“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 front 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?