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—”