by Lila Monroe
I’d probably be bemoaning my situation longer if Will didn’t show up a moment later with that delectable smile and a plate heaped with toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs. “You missed the breakfast buffet,” he says. “I didn’t want you going hungry.”
“My hero,” I beam. He was the one who carried me to the medical center when I was so doubled up with pain I couldn’t do much more than cling to him. “Thank you.”
He sets the plate down on the bedside table and sits on the edge of the bed beside me. He traces his fingers down my arm to my wrist.
“How are you doing?”
“A little sore, but also still a little high on the painkillers, so I guess it balances out.” I wrap my hand around his. “I’ve got to admit this isn’t exactly how I pictured the morning after.”
Will’s chuckles, and he leans in. “What can we do to make it a better picture?”
“I approve of the direction you’re taking,” I murmur. He kisses me, slow and gentle. My hand slips from his to travel over his thigh, and he slides his arm around my waist to ease me closer. The shiver of desire races over my skin.
Wasn’t scratching the itch supposed to make it go away? Because this man is definitely not out of my system. In fact, I think he’s hacked the entire thing. Although maybe we should keep doing this for a year or two longer just to make sure.
I kiss him harder. Will’s other hand strokes down my side and rises to cup my breast. An encouraging sound slips from my throat. I edge my fingers farther up his thigh. I’m about to pull him down on top of me and see just how far we can take this when his phone beeps. Will pulls back with a grimace. He checks the screen and groans.
“Unfortunately I’m supposed to be working today,” he says. “Duty calls. But I will see you later.”
We sneak in one last kiss, intense enough to leave my nerves humming. Then he ducks out.
I sink back on the bed, wondering if I could get away with simply lying here and replaying last night’s most pleasurable highlights in my head until that later arrives.
The bacon smell tickles back into my nose. This time my stomach refuses to be ignored. I sit up and plow through the breakfast.
My grogginess has completely faded when I’m done. Lying around in bed no longer sounds appealing. I shove myself off the bed and hobble over to the bathroom for a shower.
My clothing options leave something to be desired. I don’t have anything long enough to cover the jellyfish sting except my maid of honor dress. After some hemming and hawing I settle on a sundress that at least shadows it a little from my knees. Then I dab concealer over the rash. The makeup doesn’t totally hide the marks, but at least it takes them down a few notches from “Oh my God what the hell happened to you!?” to “Maybe she got a weirdly placed sunburn.”
My phone chimes with a text from Maggie. Heard you had a rough night. Hope nothing too serious. Join Brooke and me in the bridal suite to finish the place cards and confirm you’re alive?
I smile and head out. The pain has dulled a little more since I woke up, but my calf muscles are tight enough that I can’t help walking with a bit of a limp. Hopefully that’ll correct itself fast, or I’m going to have to a lot of lying to do with well-meaning wedding guests. Oh this? Ran into a jellyfish during a quick late-night swim. Completely by myself. Definitely no fucking involved.
Maggie ushers me into the bridal suite. I stop for a moment just to absorb. The room is twice as big as mine, with a kitchenette of marble counters and mahogany cupboards off to one side, a full living room area with leather couch and loveseat, and a sliding door that sections off the bedroom area.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” I say.
“Isn’t it?” Brooke beams. She’s sitting cross-legged by the coffee table, which is littered with squares of linen paper and the little wrought-iron holders she ordered. She looks up as I make my halting way over. Her eyes widen with concern. “Are you okay? How bad is it?”
“We gathered you had a tango with a jellyfish.” Maggie sits on the couch, the dryness of her voice suggesting she’s guessed a juicier side story to go along with that adventure.
“It only hurts a little now,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand, and plop down next to Maggie. “What’s the problem with the place cards?”
Brooke wrinkles her nose. “The printing company sent them a quarter inch too tall to fit in the frames. So we’ve been trimming them.” She points a pair of scissors at me rather ominously. “But first we need to hear all the details. There’s no way you went swimming at midnight on your own.”
“Well … I might have had company. Very good company.”
Maggie waggles her eyebrows. “And did this ‘company’ happen to be the esteemed owner of this resort?”
My cheeks flush, and she claps her hands together. “Yes! I hope you got your fun in before the whole jellyfish incident.”
“Oh, we did.”
Brooke’s hands have stilled over the tabletop as she watches my expression. Hers looks oddly pensive. “How was it?” she says. I figure she’s just worried about my emotional state, given the big deal I made about this whole idea yesterday.
“It was …” I pause. Just thinking about that orgasm is enough to make my toes curl. “It was the best fun I’ve ever had. It was fucking amazing. And I think we’re going to do it again. I really hope we do it again. Lots and lots of times. He seems game.”
Maggie lets out a whoop. Brooke is smiling too, but I can’t help thinking there’s still something hesitant about it. Is she thinking that the itch-scratching was a bad idea after all?
“And I’m totally fine in this area too,” I add, making a sweeping motion over my chest as if to indicate nothing has stuck in my heart. Ha. “It’s just for now. Just for fun. I’m just making the most of it, no strings attached.”
“What would you do if he wanted strings attached?” Brooke asks.
I pause. That isn’t a question I was expecting. “I, ah, I guess—I wouldn’t say no. He won’t, though. He said he only does casual. He hasn’t said anything to suggest he wants anything more than that with me.”
“Don’t get her thinking down those lines,” Maggie chides Brooke. “She’s got to protect her feelings first.” She turns to me. “Take what he’s offering, don’t get wrapped up in possibilities. That’s my advice.”
“Right, of course,” Brooke says, but I can’t help suspecting my bestie sees right through my facade, to the way my heart leapt at her question. If only. But I can’t dwell on that.
“Enough about me,” I say briskly. “Let’s get this wedding stuff done so you have absolutely nothing to think about during the bachelorette tonight except having the time of your life.”
“Here’s to that!” Maggie says, raising a card holder as if to toast the thought.
My pulse starts skipping when I arrive at the lunch buffet a couple hours later, but Will is nowhere to be found. I eat slowly, making small talk with some of Brooke’s extended family. Finally, I give in and send him a quick text under the table.
All work and no lunch?
He responds a moment later. Had to order room service. Back-to-back meetings. Another one in a minute. Would much rather be servicing you.
I swallow a snort. Is that something I can order on the menu?
A private one, only available to you via this number. Just tell me where you want me.
I’ll take everywhere you were last night.
I’m sure I can do better than that. What happened to my interplanetary adventuress?
I smirk so wide I think it’s better if I outright leave the table. Ducking into a corner, I reply, Reliving fond memories of my ride on your rocket. But if you figure you can take me even higher, I’ll happily board another flight.
That shouldn’t turn me on as much as it just did. And, fuck, my 2 o’clock is here. I’ll notify you when Mission: Rock Ruby’s World is prepared for take off.
Wet and ready when you are, I text back.
; All he sends in response is a devil emoji.
Now I’m all worked up with nothing to do about it. Maybe I should get some actual work done too. I didn’t check any of my online channels yesterday.
I grab my laptop and stake out my favorite spot on the pool deck. No one says you can’t soak up some rays while also taking care of business, after all.
I log into my YouTube account and immediately see an alert for a video mentioning “Kenneth the Krunk” from just ten minutes ago. And another from just a few minutes before that. Hmmm. He didn’t have a new song or performance scheduled to go up. But he has been known to veer off script.
Yet another alert pops up as I’m clicking through to the full list. The title: Who would have thought The Krunk was a weepy country boy?
Oh shit. Before I can even start to figure out how my improvised fix a few days ago went wrong, my phone trills with the emergency ringtone.
Chapter Twenty
“The lawyer says there’s nothing we can do about it,” Kenneth’s mom mutters to me over the phone. “ ‘As soon as something is on the internet, it’s forever.’ Very helpful.”
“Unfortunately, he’s basically right.” I plop down onto the end of my bed and re-open my laptop. The current catastrophe needs too much of my attention to handle it poolside. On my screen, an image of a boy who can’t be more than fifteen, with spiked up hair and Sharpie-drawn tattoos, jabs his finger at the viewer from the paused video.
“I thought we’d confirmed that Kenneth’s friend had deleted the video,” I said. “How did it get out anyway?”
“Oh, apparently another guy in the group who’s always been a little jealous of how well Ken is doing grabbed it off Darryl’s phone without him realizing. That group of them …” She sighs. Kenneth’s mom totally wishes her son were just a sweet country-loving boy. “Is this going to hurt his music career—wherever he could have taken it, I mean? He’s moping around here as if the world just ended.”
“I think we can smooth this over,” I say. The wheels in my head are already spinning. “We just have to work it right—and fast. Can you put Kenneth on?”
It takes a minute, and then Kenneth’s voice carries through the line, sounding at least twice as hangdog as last time. “Hi, Ruby.”
“Hello, Mr. Krunk.” Calling him that usually gets me a chuckle at bare minimum. Not so much today. I smile crookedly and barrel onward. “Don’t get so down about this. We’re going to spin it our way.”
“How?” he demands. “That video’s already gotten over a million views! And there’s already, like, fifty other videos up talking about how pathetic I am. I totally had cred, I am never coming back from this.”
The certainty of youth. “Oh, you are,” I say. “You’re coming back from it today. If you’re up for it.”
“Okay …” he says in that teenager-y way, but he sounds like he’s ready to listen now.
“You do actually like that song, right?”
“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I wanted the whole scene to know it.”
I lean back on the bed. “Sure, but they do now. So you know what a real pro does when some truth comes out that could be seen as embarrassing? He owns it. He makes it sound like it’s ridiculous that anyone would think he should be embarrassed. He pulls it right back into his brand and shows it shouldn’t change how anyone thought about him, except maybe for the better.”
“So you want me to talk about how awesome I think Harlan Everett is?” Kenneth says doubtfully.
“Nah. Talking isn’t enough. You need to give them something with a punch—something that’ll stick in people’s memories instead of that karaoke video and the stupid things people are saying about it. I’m thinking maybe … You’ve done medleys and mash-ups using songs that aren’t hip hop before, right? Could you make that work with this song? Incorporate it into your own style? Make it cool to your fans.”
Kenneth pauses. “I guess … Yeah. Yeah, I could totally do that. I actually had an idea the other day—I changed my mind because I was worried—but like you said, it’s already out there.”
“Exactly!” I say. “Pull that together as quickly as you can, do a little intro talking about how every kind of music has stuff worth loving in it and what you love about Everett’s, and we’ll get that up to ten times as many views. I promise. Just be real and believe in what you’re saying, and your fans will believe it too.”
“Got it!” He claps his hands together, and I know he’s pumped now. My smile widens.
“Get to it then. Send me the video as soon as you’re done so I can take a quick look. It’s going to be great, Kenneth.”
Kenneth does a lot of impromptu performance videos, but even those take him a little while to pull together. I watch a couple more of the reaction videos before grimacing and switching to checking my other clients’ activities. Thank the Lord, the internet is being kind to the rest of them today.
After a while, I get tired of sitting. I pace in my room a couple times before my restless legs carry me out into the hall. My jellyfish-fried calf barely throbs at all now. One victory at a time!
I’ve made it to the elevators and just turned around to wander back when Brooke comes out of the bridal suite at the opposite end. She leans against the door, and her head droops. The second I see that, I forget Kenneth and the video I’m waiting for.
I hurry over. Brooke jerks upright at the sound of my feet. “Ruby,” she says, with a smile that looks forced. “What’s up?”
“Just some client issues.” I wave my phone. “In the process of being taken care of. What’s up with you? Is everything okay?”
She laughs, a little shakily. “Yeah, of course. I mean, you know, other than the standard ‘oh my God we’re somehow going to pull off a wedding tomorrow’ jitters.”
It feels like more than that. I know her. But I can’t quite put my finger on what’s off. “If there was anything else bothering you, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? I’m your maid of honor, and your best friend. That’s what I’m here for.”
“Of course,” she says. “I promise, it’s nothing you need to worry about. You’ve got enough of that already, it looks like.”
My phone conspires with her brush-off by trilling an alert at that exact moment. My arm twitches. I keep it at my side. “If there’s anything I can help out with to make sure tomorrow goes smoothly …”
Brooke shakes her head. “There isn’t. It’s all set up. I’m just going down to check on the rehearsal dinner arrangements, and then that’s done too. All you’ve got to do is show up. Now get that call.”
She squeezes my arm as she passes me. I hesitate a moment longer and then lift my phone.
It’s not a call. It’s a new file in my shared cloud. Kenneth has delivered.
I slip back into my room to watch it. By the end, I’m beaming. The kid has talent. After seeing this, I’d dare anyone to try to argue that.
Great work, Mr. Krunk, I text to him. It’s perfect. Go ahead and post.
As soon as I’ve seen the tide of the online conversation turning, I reward myself with a much-needed sunbathing session on my balcony’s lounger. The sun beams down on me and the chirp of tropical birds fills the air. My muscles gradually relax into the cushions. Then my phone chimes—with a text from Will.
Officer Walters, your presence is requested on the bridge. I’ve got something hard here that requires your attention.
Looks like he finally got a break from meetings. I grin. I can certainly take the situation in hand, Captain Cassidy.
Will’s office is on the top floor, just above the jungle canopy. You’d think I’d have used up all my awe at the beauty of this resort, but when I step into the room and see the view over the sparkling ocean through the ceiling-high windows that fill two full walls, for a second I can only gape. Will leans back in his leather chair, smiling at my reaction.
“Difficult to mind coming to work when you get to look at that all day,” he says.
I shut the door behind me
and walk around his desk to peer right through the glass. Down the line of the beach, I think I can spot the little pier where we set off for our snorkeling expedition … was that just yesterday?
Will stands up, and I turn toward him. The smolder in his gaze makes my pulse skip. I sidle closer, looking at him through my eyelashes. “You wanted me, sir?”
He pulls my mouth to his in answer. He tastes like coffee, rich and just the right amount of bitter. I hum with pleasure as I kiss him back. My hand trails down his shirt to the bulge in his pants. He is already hard. A little thrill runs through me. I stroke my fingers firmly over his cock through the fabric, and he groans into my mouth.
“I can see why you needed assistance,” I murmur, with an urge I’m all too happy to give into. I unzip his fly as I sink to my knees in front of him.
“Ruby,” Will starts. I release him from his boxers, and his voice cuts off with a choked sound.
He’s just as impressive by daylight as he was last night. I squeeze the base of his cock and flick my thumb up over the head before following with my tongue. Will lets out another groan. His fingers tangle in my hair, his other hand bracing against the back of his chair.
Just hearing the sounds he’s making, the ragged pant of his breath, gets me wet. I’m totally in charge now. He’s putty in my hands. I grip the base of his cock and suck the whole length down, reveling in the tremor that runs through his body. Maybe this is a few days’ fling, but I want to be burned into his memory.
His cock twitches as I swirl my tongue. I grin around it. Then, just as I’m angling myself to take him even deeper, the door on the other side of the room clicks open.
“Mr. Cassidy?” a male voice says.
I jerk back. Will freezes. His hand on my head keeps me in place, not that I’m particularly inclined to pop up right now. His desk and the back of his chair should hide me from view for now.
“This isn’t a good time, Boyd,” Will says with remarkable control. I can only hear a faint rasp in his voice. A mischievous impulse tickles through me. I lean forward and lick the head of his cock. His fingers tighten in my hair.
