Page 27 of Beauty and the Beach

“Do you?” he says, leaning forward. His black-brown eyes paralyze me, hold me so firmly in place that I can barely breathe. “You will need to behave, Miss Blakely”—he leans further, close enough that I can smell his leather-and-mahogany scent—“as though I’m the one you dream about.”His voice is soft but firm as he goes on, “We will need to convince them that we are deeply, deeply in love.”

And I swear at this very moment, you could hear a pin drop in this office—he’s staring at me so intently, soseriously.His black brows wing severely over his dark eyes, and his mouth is set in a grim, uncompromising line as he waits for my reply.

This is not my Phoenix, the one who puts fish in my mailbox and calls me rude names. This is executive Phoenix, get-stuff-done Phoenix—this is don’t-mess-with-me Phoenix.

He’s kind of…intimidating.

No, he’s not,I tell myself.There’s nothing intimidating about him. Suck it up.I look at the paper in my lap; I think about Maggie. Then, finally I nod.

“I’m in,” I say.

Some of the tension leaks out of Phoenix’s shoulders as he sits back in his leather chair once more. “Good,” he says. “In that case, now is the time to list your conditions.”

“I have two,” I say. “The first one is that we’re not going to sleep together.”

“Agreed,” he says immediately, his expression blank. “Next.”

“The second is that you cannot fall in love with me, and vice versa. No feelings will enter into this arrangement.”

I know it sounds stupid—I know. And the risk of us falling for each other is almost nonexistent. But I need to be thorough.

But Phoenix just smirks, and it’s the first time this whole meeting that I’ve seen an expression I’m so familiar with—now that our business is coming to a close, it looks like he’s back to his true colors. “You already said that,” he says. “Yesterday. You’re safe from me, Amsterdam.”

“Fine,” I say, relief coursing through me. “That’s it for me, then.”

“If that’s all,” Wyatt says, “I’ll have a contract drawn up and ready for you to sign by end of day tomorrow.”

I stand up, nodding. “Sounds good. Thanks, Wyatt.”

Phoenix stands too, and I’m surprised when he holds out his hand. I stare at it.

“Shake, Gangster Glam,” he says, the faintest hint of taunting in his voice. “It’s what people do when they make business deals.”

I put my hand in his and squeeze it as hard as I can.

He cocks one eyebrow at me and squeezes my hand in return, a quick, bone-crushing pulse of pain.

“Ow!” I say, kicking him in the shin.

He winces and gives my hand one last squeeze, and I kick him again.

“Get out of my office,” he says, wrenching our hands apart and pointing at the door. “Wyatt will email you the DocuSign tomorrow evening. Start looking for a wedding dress; we’re taking official wedding photos in three days.”

My eyes widen as images of me in a frilly, floofy wedding monstrosity pop into my head. “That soon?” I say.

“Yes. I’ll pay, so don’t worry about price,” he says briskly, straightening his suit coat. “And I don’t care about the style, but choose something classy, please, and not too casual.”

I scoff. “I’m a classy person, Toucan.”

He just points to the door again. “Go. Wyatt will drive you home.”

“In the golf cart?” I say with a groan.

“Yes. Don’t complain.”

“Do you always do the things he tells you to do?” I say to Wyatt, who’s closing his folder and standing with a twinkle of humor in his eyes.

“He pays me well enough that I have no objections,” Wyatt says with a little smile.

---