Nice girl rule number one. Do you plan to recite the whole list for him? “I suppose I sound naive.”
“No.”
She glanced over, surprised to find no hint of amusement in his expression.
“As it happens, I agree.”
He said the words casually, but something intense lurked in his eyes and she got a little lost in them. Had her office always been this small and quiet? “You do?”
“I don’t make a promise unless I intend to keep it.”
“Hence, you don’t make promises?” All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. She inhaled until her lungs hurt.
“Hence, I haven’t—”
Her cell phone rang.
Chelsea mumbled, “Excuse me,” stood, and stepped around him, her leg brushing his knee as she passed. His dick twitched at the small contact, and then hovered at half-mast as he watched her walk to where her cell phone sat charging on her windowsill. The soft pink dress she wore qualified as business casual. Not especially low cut in front, not especially high on her legs, but the thin, slippery material clung to her body. He’d have to be dead not to notice the slight bounce of her breasts as she moved, or the slide of the fabric over her flat stomach and rounded hips as she unconsciously smoothed the skirt down. The messy knot she’d swept her hair into distracted him to the extent he nearly didn’t hear her when she spoke.
“It’s my friend Laurie from Montenido. Her bakery burned down on New Year’s, and I’m trying to help—”
“Go ahead. Talk with your friend.” He forced his attention to the computer and away from a cock-torturing fantasy about perching her on the edge of her desk and seeing how many times he needed to make her come to turn her cheeks the color of her dress. “I’ll go—”
“No need.” She headed to the door. “I’ll step out. I want to let Lynette know she can go to lunch.” She pulled the door closed behind her, but the latch didn’t catch. It swung open about a foot and presented him with a framed view of Chelsea from behind.
Normally he would have excused himself while a business associate took a personal call, but normally he wasn’t sitting in the associate’s office with a tent in his pants from watching her cross the room. He wasn’t going anywhere until that situation resolved. Resolution required focusing on something besides the luscious swell of her ass beneath soft pink fabric.
He saved the reservation—test file—he told himself, although the thought of spending a week of R&R at the villa with Chelsea after the sale closed sounded like the perfect reward for a job well done. Could he talk her into it?
What the hell are you doing planning a vacation with the woman?
Good question. They were mixing business with pleasure. Convenient and diverting, but when the business concluded, they’d both move on. Neither of them offered more. He didn’t have the time or disposition for a relationship, much less a long-distance one, and once he was running St. Sebastian, the opportunity for fun and games on Maui would be few and far between. Even if…
What the fuck? Why are you wasting brain cells thinking about this? Justifying it? When the business concludes, you’ll both move on. End of story. What you should be thinking about is getting her off the phone and back to the villa, so you can make the most of the time you’ve got left.
The mention of limited time set a clock ticking in his head, loud enough to drown out his internal debate. He looked over to where she stood. Something her friend said made her tense. She rounded her shoulders and brought her free hand up to cup the phone—the body language of someone protecting secrets—and suddenly he couldn’t concentrate on anything except her side of the conversation, which he could hear well enough through the half-open door.
“Oh my God. When?”
A voice at the other end of the phone responded, but he couldn’t make out the words.
“But what about the baby?”
Now he didn’t need the other side of the conversation. Obviously Barrington and the love of his life had hit the skids. No big surprise, but a big fucking mess if they allowed their personal difficulties to spill into the workplace. Neutralizing that possibility should have been foremost in his mind, but all he cared about at the moment was Chelsea’s reaction to the news. He wished he could see her face.
“I can’t believe it. No, I know you predicted this, but I’m stunned.”
Stunned happy? Stunned appalled?
“Me? She’s lost her mind. How in God’s name is this my doing? I’m not even there.”
She shook her head and paced a few steps, moving out of his view. Her words became an indistinct murmur. He nearly got up to position himself closer to the door when she paced back to her starting point. “Yes, but—”
He didn’t like the sound of that.
“Okay, fine. He has called, several times, and left some voicemails. So what? I haven’t responded.”
The son of a bitch had called her. She’d chosen not to open the lines of communication, which offered minimal comfort, but would she change her mind now that things between Paul and Cindy were unraveling?
“Well, that wasn’t very smooth of him.” She bit her lip and hugged one arm across her waist.
Did she realize how conflicted she looked?
“Whatever happens is between them. I wish they’d chosen a better place to have a spat than a staff meeting, and I wish they’d left my name out of it.”
Was her heart out of it? Not that he expected her to make any pledges to him, but the notion of getting her body while her mind remained stuck on the past made him want to slam his fist into the wall, or Barrington’s face. Most likely he’d have to settle for terminating the asshole’s employment, but one way or another that guy needed to be gone. He’d call this afternoon and light a fire under the corporate recruiter.
Chelsea finished her call, closed her eyes, and ran the heel of her hand over her forehead.
He busied himself at the computer, and sensed more than saw her re-enter the office. “Is your friend okay?” he asked, without looking up. Yes, he was playing dumb. Less because he didn’t want her to know he’d overheard as he wanted her to share the conversation with him of her own accord. More to the point, he wanted her to tell him she couldn’t care less if Barrington was back on the market. Hell, he wanted her to slap his face for even thinking she might give a damn.
“Laurie’s hanging in.” He looked up to see if she’d volunteer anything more, but she sent him an unconvincing smile and slid into the guest chair on the other side of the desk. After crossing one leg over the other, she leaned forward and fiddled with her phone.
“Other troubles?”
She frowned at her phone, sliding her thumb over the screen and tapping as if calling up an email. “No. Everything’s fine.”
Disappointment settled in his gut. He needed to get a grip. They shared a professional goal, first and foremost. Yes, they also shared some incredibly entertaining sex, but he could practically hear his father lecturing him for letting sex distract him from his primary purpose. “If everything’s so wonderful, why are you giving your phone a dirty look?”
Wary brown eyes found his. “Lynette emailed me a reservation confirmation. We’re scheduled with Undersea Escapes for a dive at the St. Anthony tomorrow morning.”
“I know. I asked her to set it up. Tradewinds has a multi-year contract with the vendor, which St. Sebastian will have to assume or pay off.”
“Guests routinely give them four or five star ratings.”
“What do you give them?”
“I…um…” She tapped the touchscreen again, and her frown deepened. “I haven’t done that particular activity yet.”
“You’re certified, right?”