by K. Bromberg
“You, naturally.”
“We can hope.”
“Why does she have a hard-on for you?”
“Because she’s not as qualified to have the VP of sales position as she purported to be.”
“Then wouldn’t that make having someone like you with so much history and experience at Glam be the best choice to be her cohort?”
“You’d think that, but this is where the let’s-guess-what-Heather-is-thinking game comes in.” I sigh. “It could be she found out somehow I was offered her position and turned it down.”
“You were offered her position?” he asks with a lift of his brows. “Why would you turn it down?”
“Because face-to-face sales aren’t my thing. I like the process of studying a demographic, of packaging a product to appeal to them, and of making them see or hear our advertising and feel like I’m talking to them specifically. Sales feels too pushy to me.”
“I can understand that.”
“When you don’t know what you’re doing, the last thing you want is someone who does know seeing when you screw up. I’ve noticed her make mistakes and have called her out on a few of them. Right now, I’m ‘less than’ her in the company’s eyes—in clout, in influence—and that’s just how she wants it because then it’s her word against mine when she screws up.”
“Hence why you’re a threat.” He pauses for a beat. “Is she competent? I mean, when you get the job, how are you going to handle being her equal?”
“She could be competent if she put the work in, but I think she likes the shiny title and hefty paycheck more than the job itself. She won’t last long, and if she does, then she’ll have to make that learning curve of hers real steep.” I adjust the pillow beneath my head. “From what I hear, she’s trying to smooth talk Glam’s board of trustees into hiring the VP of marketing—ahem, her best friend—at the company she came from for the position. So, her constant cattiness is an attempt to make me look bad.”
“It makes sense. Bring over the best friend so she has one surefire person to have her back and cover her ass when she messes up.”
“Yeah, but she is forgetting that the board knows me and my track record, which means I’ll have a bit of an upper hand there in reputation. I won’t have to prove myself since I’ve already spent years doing so.”
“And she fears you’ll expose her inadequacies.”
I lift my hands. “It’s all a guess, but from the way she’s trying to push me out, I think it’s a pretty educated one.”
“So, we kill everyone with kindness and then you win, which means I also win. Easy.”
It’s my turn to prop myself up on my elbow and stare at him. “Why do you have to be so rational? Ugh.”
“Ah, but rational gets you a lot of places. I mean, all we have to do is convince the rest of your coworkers you’re valuable. That will turn the tide and get people talking positively about you. Then all we have to do is somehow make Heather see that you aren’t a threat to her in any way.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I know women are vicious. I’ve seen it in med school and in my residency. Women don’t care if you aren’t trying to take their position. They care if you’re a threat in general. The whole philosophy that chicks post on social media about fixing each other’s crowns is a ruse. They’ll fix it in public so long as they can talk shit about you in private.”
I laugh, but it’s halfhearted as I shake my head. “Agreed. One hundred percent.”
“Okay, we need to make her not feel threatened. You help her save face with the group out there, and you’ll be golden.”
“Easier said than done considering she breathes that fire at me every time I talk.”
“Well, it’s on the Blade To-Do list, so it’ll get done.” He looks over at me, and I have to fight not to reach out and brush his hair off his forehead.
“Yes, it will.”
“We just need to figure out who will be your in. Will it be Materialistic Maddie, who already let me know how much she spent at Nordstrom’s to complete her mountain wardrobe, or Oversharing Olivia, who has already told me how she plans to make reckless love to Harley Hal in the woods.”
I scoff. That sounds exactly like what those two would say to him.
“I’m not done yet,” he says and lifts his hand to stop me from talking. “Then there is Buff Becky, who is upset she’s missing her CrossFit challenge to be here. The irony is that she’s super into her health but is shacking up with Stoned Steven.”
“How in the hell did you get all of that out of one little meet and greet?”
“I’m a quick learner. Besides, I typically don’t have any more than a few seconds to size people up before I treat them, especially if I’m on call in the ER. I’ve learned to be a good judge of character. If I didn’t trust my instincts, I wouldn’t have exactly offered to spend a week with you here, now, would I?”
“Thank you. Again. I . . .”
His expression softens, and in the fading daylight, this room, this bed, suddenly it feels more intimate than I expected. The playfulness is still there, but the shadows and the silence make me think about later tonight when I’ll be in here alone with him.
“We should get ready for whatever’s next on the agenda,” I say before rolling off the bed to find the envelope that was handed to me when I arrived. “I’m afraid to look at what’s on here. Do you remember?”
I glance over my shoulder and catch him checking out my ass.
That’s never a bad thing.
I wait for his eyes to find mine, and there is absolutely no shame of getting caught looking when he does.
“Barbecue and bonfire, right?” he asks as he pushes himself up.
“Per the agenda, you are correct, Camp Counselor Henderson.”
“Very cute,” he says as he pulls his T-shirt over his head in that one-handed way guys do by grabbing it from the back of the neck.
My first thought is Paul never did that.
My second? Paul never looked like that either.
I try not to stare, but how can I not when he’s all tanned skin, toned biceps, corded muscle everywhere, and he even has those glorious hip dents right above the waistline of his pants. It makes me wonder how many hours a day he has to work out to get those. To get that.
“You good?” Slade asks.
“What? Huh?” I snap my head up to catch the amusement in his eyes.
“With tonight? Are you good?” he asks, his grin widening as I try to look anywhere but at his body.
Lacy boy shorts, Blakely. You are not granny panties. You are lacy boy shorts.
With a deep breath, I find my courage and take my time looking Slade up and down.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
Blakely
Two bonfires in two nights where I get to watch the flames reflect off Slade’s face and dance against the highlights in his hair. Last night he was chill and relaxed—soft smiles and ocean breezes with his friends from the hospital at the beach. Tonight, however, he’s playing the role of the perfect boyfriend with movements that are much more calculated.
Two bonfires in two nights with this unexpected man. I’d say life isn’t too bad right now.
Slade throws his head back and laughs, drawing everyone’s eyes toward where he’s talking to Harley Hal about who knows what. He has a beer bottle in one hand, he’s gesticulating with the other, and he has a genuine smile on his lips.
“Well, don’t you two make an interesting couple,” Heather says and startles me.
“How so?” Where are you going with this?
“It was just an observation.” She gives me a tight-lipped smile instead of expounding.
“Daniel seems . . . nice,” I say and look back toward the fire. “Just an observation, though.”
In my periphery, I catch Gemma freeze over my subtle dig at Heather’s boyfriend and his complete lack of interest in being here. Poor guy seems as if she’s leading him around on a le
ash.
Maybe Gemma sees it too.
“I’m quite surprised you decided to show up,” Heather tries again to land a punch, but I just smile and wave when Slade catches my eye from across the distance where of course, he’s charming the pants off everyone.
And there’s something about the ease he has, the ability to make me feel like we’ve done this before, that has me thinking we might actually be able to pull this off.
Heather clears her throat, surely miffed I’m enamored with my man more than I am with her.
“I’m sorry. You were saying?” I ask and turn my full attention toward her.
“How did the two of you meet?”
“We met at The Bitter End.” Her eyes widen.
Yes, I’m cool like you and go there.
“He really picked you up in a bar?”
My smile turns sarcastic and just as biting as the judgment in her tone.
“We talked. We hit it off. I left without giving him my number. Out of the blue, we happened to bump into each other the following week and ended up going out for dinner.”
“Dinner? That’s all it took?”
“Slade has a way about him,” I murmur like the words are a hum of appreciation as I rise from my seat. “He’s not an easy one to say no to.”
And without another word, I offer her a placating smile and a wink before moving across the outdoor area toward Slade.
I’ve let the other women play with him long enough.
He’s mine, and any woman rightfully in that role would go and make her presence known.
“Hey, you,” he says and reaches his arm out to pull me against him and presses a kiss to my temple. “Gemma here”—he motions with his beer toward my coworker—“was just telling me how she met her boyfriend, Ted.” He points across the fire to where Ted stands. He’s well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and huge hands, but there hasn’t been a single instance where he’s been off his phone the entire time.
“I can’t wait to get to know him,” I say with sincerity.
“Well,” she says and puffs out a sigh, “maybe if I throw his phone into the lake, he’ll actually interact.” She gives a smile laced with embarrassment. “This is not his idea of a great time.”
“We’ll get him to put it down,” Slade says. “We may have to take a guy adventure when you ladies are in a meeting. A little bonding will have him enjoying it in no time.”
“Thank you. Truly.” Relief floods her expression as she glances over to Heather and then back. “I just idolize Heather and want her to like him.”
“Everything will be fine,” Slade says, squeezing my side in lieu of rolling his eyes.
“She sure was surprised to see you,” she says and bats at his arm as if I’m not standing there.
“Blakely likes to keep me all to herself, and I’m totally okay with that.”
He presses a quick kiss to my lips before their conversation drifts to data infrastructure or something that makes my eyes glaze over, and Gemma slowly begins crushing on him. Her laugh becomes a little lighter, and Ted’s head lifts to look our way a time or two when he hears it.
It’s a beautiful night with a chill to the air and stars dotting the sky above the pine trees all around us. I refuse to think about the mosquitos waiting to bite me, or even scarier, whatever else might be lurking in the darkness beyond. Instead, I think of Slade.
Of how I’m slowly and knowingly being seduced by everything about him and how there’s a strange empowerment in it. In having his arm around me and in having other women be jealous of it. Of being at his side and loving the light in his eyes when he glances at me every few seconds.
Slow down there, Tiger.
As if the powers that be knew I needed to stop overthinking in this moment, the activity director on duty—I forget what his name is—cranks up the music.
“Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond blasts through the speakers. Slade throws his hands up and shouts, “Sing it with me,” right before the chorus hits and he belts out, “Bom, bom, bom,” with his fist in the air to accentuate each word.
We all join in singing the song with him, and he grabs my hand and spins me out and then back into him. Then he puts his arms around me for a short, quick slow dance.
But it was definitely long enough to become hyper-aware of the full, long length of him against my body.
Just as I feel it, just as I want to sink into him, he spins me out so that it’s me who is throwing my head back and laughing. It is me who is garnering attention and people are smiling at.
Before the laughter stops echoing around the concrete platform, Slade pulls me back in and kisses me soundly on the lips.
I freeze.
I mean, of course, it’s what I want, but at the same time, there is an audience of my coworkers watching, and the attention makes me uncomfortable.
Luckily for me, the song ends and the party moves on. I take a breather to go and refill my wine and then stand on the outskirts of the fire-pit area and take it all in.
“It would behoove you to act a little more professional if you have any hope of getting the promotion.”
Ah, Horrible Heather strikes again.
I know I’ve done nothing wrong. I know she’s just lashing out because she’s supposed to be the life of the party and my boyfriend just stole that away from her.
I also know I don’t trust her or what she might pull to have ammo to use against me with the board.
“I won’t apologize for having a good time and letting loose a little with my coworkers. Isn’t that what this whole retreat is supposed to be about? Becoming a family? That whole spiel from earlier?”
She just purses her lips and sneers as Slade laughs with Oversharing Olivia.
“Oh, that’s it,” I murmur. “You’re afraid someone else is going to steal your limelight. No worries there. But maybe if you quit trying so hard, everyone would relax like that around you, too.”
Blakely
“She’s mad at you, you know.” There’s a chill to the air that would normally make me want to go inside, but that cabin is way too small for the two of us and the desire in me that’s been building all night long. I’m also buzzed enough from the liquid courage I’ve been drinking steadily all night to prepare myself for this moment.
For having to walk inside and sleep beside him while trying not to let my feelings grow for him.
“Do you think I care?” Slade leans his shoulder against the doorframe of the cabin as I drink the rest of my wine. “What sin should I not atone for?”
“You were stealing attention away from her.”
“Then she shouldn’t be so boring.” He’s completely unapologetic.
“You kissed me.” And there I am, completely accusatory.
“And?”
“According to her, I still have to act professionally.”
“I wasn’t aware that you weren’t.” He hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans and shifts to lean his entire back against the doorframe. Shadows from the moonlight above obscure his face as the trees overhead rustle.
“I am. I was. It’s just that you kissed me and acted like—”
“Like a man who’s very enamored with his woman and wanted to show it.” His tone is stoic, but there’s a look in his eye that owns parts of me I don’t want to admit to yet.
A look that tells me I’m being ridiculous for feeling like he meant it when I know better.
A look that tells me I’m off my rocker if my heart is going pitter-patter over a guy I barely know.
“Well, don’t be.” The words are out before I can stop them.
Slade takes a step toward me. “Did something happen tonight I’m not aware of?”
You.
You happened.
You with your dreamy smile and kind eyes and irresistibility.
You with the stupid way you make me feel—pretty, funny, wanted, heard.
“Because it’s going to be a long night if you aren’t going to te
ll me what’s going on.”
I’m itching for a fight because I’m nervous and because I want him. I spent the last twenty years with the same man, and what if I forgot how to do this? How to do it.
“It’s fine. Everything is fine. We should just go to sleep because I’ve had enough to drink and the bed is calling my name.”
“Okay,” he says as I step past him, trying to keep as much distance between us as I can while I squeeze through the doorway. And, of course, I stop in my tracks now that I’m reminded how very small this space we’re sharing is. “I can sleep . . . um, on the porch if you’re uncomfortable with this.”
I look at him over my shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Torture. Absolute torture.
“Okay then,” he murmurs, holding my gaze, his own asking me what’s going on.
Before he can look too closely, before he can see the nerves I suddenly have despite the wine, I look away.
“Do you mind if I take a quick shower?” he asks.
“Sure. Fine. I’ll change while you’re out there.” I motion in the direction of the communal shower.
He flicks the lights on and moves behind me toward his bag. The sound of its zipper, the pad of his feet, the distinct sounds of flip-flops as he walks out the door again with a towel hanging from his neck and his clothes under his arm.
I change into my tank top and pajama bottoms and take the time alone to wash my face, all the while refusing to admit that I’m purposely trying to pick a fight with him.
But I am because it would make falling asleep in this tiny bed a little easier. I’ll be able to focus on my anger rather than making a fool out of myself for wanting him to kiss me.
Who am I kidding? I want him to do so much more than just kiss me.
I’m pulling my clothes out for tomorrow when the door opens and he walks across the room behind me. The scent of his soap hits my nose, and I know I need to apologize.
It isn’t his fault I want him.
“Look. I’m sorry.” I turn to find him standing a few feet from me, his hips leaning against the dresser, and completely shirtless.
Lord have mercy.
