Page 39 of That Birthday in Barbados
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll leave my phone on for the rest of the trip.”
“That much I will ask of you. I’ve been in a state of panic.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Just unwind and come back to us revved up and revived.”
I smile, even as my stomach dips at the thought of the workload that will be waiting for me. “Tall order. I’ll try.”
We click off, and I’m newly grateful for my assistant and his loyalty. We genuinely like each other, and I think we would even if we didn’t have a working relationship.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. Too late to opt in for spin even if I could find the courage to face Anders.
A run is what I need. A good sweat and something to focus on aside from my stinging conscience.
Chapter Fourteen
“Did I do that?”
?Steve Urkel
Anders
I’M JUST LEAVING the spa still dressed in my workout clothes when I spot Catherine headed up the driveway away from the hotel. She’s running at an impressive pace, given the fact that I’m pretty sure she has to have a banger of a headache this morning.
I take off jogging in the same direction, not wanting to look like I’m chasing her. She’s passed the gatehouse at the main entrance and crossed the road to the residential street that winds up past the tennis courts by the time I catch her. I call her name, but she keeps going. I jog up beside her, tapping her on the shoulder when I realize she has headphones in and hasn’t heard me.
She jumps and screams. “You scared me!” she says, a hand over her heart.
“Sorry,” I say, holding up two hands in peace.
She bends, grabs her knees and pulls in air. When she straightens, she shakes her head and says, “If you’d been a bus, I’d be dead.”
I laugh. “That might be true. I thought you’d go back to bed.”
“Yeah. That. I chose self-recrimination and sweat detox as more deserving options.”
“Hey. It was your birthday.”
She lets herself meet eyes with me then. “It was fun. Thank you. I’m just sorry I-”
I reach out a hand, touch her shoulder. “There’s nothing you need to be sorry for.”
“Not even the terrible dancing?”
“No.”
“Assaulting you on the beach?”
“That was actually kind of fun.”
The red in her cheeks darkens. “The counseling session where I drownedyou in my romantic history?”
“Nope. Don’t need to be sorry for that either.”
“Thanks,” she says again, obviously embarrassed. She hesitates, holds my gaze for a few beats, and then, “Would you be up for finishing this run with me?”
“Matter of fact, I’m all warmed up,” I say, taking off up the hill at a sprint.
