“Freeze hiring. We need to figure out where we can cut expenses. I’d suggest scaling back on Beau’s events, but—”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Beau squawks. “Don’t do it, Charlie. That’s not who you are.” He runs a hand self-consciously through his hair. “Do you know when Jenny will be back in? I think some promotion on social media could really boost attendance and heighten the sense that people are missing out if they don’t attend. The earlier in the season we start, the better, so....”
“I’ll let you know when she’s back in.” It’s the right thing to do. It’s the responsible thing to do. But part of me doesn’t want to tell Beau anything about where Jenny is or when she’s back in the office. Part of me wants to hold all that information close to my chest. The feeling of her body under my hands this morning comes back to me in a heady wave. I chose the yoga class to give her a taste of her own medicine. That went well. I look from one brother to the next. “I’m assuming you both have places to be. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”
They both stand there for just long enough that I know.
“Just, ah....” Beau rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “How’s it going? You know, with Jenny. Is she really—”
“Am I really what?” Jenny’s voice resounds from just outside in the bullpen and it makes us all jump. “Sorry to interrupt, but I heard my name.”
She enters the room behind the twins, and they part like the Red Sea, revealing her to me in all her skirt-suit glory.
“Beau. Charlie,” she says, a coy little smile on her face that makes me think I could kiss her.
Which is an absurd thought to have. It would have been absurd in high school, and it’s just as absurd now, but for totally different reasons.
“Hey, Gene—Jenny,” Beau says, correcting himself. “I was looking for you.”
“Wow,” she jokes. “Another Bliss brother on the hunt for me. I never thought I’d see the day.” She laughs, like this is the funniest thing she’s ever thought of. “Is this about promoting your events? I was thinking about that myself when we were out at the pool yesterday.”
Beau cuts me a look, his eyebrows raised. Pool?
“Let’s not disturb the boss, though.” The way she says it sounds almost thoughtful. “Come into my office. We can chat about a photo presence. I can take the photos myself.” She turns to leave and Beau follows her out of the office like a puppy. “However, I’ve found that sometimes guest-created content appeals to the audience and is more likely to—”
Her voice trails off as they retreat into her office, and then I hear the rumble of Beau’s laugh.
“You’re staring,” Charlie says. “You look like a man whose lover just boarded a train and he’s watching it pull out of the station.” He’s wearing his own amused grin. Usually, Charlie’s got his nose to the grindstone. He doesn’t have time to get involved in things like me staring at a woman I should have zero feelings for at all.
“Please,” I tell him. “Go figure out a way to fix our financial situation. And if it’s a bigger problem than you thought, don’t wait to tell me.”
He gives me a funny little salute and goes on his way. But even Charlie can’t resist waving at Jenny on the way out.
9
Jenny
It’s all fun and games until I sit down at my computer the next morning and download all the photos from the camera onto the hard drive. There are a lot of them to sort through. Photos of the pool, at sunrise and at sunset. Photos of the gazebo on the beach during the golden hour, when all manner of wedding photos will be taken there this season. Photos from all over the grounds of the Bliss Resort, and even a few from the club section. There are walking paths that are open to hotel guests, accessed with a key card at the gate, and in early summer they’re absolutely gorgeous.
But nothing compares to the pictures of Roman.
I’m supposed to feel the icy caress of revenge in my veins when I look at them, but instead the space between my thighs heats up. I clench my knees together underneath my skirt.
The whole thing—or the whole nothing—with Roman escalated quickly. In a way, I’ve been planning for this kind of eventuality for years. I just never expected it to come. And I never expected him to play ball.
Curse the past version of me. I learned a long time ago to take more photos than I thought was strictly necessary. This time, I’ve gone way overboard. There are at least two hundred shots of him in the pool and looking at each one of them—looking hard, so I can assess the quality and the usefulness and the potential to be edited into something amazing—is quite frankly something I’d rather do with a vibrator in hand. How much time does he spend in the gym? I’m almost curious enough to get up and go ask him.
But not quite.
If I do that, I might slip up and ask him what he was thinking about at couples yoga this morning. The way his eyes raked over me was too hot for it to be a casual meeting between a boss and a social media manager, and yet...that’s all it was. A teasing, funny game. Roman would never do anything more than tease me. Would he?
He had to know it got me hot and bothered. He had to. The real question is, does he care? Would he ever?
A tension is brewing at the base of my spine, threatening to turn into a headache. It shouldn’t be that way, given that my new job takes place at a summer resort and everything here is designed to be welcoming and relaxing. The tension grows as I click through photo after photo, then transfer some of them into a separate folder for editing. From there, it’s on to Photoshop, and finally, at the end of the afternoon, I have both a headache and a batch of great photos to use on the company’s social media accounts.
The best one by far is a photo of Roman standing in the pool, looking off to the side with a half-smile on his face that makes me think of a lot of phrases involving stirring loins. It didn’t take much editing to achieve perfection.
It took me a ton of editing to achieve the illusion of perfection, and I’m feeling it today. I want to take my hair down out of the sleek style I wear it in at all times now that I’ve left my former self behind, but now isn’t the time.
I load the photo into the scheduling tool for the accounts. There’s a great tagline in there somewhere, about the Bliss brothers welcoming guests, and I’ve almost got it when my phone buzzes on the desk.
My stomach drops at the sight of Connor’s name on the screen.
Connor: How are things?
He used to ask me this with one hip leaned against the side of my desk. I can see it now, and I hate it.
Another message.
Connor: Not going too well, I hope! ;)
I know exactly what the wink is for. It’s to cover our asses. Mostly his.
I reconsider the photo on the screen. It really is perfect, and it’s going to make the resort look like the kind of destination where you can find a man like Roman Bliss at the helm and at the pool. That’s not false advertising. He really does run this show, and he really does get in the pool from time to time.