Page 23 of Beauty and the Beach

“You can’t claim you’re not attracted to me and then kiss me like this?—”

“Like what? You’re kissing me the same way,” I say breathlessly. I yank her body back to mine and spin us around, pressing her none too gently against my shelf of classics. Her hair spills around her shoulders, mussed and staticky against the spines of Tolstoy and Dickens and Twain. “This is fueled by spite, Amsterdam. Not love, not attraction,” I go on, trying desperately not to notice the rapid rise and fall of her chest or the flush of her skin.

“No one said anything aboutlove.” She spits the word out, her hands fisting angrily into the fabric of my shirt.

I keep my eyes firmly on hers, don’t let them pull away like they want to when I hear that word coming from her lips—because it’s too intimate, and I know her too well, and I’ve seen too much of her deepest soul to trifle with subjects like that.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I don’t love you, I don’t like you, and I’m not attracted to you. Can you say the same, Holl?”

I let it slip without thinking, the name I take care never to call her. Her eyes widen infinitesimally; she’s still pressed so close that I can feel her breath hitch.

She inhales, shallow, brief, and then speaks as her gaze shutters closed once more, blank brown eyes framed in long, dark lashes. “Don’t call me that,Phoenix.”

My pulse stutters with an odd mixture of nostalgia and regret.

See this?her expression tells me.This is the line we don’t cross. Do you understand?

I swallow and then duck my head in agreement, the sole concession I can make, because those names belong to a different time, different versions of ourselves. I move my hands from her waist to her shoulders and push gently away, stepping backward—because she’s too close, and I don’t want her near me. I don’t even want her in my line of sight right now.

So I turn my back to her, just as she speaks.

“I’ll do it,” she says, her voice empty of emotion. “I’ll marry you. Once you’ve legally inherited the company and once your grandmother passes, we separate. As compensation, I want a salary. I also want Maggie’s tuition paid for in full, and I want to be added to your insurance.” She pauses just briefly. “I think I did something to my knee.”

Her knee. Crap.

I jerk my head to glance over my shoulder. “Did I hurt it?” I say, my voice gruff.

“No.”

I give a jerk of my head and turn away again. “Fine. Come back tomorrow and we’ll discuss terms. I’ll have the contract drawn up after that.”

“Here?” she says. “In your office?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“No.” I can picture her chin jutting, her jaw clenching. “I’ll be here at five.”

I hear her move, and she brushes past me, heading straight for the door. She stops just as one hand comes to rest on the handle; then, without looking back at me, she adds one more thing. “This never happened.”

“Obviously,” I say coolly.

“There will be no romantic feelings between the two of us.”

My eyes narrow. “Not a problem.”

“And people would misunderstand, so don’t tell anyone.”

I roll my eyes. “Go home, Amsterdam.” I hesitate. “And fix your hair before you go out there.”

She leaves without another word.

The nice thingabout being your own boss is that you don’t need permission to take a day off. So when I leave the next morning, driving my ridiculous little golf cart because I refuse to walk everywhere on this island, I don’t go in the direction of my office building. I head over to Dax’s place instead.

Some might say I’m avoiding the office—“some” being Wyatt, and hedidsay that—but really I just need a break. I slept horribly last night, plagued by dark, murky dreams of vague foreboding, pulled directly from my memories of the crash—the darkness, the car filling with water, the otherworldly horror that comes from knowing your life is about to end. I woke up drenched in sweat and in a foul mood, made worse by the memory of what happened between Holland and me.

I should have known better. Never kiss the enemy, even if you’re doing it to win an argument.

I shake my head and take a deep breath, savoring the crisp ocean air as I pull around to the side of Sunset Repairs. My eyes scan the docks to see if Dax is there, since he’s the island’s go-to boat mechanic, but I don’t see him. I turn tothe large, open car bay instead, where a few golf carts are stationed, as well as an ambulance—the island’s sole emergency vehicle, and one that gets very little use.

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