Page 25 of Beauty and the Beach

A human-sized dog bed—good grief, Holland.

I sigh. “Well, I’m going to hire her, so I think she’ll be okay.”

“You’re giving her a job?” Beau says, looking surprised once more.

I jerk my shoulders and turn back to the bucket of spare parts. “Something like that.” Then, without looking back, I add, “Come help me dig.”

Holland

I knockon Phoenix’s office door at four-fifty-nine.

I’ve actually been here since four-fifty, but I didn’t want to seem too eager, and I wanted to give myself a few more minutes before I officially committed to marry him. This whole shindig probably won’t include a bachelorette party; it felt right to take a moment and commemorate my singledom.

It has, on the whole, been unremarkable.

I smooth my hand down my shirt, checking to make sure everything looks okay; I’m dressed out of character in tight jeans, a white v-neck, and a fitted tan blazer. Thankfully I own a pair of tan ankle boots, because my knee keeps giving me trouble, and I don’t want to deal with heels today.

I brush away one last wrinkle as Wyatt opens the door to the office, and the smile I give him is genuine and full of relief.

I’m being stupid, obviously. I can face Phoenix just fine. I can face this room just fine. Nothing is different today from yesterday. Still, it’s nice to have two extra seconds before I’m forced to see him.

Usually when I see Wyatt, though—which admittedly is not often—he’s wearing an expression of vague politeness. Something about him is different today. He’s dressed thesame, but he looks more alert—more present, maybe, his eyes quick and sharp and focused.

He steps back and gestures for me to enter the office, and then he returns to the same leather chair he was sitting in yesterday. He doesn’t open the large leather folder he always seems to carry; he just waits, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes on Phoenix.

Phoenix, meanwhile, doesn’t even look up from the papers he’s signing at his desk; he just waves one absent hand and says “Close the door, please.”

I do as he says, mostly because even though the office staff are all filtering out for the day, I don’t want to risk anyone hearing about this arrangement. The door clicks shut just as Phoenix speaks again.

“Glad to see you’re taking this seriously,” he says, and I turn to find him gazing with reluctant approval at my outfit. I smooth my hands over my blazer once more.

“Money is changing hands,” I say. “We’re signing a contract. This is a business meeting.”

“I agree,” he says. He stands up, straightening his tie.

His tie, which is similar in color to the tie I yanked on yesterday, in this very office.

I can’t believe I did that.

“Are you ready?” Phoenix says, and I jump, pressing the back of my hand to my warm cheeks.

But he’s not talking to me. “Whenever you are,” Wyatt says promptly—and out comes the leather folder, which he flips open to reveal a legal pad.

I’m glad he didn’t ask me the same question, because I don’t know what my answer would be. I don’t think I’m ready; I don’t think it’s possible to be truly ready for something like a contractual marriage to a man whose mere face makes you angry.

But ready or not, this is what needs to happen. I need his financial support, as much as I absolutely hate to admit it. So I clear my throat and then dive in anyway.

“If we’re going to do this,” I say, “I have some conditions.”

“I’m sure you do,” Phoenix says under his breath. Then, louder, he goes on, “But that’s why we’re meeting today. Give me a moment, please, and we can discuss everything.”

I stare at him for a second, frowning. That sentence he just said was so…nice.Polite and professional. Is this what business-meeting Phoenix is like? Why can’t he be like this all the time? Is that too much to ask?

He would probably be nicer to you if you were nicer to him,a little voice chimes in my brain.

I ignore that voice.

Phoenix rounds his giant desk and takes a seat in the chair between mine and Wyatt’s. He looks back and forth between us for a second and then begins. “All right,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “Let’s start. First things first: duration. This contract would be for the remaining length of my grandmother’s life. She’s been given several more months to live, so realistically, we’re looking at the rest of the summer. Is that agreeable?”

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