by Rachel Shane
Genevieve nodded. “Approved. We’ve got the budget to cover this. Book a flight for tomorrow morning. Bianca—”
I perked up.
“—You’ll go with him. Make sure he has everything he needs.”
My stomach crashed through the floor with the force of an anvil. He’d destroyed my recruitment party the coward’s way—anonymously—and now I had to spend the weekend with him? “But…”
Genevieve raised one fierce eyebrow. “Do you have some place to be other than breaking another potentially huge story?”
Yes, actually. We had our first pledge event with the five new members we actually managed to snag, Mackenzie’s rush crush Amber included, the rest guys including the two lacrosse players and two of their friends who hadn’t come to the first party. A bonding event at the local indoor water park. It would look strange if the president failed to show up. I shifted in my seat and Harrison shook his head in subtle warning. A mixed message. Don’t you dare come. But also: don’t you even think of defying Genevieve’s command.
“You two worked together so well breaking the Clever Trevor headline,” she added, as if I needed a reminder of that horrible event when he destroyed both my dignity and my favorite singer.
A few people readied their incredulous faces as though they expected me to make a stupid movie. I knew from CNN that the newbies always got the crap jobs. This fell into that category. I’d waltzed into this job for the wrong reasons but I had to admit I actually liked it. And this was a chance to prove I could be good at it based on skills alone.
I squared my shoulders and sang my battle cry. “I can go.”
After the meeting and a quick solo pow wow with Genevieve to explain away my hesitation with lies that reinforced my commitment, I stormed into my shared office with the devil. “I had things to do this weekend, you know.”
He splayed a hand across his chest as if to say, “What? Little ‘ole me?” Then his face turned serious. “Hey, I didn’t request you. That was all Genevieve.”
I slumped into my chair. “But you knew she would.”
He shrugged. “And I’m the bad guy here because you’re good at your job? If you don’t want to work here, with me, then quit. I won’t stop you.”
I drummed my fingers on the desk. “If you’re not a bad guy, why’d you sabotage my rush party? Why’d you keep the info about Layla’s version of Rho Sig only to give it to me when it was already too late?”
He held up his hands. “Sabotage your rush party? You crashed mine, remember?”
Harrison’s brow furrowed, completely confused. I nibbled my inner cheek. “Did you put flyers under every freshman dorm room warning people not to come to my party?”
He shook his head. “But I have one guess who did.”
My stomach sank. So did I. Layla.
Harrison hadn’t been the one to destroy me, eye-for-an-eye style.
He leaned in and because our stupid office was so damn tiny, his face invaded the patch of air above my knees. I scooted my chair a centimeter backward, slamming into the desk. “And on that note, I actually told you about Layla’s version as soon as I found out. I overheard Layla and Olivia bickering about the timing and location when they were at my party.”
A little bit of tension flew from my shoulders. He hadn’t held onto Kryptonite, waiting to give it to me until the moment he wanted to destroy me. He’d helped me.
Still, this was almost worse. Because now it meant I was flying to sunny Florida with a guy I was running out of reasons to hate. And I still didn’t trust him enough to let myself like him. Rules. I needed rules. “Here’s how this is going to work. This is a business trip. I’ll get you access to wherever you need, but otherwise that’s it. No small talk. No sitting together on the plane.”
He pushed his cheek out in a guilty look. “Um, too late.” He tilted his monitor for me to see the two tickets he already purchased, window and middle, trapping me beside him. Arriving ten A.M.
My heart leaped. I combatted it by gritting my teeth. “Fine, but once we land, we go our separate ways until the absolute last moment. The game isn’t until evening so I’m going to spend a nice afternoon on the beach and you’re going to go somewhere else far away.”
“See? You get to work on your tan! This is a great opportunity for you.” A smirk played on his lips.
When I went home to pack, I threw my most conservative business attire into my bag: pencil skirt, button down shirt. Hopefully that would send to message to my brain that this was a work trip, nothing more. When I finished, I stabbed Matt’s number into my phone. I need to reinforce my priorities.
He picked up before it even rang, as if he was constantly turning his phone on in case I might be on the other end. “Bianca! Oh wow. Hi, I—”
“Did you accept the bid into Out House?” I asked. I hadn’t spoken to him since the party.
“Yes, but I checked with some people and I don’t think you’re right about members of the same house banned from dating. So I was thinking—”
“The rule really only affects presidents like me. They’re worried about…nepotism,” I said even though I knew that made about as much sense as the way my heart amped whenever Harrison was in the room. “But anyway, remember that favor I asked? Well, Harrison is going to be away all weekend.”
And just like that I convinced myself the part of this trip I was most looking forward to was the look on Harrison’s face when I presented the dirt on him Matt would help me find and used it to snatch my house back right from under his nose.
I jetted into the airport celebrity drive-by style. Big sunglasses concealing my eyes and cheeks. Visor hat dipped low over my forehead. A pair of leggings and a tank top that conveyed a message to my brain: I was relaxed. Harrison offered a flopped mouth and a wave when he saw me but I breezed right past him and purchased an over-sized cup of iced coffee. Every time he leaned over my window seat to open his mouth to speak, I jiggled the ice in warning.
The safest way to avoid flirting with him was to avoid talking to him entirely.
So he flipped through some giant paperback tome that claimed to detail the entire history of England—gag—and stretched his long legs below the seat in front of him. In turn, I pulled out my copy of Hinotori, the original 1967 version of a rare Japanese Manga that had been passed down to me from my mom’s side of the family. It was the only connection to my mother I still welcomed. I suppressed my gloat when his eyes bugged out at what I was reading. Truthfully, I couldn’t read any of it—I was only marginally better at some conversational Japanese phrases my mom made me learn when my great grandparents visited once. But I loved looking at the beautiful artwork. It gave me a sense of culture that was always drowned out by the overwhelming Latina side of my heritage thanks to being three quarters Hispanic, only one quarter Japanese, and one hundred percent Texan.
I turned the pages slowly, each one earning a furtive glance from Harrison. I bit my lip, knowing he was itching to pull the copy on his lap and indulge. But I refused to give him the satisfaction.
It wasn’t until the coffee backfired on me and my bladder bulged to uncomfortable levels that my mouth was forced to pop open. “Move. I have to pee.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Was that directed at me? See, you’re giving me the silent treatment, but I’m giving you the audio treatment.” He shifted in his seat, pretending to get more comfortable.
I pressed my finger into the hard ridge of his shoulder. “You’re denying me a basic human right.”
Harrison pointed at the seatbelt sign above, which was firmly lit. “I believe the airline is the one denying you, sweetheart.” He reached over and jiggled my cup again, which sent my bladder spasming. “But now that the ice is broken, so to speak, I do have a burning question for you.”
My heart tripped over a beat, though I assumed he wanted to ask about the book. I shielded the page with my arm and delivered snark in response. “An investigative journalist has a question. Way to be cliché.”
&n
bsp; The air pressure dropped, making my ears pop. Loud whooshing noises drowned out the sounds of the snores from the fat guy squeezed in beside Harrison. The airplane dipped like a roller coaster as it bumped over a patch of turbulence, my bladder protesting every lurch. I gripped the arm rests. “Fine,” I said, needing a distraction. “What’s your question?”
“Well, three questions really. First, why are you reading a rare Osamu Tezuka manga I’ve been trying to track down for years?”
“To piss you off, mostly,” I said, because I didn’t want to admit the truth. That I loved this book and had hundreds like it hidden in a box in my closet. “I found your stash when I searched your room that day.”
“And so you went through the trouble of locating a super rare manga…just to get a rise out of me?” He scratched his chin with his thumb and forefinger, clearly not buying my story. “If you like it, own up to it. Where’s that confidence you love to exude?”
“But that would be admitting we have something in common and as far as I’m concerned, we’re nothing alike. Despite what you think.” I’d brought it to piss him off but my stomach swirled with guilt. With a sigh, I passed it to him.
Keeping it on his lap, he leaned closer, not dismayed by my subterfuge. “Thank you. And next question. Why are you so damn high strung?” He lowered his voice despite the whirring air pressure making it impossible for others to eavesdrop. “And a related follow up. When was the last time you got laid?”
My stupid body thrummed at his mention of getting laid. My voice came out scratchy when I said, “None of your business, thank you very much.”
He pressed his arm next to mine on our joint arm rest. “See, I think it is my business because I have a theory.” He paused, waiting for me to ask what it was, but I was done playing his game. I knocked his arm away. “If you got some,” he continued, “maybe you’d be a lot more…pleasant to be around.”
“Oh, but I get such intense pleasure from watching you suffer.” I grinned at him. “Consider it me fighting the good fight for all those teenage girls you hurt when you destroyed their favorite singer.”
“Correction. I saved those girls from belting out his fake manufactured songs.”
Saved those girls… There were teenage girls I needed to rescue as well. From the clutches of Layla. “Hey, question.”
He blinked at me, clearly taken aback by my sudden whoosh of seriousness. “Is it about getting laid?”
I ignored that. “I need to get solid evidence against Layla that she’s hazing her pledges. It’s the only way to ensure my version of Rho Sig becomes the only one.”
“And then moves into another house besides Out House, I presume?”
I sighed. He clearly wouldn’t give me any info unless I agreed. So I crossed my fingers behind my back and nodded. “Any advice for catching her? How did you know about Clever Trevor?”
He sucked in a breath and tilted his head away from me. What was he hiding?
I leaned back to study him. “And how do you know about Tampa if you don’t even go there?”
His shoulders rolled forward, as if he was gearing himself up for the magnitude of his lie. “A journalist never reveals his sources.”
I opened my mouth to speak but he held up a finger.
“But I’ll give you some advice on Layla. Photos aren’t always enough. Videos are better. But the trick is capturing those without getting caught,” he said. “So what you need to do is get her guard down. Lure her in. Make her trust you. Then secure the evidence from right under her nose while she watches, having no clue you’re stealing what you need to betray her.”
His words were oddly specific, as if he had pulled this long con often. Possibly even on me. But I had nothing to hide, at least as far as he was concerned.
Or did I?
He shook his head. “I can see your mind working. I’m not tricking you, if that’s what you think. I’ve already won.”
But had he only won the first round?
Still, I’d worked with him enough now to know the real brunt of his talents. Not sneaking but asking the right questions. Digging deep until he got the info he needed. Recon. “So what would you suggest then? How would Harrison Wagner, greatest investigative journalist in the world, take down the most stubborn bitch that ever existed,” I said to butter him up.
He snickered. “Easy. I’d do the exact thing you’re doing by siccing Matt on me.”
The tips of my ears turned red. He knew about Matt. Crap.
He leaned in close. “I’d send someone in as a spy.”
“YOUR ROOMS WON’T BE ready until three, but we can check your bags now,” the hotel clerk said as Harrison slid over The Daily Snowflake credit card to pay for our individual rooms.
I kept my eyes steady on the clerk, keeping my voice light so Harrison would know I was joking. “And they aren’t adjoining right? It would be even better if they were on separate floors.”
“Why stop there?” Harrison hid his smile. “Maybe we should go for separate hotels.”
I flourished my hand toward the door. “Be my guest. In fact, don’t rest until you land on a different planet.”
He laughed. “But then who would you hate-banter with?”
I stiffened at his words, horrified at the fact that I was flirting with him. “No one,” I said to force myself to stop indulging. “That’s entirely the point.” He’d teased me at the concert and made a fool out of me. I wouldn’t let it happen again, so I ripped open the front pocket of my suitcase and pulled out the only essentials I needed to forget Harrison and whatever I felt for him for the rest of the afternoon: my bikini, flip flops, and sunscreen. I wheeled the suitcase over to the clerk and grabbed the luggage retrieval tag.
“Are we all set for the locker room?” Harrison pushed his suitcase right in front of mine.
“Yep.” I beamed. In fact, this assignment had been way easier than the last. Press entered locker rooms all the time and all I had to do was provide our official credentials to receive all access passes. No flirting or cleavage needed.
Especially not with Harrison.
As soon as I emerged from the restroom clad only in my bandeau bikini, I stopped short at the sight of him leaning against the wall right outside the Ladies’ Room, legs crossed at the ankles, chest bare to showcase his six-pack. Hawaiian-style swim trunks hung low on his hips, revealing the indents of his pelvic bone. My mouth went dry. God he looked good.
Just as his brow started to lift in question at my staring, I straightened. “No. Hell no,” I said, more to myself than to him. “You are not joining me on the beach.”
He pouted. “But I need to work on my tan.”
Snark. I needed combat him with snark. Or maybe it was my feelings I was combatting. My arms pumped fast at my sides as I power-walked through the glossy beige lobby. “You’ve already sabotaged my sorority and my pledges, please don’t ruin my afternoon as well.”
He chuckled, falling into step beside me. “But that would destroy my plan to keep my enemies close. Consider this a mutually destructive relationship.”
I burst out into the bright sunlight, squinting against the hot rays. The blast of heat felt amazing compared to the drear of winter rearing its ugly head back at school. A cloud-marbled sky hung overhead and gritty sand littered with broken sea shells crunched under my feet. He plucked two towels off the stand and handed one to me.
Snark wasn’t enough. I needed actual defenses. I took the towel only to have an excuse to elbow him in the ribs in the process. My therapist would not be impressed.
He shook his head at me. “Elbowing me? What are you, five?”
I stuck my tongue out at him in a grand show of maturity, then marched over the lumpy sand to a spot away from the beach goers hogging the good spots closer to the patio—and the drinks. Waves lapped in the distance, breaking only a few feet away from the empty stretch of sand I set my towel across. Harrison’s shadow loomed beside me like a hand puppet mirroring my every move.
&n
bsp; “I assume you chose this spot because you want to be alone with me?” He spread his towel next to mine. Right next to mine. As in, not even a grain of sand could fit between the edges of or white towels.
Yes, I thought. Instead I clamped my mouth shut and turned my back to him. Out of sight out of mind? Because I had to stop thinking about him.
“And now you’re giving me the silent treatment again,” he said. “Yep. Five.”
I squeezed the daylights out of the sunscreen, dropping a big glob into the center of my palm. I slapped it on my legs, then plucked smaller globs from the pile and spread lines on my arms and stomach.
He lay down, stretching his arms under his head. “I can do your back if you want.”
“I’d rather burn,” I said, earning a chuckle in response and fighting back my own smile at his reaction. Gah. Even when I tried to be snarky, it still came out as flirty. His gaze weighed heavy on my legs, arms, stomach, as I rubbed lotion over them. His actions at the concert and his suggestion to pick up where we’d left off proved he wanted me. He’d once called me a cocktease and it was time to make him the victim instead of me. Slowly, provocatively, I massaged my fingers along my arms, over my chest. I took an extra long time rubbing lotion over the tops of my breasts and my stomach, sometimes even going so far as closing my eyes as if I were really enjoying touching myself. I followed suit on my legs, dragging the lotion all the way down to my toes and back in the most ineffective sunscreen application in the entire world. My skin glistened like glittering diamonds.
He swallowed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson.”
A strained, guilty laugh escaped my lips. “And I’d say you’re crazy.” I stopped applying sunscreen and flopped onto my stomach. I hadn’t managed to get any lotion on my back, but I reached up and unclasped my bikini anyway. The straps fell limply onto the towel, leaving my bare back exposed to the sun. I knew I had a point I was trying to prove but that point was getting blurrier and blurrier. That I didn’t want him? Did? That he wanted me? It must have been the latter. So I readjusted to push more side-boob in Harrison’s direction.
