Page 88 of Beauty and the Beach

She shrugs but stays right where she is. “As long as you actually have a plan, I’m not worried.” She pauses and then glances up at me. “You do have a plan, right?”

“I—of course.” I always have a plan. More than one, in fact.

Her head rests on my shoulder again. “Then it’s fine.”

Huh. She actuallydoestrust me. I…like that.

I like that a surprising amount.

So with only slight hesitation, I rest my head on top of hers.

And I like that, too.

Wyatt meetsus at the ferry stop with a change of outfit for both of us, since we’ve been out helping with clean-up all day and we only barely made the ferry.

“Wyatt,” Holland says as soon as he passes us our clothing and ushers us into his car. “Do you have a Mary Poppins bag full of all this stuff?”

“It would seem so, wouldn’t it?” he says dryly. “But really I’m just very good at being prepared.”

“You’re amazing. If you ever get annoyed at Phoenix, just come to me,” Holland says as she scoots into the back seat and buckles her seatbelt. “I’ll help you plot some good pranks. I’ve got one I’ve been dying to try that involves personalized stationery and a long mailing list.”

I narrow my eyes at her in the rearview mirror, but she just smiles sweetly.

Wyatt simply chuckles, the traitor. Then he says, “I assume you both made it through the storm with no problems.”

My gaze flies to the rearview mirror again, just in time to see a smile spread over Holland’s face—small but genuine and warm.

“We did,” she says. “How was it over here?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” he says with a dip of his chin. Then he looks over at me and speaks in a lower, more serious voice. “I’ve changed our timeline like you asked. We’re still waiting on a few things, though.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “My guess is I’ll end up announcing today, but I don’t think it can be helped. Oh,” I add as I remember. “Let’s go through the home security footage later. Mavis got hold of our contract somehow. I think it was probably Clarence and Lawrence, but I’d like to be sure before I take action.”

Wyatt nods, a tight grimace pulling at his lips.

“And speaking of the contract,” I say, because there’s no point in putting this conversation off—even though Wyatt will get that knowing look in his eye when I admit that he was right and I was wrong. “I think we can terminate it. It won’t be necessary any longer.”

Wyatt’s graying eyebrows fly to his hairline, and he shoots a look at me before turning his eyes to the rearview mirror. “So you’re…” he says, trailing off like he doesn’t dare ask.

“My husband is in love with me,” Holland says in a bland voice. “And I find him tolerable enough to tempt me?—”

“Shut up,” I say, reaching blindly behind my seat and swatting her legs—except I have to force myself not to smile.

My assistant does no such thing. When I look over at him, he’s beaming—the biggest smile I think I’ve ever seen on him. Something unexpectedly warm and affectionate stirs in my chest, and I speak again.

“Thanks to you, in part,” I add to Wyatt, my voice grudging. I’m not good at expressing my emotions, but it should be said. “I appreciate your advice.”

And I swear his eyes actually get a little glassy.

By the time we reach the Butterfield building, though, he’s regained his composure, as stoic as ever. He drops us off at the entrance to the headquarters—twenty-three stories high—and we pass through the rotating doors. The lobby is nearly empty, thankfully; Holland and I take the elevator up to the employee lounge, where I direct her to the women’s changing room.

“This is so nice,” she says as she looks around, her eyes wide. “There’s exercise equipment over there.” She moves to stand closer to me, though, when she sees the people staring—two guys over at the coffee station, three women eating at a small table. Most of the employees know who I am, even vaguely, and a decent amount probably also know that I don’t work in this building anymore.

My guess, though, is that they’re more interested in the way Holland’s fingers are intertwined with mine. She seems to be a hand-holder, and I can’t say I hate it.

“Don’t get too used to it,” I tell her, pulling my hand away. “Now go change. Meet me back here. You have five minutes.”

“I have however long I need,” she says, rolling her eyes at me. “And you’re not going to spontaneously combust if you go too long without bossing someone around. Take a deep breath and fight the urge.” Then, before I can respond to her snark, she’s gone, disappearing through the door to the locker room.

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