Crush On You

by Wilde, Amelia

  “Are you all right, Mr. Bliss? Should I bring you some water?”

  Greg is at my elbow, peering over at me.

  “Fine,” I tell him, and move to clap him on the shoulder before thinking better of it. I don’t want another tray of champagne to go down. “Everything’s fine.”

  I’m a fucking grown man. I can handle working with the hottest woman to have ever walked through the doors of the Bliss Resort. I just can’t believe it’s Genevieve Starlight.

  One thing I know for sure is that I’m never going to call her that again. I saw the anger move across her face like a thunderclap.

  It’s time I got back to the office. She could be down any minute.

  My father had a discreet wing built alongside the lobby complex so that everyone who keeps Bliss running can be close to the action. I’m sure he would say that I’m a little too close—that I should hire middle managers and spend more of my time networking with owners and guests. Maybe it’s a little non-traditional, but I have younger brothers for that who’d much rather spend their time with a cocktail in hand, chatting up our members.

  The office wing itself is a wide space with a half-moon reception desk at the front. Sarah, the receptionist, looks up at me with a small shake of her head.

  “Has Jenny London called in?” It occurs to me now that while I was daydreaming in the lobby she could have slipped by, and I need to be prepared in case she’s sitting in my office.

  “No, Mr. Bliss.” Sarah makes a show of checking the phones. “But it’s her first day. Something could have tied her up.”

  Something could have undressed her.

  “I met her in the lobby a few minutes ago. There was an… incident. So she’ll be a few minutes. I wanted to make sure she didn’t beat me back here.”

  Sarah’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of an incident, but she doesn’t say anything about it. “I’ll let you know if she calls. Otherwise, I’ll be right here like I always am, ready to greet her.”

  “Good. Great.”

  I move past the reception desk. Sarah has been working for Bliss since I was a kid, and I don’t think she’ll ever retire. She’s got more wisdom than all of my brothers combined. But she’s wrong about this one. You give people an inch and they take a mile. Of course, we’ll give them several miles if they’re guests or club members... but that’s different.

  There’s no sign of Jenny in the bullpen, or in the smaller offices lining the sides of the space, all of it flooded with light from the skylights in the ceiling. We cover them in the winter, and my favorite time of year is when we throw them open in the spring. Nothing can hide in this kind of light.

  Part of me is relieved. And a strange, unfamiliar part of me wishes she was already here.

  The rest of the office buzzes with its usual activity. I have people here seven days a week, rotating the staff members out so that everyone gets equal time off. There’s never much downtime at a resort, and that’s how I like it. The work keeps my mind off... other things. Like a half-naked Jenny London up on the third floor. It’s the same bright white color scheme as the main lobby, with an enormous glass desk that Sarah wipes down more often than is strictly necessary.

  Paperwork. I’ll focus on paperwork. There were a few voicemails to return, too. I settle myself into my chair, tap at the keyboard, and scroll through my emails. A couple reminders pop up—the calls.

  I lift the handset of the phone to my ear, but before I can punch in the button to connect to the front desk, there’s a hush in the bullpen. A weird hush. A dip in the conversation that signals a storm on the horizon, a great change in the air—

  Or Jenny London.

  Who is not, in fact, up on the third floor.

  She’s walking through the office, cheeks pink but there is utter confidence in her expression.

  I stand up out of my seat. A man should never face something this gorgeous, this momentous, sitting down. This deserves a standing ovation.

  Everyone in the entire office is staring shamelessly, but when my chair rumbles against the floor, they come to their senses. People disappear back inside offices and turn toward desks. Chatter resumes.

  It’s not an unusual sight to see a guest come through the lobby in a swimsuit.

  But Jenny has taken this to a new level.

  A red bikini hugs her creamy skin. The sheer cover-up is a navy blue that does nothing to hide the curve of her waist and hips. This cover-up doesn’t have a belt, and she holds it casually closed in front of her, which is to say that it isn’t closed at all. Her legs look sky-high in the heels she’s wearing, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

  She reaches my office.

  I smile like this is completely normal. “Hello again.” I stop the phrase you gorgeous thing from coming out of my mouth just in time to prevent myself from looking like a lecherous asshole.

  Her laugh is low and breathy. “My moving van doesn’t arrive until tonight, and my shirt wasn’t dry. Let’s get to work.”

  5

  Jenny

  For the first time since the champagne splashed across my chest in the lobby, I feel…triumph.

  The expression on Roman’s face is priceless. I’m almost ready to turn around and walk out of here at the sight of it—payment in full for every time he ignored me. His perfect lips hang open in disbelief and his eyes blaze with what I’m certain is genuine attraction.

  Once we were back in the lobby, he never once took his eyes off my face. I’ve dated enough assholes to know that not every man has been taught an appropriate level of self-control. Roman Bliss is not one of those men. Even if it turns out that he’s just as much of a douchebag on the inside as he was when we were in high school, he’s learned to keep his impulses under wraps.

  Until right now.

  I let the silence linger between us. I hope it doesn’t show on my face that I’ve never been so uncomfortable in my life, that I can feel the blood humming through my lips, that I want to turn around and run right back up to that suite on the third floor.

  His eyes trail down to my body, molded into the red bikini.

  I shift seductively in my seat a little, which brings his attention right back up to my face as if someone slapped him.

  “What did you have planned for me today?” I prompt. I know it didn’t involve sitting across from me, staring at me in this impromptu purchase from the resort gift shop, but honestly, this is one of my all-time best Plan Bs.

  Roman seems to snap out of his daze. “A tour of the office,” he says, then cracks a smile that tugs at something low in my belly. Just like it always did, whenever I caught a glimpse of it at school.

  No. I will not be derailed by his innate sexiness.

  “But I have to imagine….” He clears his throat. “I have to imagine you don’t want to meet everyone in the office wearing clothes you purchased on the spur of the moment from the gift shop.”

  I look down at the outfit as if this is the first time I’m seeing it. “Why not? It’s as good of an advertisement as any for the gift shop’s product line. Don’t you guys ever sample the items in stock before you put them on display?”

  “Of course we do!” He laughs. “But not usually as part of an average workday.”

  I drum my fingertips on the surface of his desk and laugh. “I’d say this isn’t your average workday.”

  “Not in the least.”

  I stand up then and clap my hands in front of me. “Give me the abbreviated tour, then. I’d like to get some shots of the pool while the morning light is still ideal.”

  Roman’s eyes go up to his eyebrows. “Shots of the pool?”

  “Photos. For Instagram. Your account there is…” I purse my lips and catch him glancing in the region of my lipstick. “…lacking. I want to start building up my assets right now so we have plenty to choose from when it’s time to ramp up promotions.”

  And then, because I am crushing it at being Carmen Sandiego by way of a semi-successful model, I make a slow turn in fr
ont of Roman’s desk and walk back out into the ‘bullpen.’ That’s what the receptionist, Sarah, called the main room of the office. “Will I be sitting out here, or—”

  “No, no.” There’s Roman’s hand on the small of my back again, only this time I can feel the heat of his palm more keenly through the sheer fabric of the cover-up. As soon as his hand meets my skin, he pulls it away again and steps to my side. What is this feeling? Victory? Utter victory?

  Cool it, I remind myself. This is the first hour of the first day. There’s a long way to go.

  Four weeks, to be exact. That’s when the contract runs out and when I’m going to have to pack up all my things and go…somewhere. I haven’t planned that far ahead yet.

  He leads me into a small, sunny office with its own skylight. On the desk is a brand new computer and a pencil cup, but Roman doesn’t say anything about that. He goes over to a shelf built into the wall and tugs out a camera bag.

  “If you want to get started on photos, here’s what I have for the set-up.” He looks down at the bag as he hands it to me, and I can feel his eyes on me as I open up the bag.

  Roman, it turns out, is no slouch in the photography department. It’s a top-of-the-line Nikon. They just released this model last year, and it puts my old 5200 to shame. To absolute shame. I bought the best camera I could afford when I struck out as a freelancer, but this—the features—

  I realize my body is nearly vibrating with excitement in the nick of time to stop the gushing words from crossing my lips. It would have started with a high-pitched squeal, and that is not the kind of sexy, assured image I’m trying to project here.

  So, I settle for a satisfied smile, look right into Roman’s eyes, and say, “Not bad.”

  * * *

  Out at the pool, Roman stands back, his hands in the pockets of the swim trunks I forced him to “borrow” from the lobby gift shop.

  “I need a model,” I call to him, trying to keep my face and voice deadly serious. “We’ll lose out on the light if you don’t hurry.”

  I praise myself inwardly for rolling with the punches of this day to an incredible extreme and fiddle again with the camera settings. Before I quit Global, they had me take a photography course, and I followed it up with another one once I left. Knowledge is power.

  But so is convincing Roman to don a pair of blue swim trunks.

  “We should hire this out,” he says.

  I whirl around, hand on my hip. “There’s no time. The booking season has already begun. We need something to go up on the channels right away, and photos with people always perform better than photos without.”

  He shakes his head. “There’s no way I can appear in promotional photos.”

  I look him up and down appraisingly. “I don’t see why not.” He scoffs. “What is it? Did you lose all your confidence when you graduated?”

  Roman hesitates. “Maybe someone stole it.”

  I turn back to the pool to disguise my ridiculous grin. “I have no idea what you mean. Get in the pool.”

  There’s no way he’s going to go for it. I’m testing my limits, going big because I have to go home in five weeks, but I know I’ve already found Roman’s.

  But after a long moment, I hear a rustle of fabric and then a barely audible thwip as his shirt hits the tile.

  Be professional. Be professional. Be professional.

  That’s what I have to do in this moment, so when he pads around me to the stairs leading into the shallow end, I survey him with a blank face and try to see him as just another one of the hotel’s assets.

  That’s the thing—I wasn’t wrong, back in high school. He was undeniably the most attractive of all the boys.

  The years have been more than kind to him.

  In fact, they’ve caressed him, run their fingers down his abs to sculpt them into something manly and strong, and chiseled his jaw out of a little rougher marble.

  He’s looking at me. “What?”

  “Trying to determine what the best angle is for the light on your face.” The truth is that there isn’t a bad angle for Roman Bliss.

  The other truth is that I’m getting slightly drunk on this power.

  I get hold of myself and beckon for him to get into the pool.

  He goes.

  It’s not easy to keep my mind focused on getting good photos with the water streaming over his abs and hair, but I manage, calling directions out one after the other. More and more often, his eyes stray to the red bikini. My skin heats and heats, and finally I have to call it. We’ve lost the morning light.

  “That’s it?” he calls from the center of the pool.

  “That’s it.” I put the camera down on a table that’s well out of the reach of even the most egregious cannonball, and let my cover-up flutter to the tile. Then I step out of my high heels.

  My heart is pounding like it’s about to give out, but this is it—if I can pull this off, it’ll be the height of my day.

  I walk quickly around to the deep end of the pool, the water a startling blue. There’s no one on the diving board above me.

  “Are you—?”

  The rest of Roman’s question is lost as I break the surface of the water in a perfect dive.

  The bikini, in today’s latest miracle, stays on.

  I kick hard and resurface in the shallow end, where Roman is still standing, dripping wet, his blue eyes fiery in the sun.

  I’ve stunned him into silence.

  Victory is mine.

  He doesn’t say another word as I brush my hair back and climb the stairs out of the pool.

  He still hasn’t moved after I’ve retrieved a fluffy towel from the overflowing rack. I tug out another one and toss it, still rolled up, directly at him.

  Roman reacts at the last moment, catching it just before it hits the water.

  “What are you waiting for?” I wrap the first towel around my body, then grab a second for my hair. “We have photos to process.”

  He stops me with a grin. “I’ll be approving all the photos for the accounts during your trial period. Don’t get any ideas.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I tell him, and lead the way inside.

  6

  Roman

  I wake up with two words ringing in my head: not today.

  Today, Jenny London is not going to get me into a pool in a pair of gift shop swimming trunks to take photos for Instagram. Today, she is not going to flounce around in the most delectable red bikini I’ve even seen while I struggle to make my thoughts pretend to be coherent. Today, she’s not going to get the better of me.

  I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m in charge of the Bliss Resort, and I allowed my mind to be melted by the sight of one woman in a bathing suit. What’s that going to do for staff morale? Nothing, if they see me being led around like her pet boss. That’s a sight that wouldn’t inspire any confidence for anybody on the staff—a boss who falls apart the moment a beautiful woman walks into the room.

  No. Today, the tables are turning.

  At least, they’re supposed to.

  Greg hustles up next to me in the lobby. I’m on the way to my office to await her surprised reaction to the gift basket I had sent to her employee bungalow early this morning with the supplies she’ll need for what I have planned.

  “Did you get it delivered?”

  The answer’s a clear no, because even as he struggles to catch his breath, I can see that he’s still holding the basket. It’s a classy, white wicker thing, and the clothes I chose are carefully laid out on a bed made from a beach towel.

  “She wasn’t there,” he pants. “I think she’s—” He raises a hand and points toward the offices. “I think she might already be—”

  “I’ve got it.”

  I take the basket from his hand and pick up the pace.

  I’m an hour early for work. There’s no reason Jenny should be there at this point, but even if she’s not—even if I have to hunt her down somewhere on Bliss property—she’s not get
ting ahead of me on this one. Yesterday was a freak anomaly, a rare slip-up on my part, and I won’t let it happen again if it kills me.

  Sure enough, I enter the bullpen only to see lamplight streaming from her office. It’s the only one that’s lit up at this hour of the morning. At seven a.m., the sun has risen, but it’s not high enough to do any justice to the skylights.

  Jenny is seated behind her desk when I get there, tapping away at her keyboard, and I can’t help but feel a little pang of disappointment. Unlike yesterday, she’s fully dressed. At least I think she is. The gray short-sleeved blazer she’s wearing could easily be paired with the bottom of the red bikini.

  Not that I’d be into that.

  This is a place of work, and I’m going to reestablish my authority.

  I clear my throat and she jumps about a mile out of her chair. She scrambles to her feet—the blazer is paired with a skirt, damn it—and her mouth is shaped in a perfect O. When she sees that it’s me, she lets out a laugh that’s somewhere between a guffaw and a giggle. It’s the kind of sound she would have made back when she was still going by Genevieve, and it warms my heart more than I expected.

  “Roman,” she breathes. “What are you doing here? You scared the hell out of me.”

  I survey her again. “What are you doing here? Nobody comes to the office this early.”

  She shoots me a look. “Is that why your social media accounts are in such a sorry state?”

  This woman. One day she’s a vixen in a cover-up, swaying her hips in front of me like all she wants is my attention. The next, she’s a corporate queen who’s going to whip us all into shape. Who is she, really?

  “Speaking of social media….” I approach the desk and set the gift basket straight in the center. “That was fun, your little photo shoot in the pool yesterday. But I don’t think you’ve seen enough of the resort property yet to represent us to the best of your abilities.”

  Her mouth falls open, a playful offense crossing her face along with a flash of something else. “I can assure you that I have more than enough to work with. In fact, I had so much to work through and process that I’m here earlier than you, so—”