt,” I say as I continue to pace. I can hear the incredulous note in my voice, and just the memory of her sitting at that table makes me want to roll my eyes again. “She’sallergic to dogs.”

“Mmm,” Wyatt says, returning to his folder.

I shove my fingers through my hair and then turn to him, stopping in place so I don’t wear tracks in the carpet. “Can you please say something more helpful than that?”

“If you tell me what you’d like to hear,” he says, distracted once more as he flips through the pages of his legal pad, “I’d be happy to oblige.”

I narrow my eyes at him, and even though he’s not looking at me, I still catch the ghost of a smile in response.

“Am I being unreasonable?” I say stiffly. I have to force the question out, because I doubt I’ll like his answer.

“It’s unreasonable to think you can control another human being,” he says without hesitation. His glasses glint in the light as he glances briefly at me. “Especially one like Miss Blakely.”

“I don’t want to control her,” I say. “I just want her to stop doing dumb things.” Then, pausing, I add, “And what do you mean, especially someone like her?”

Wyatt shrugs mildly. “She’s shown herself quite averse to your suggestions.”

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