Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
I think his hellish blue eyes could light me on fire.
“You’re sure it’ll be well enough to walk around tomorrow? I wouldn’t dare risk hurting your pigs.”
I nod, looking around his office so I don’t lock eyes with him again. Why is it getting harder every time to look away?
“See how easy that was? I offered to do all of this for you last night,” he says.
I hate that he’s right. I don’t need a reminder.
“Don’t blow this by calling me stubborn,” I warn, shaking a finger.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Sunshine. You’re headstrong—not unreasonably so—and I’m sure that extends to your ten little pigs, too.”
Too ridiculous.
I’m about to laugh in his face when an attendant knocks at the door with our drinks.
I pick mine up as soon as the girl leaves and take a gulp.
Oh, hello.
It’s my tongue that’s curling right now as sugary bliss wrapped in citrusy tang rattles my senses.
“Dang. It’s like liquid sherbet.” I stir it around with the straw and glance up at him. “You’re sure there’s alcohol in this?”
“Yes. I hired the lead bartender myself. He had the job the instant he promised me dangerous drinks. Precisely why I take my poison straight without hiding it in a glass of fruit, but our guests do love their sugar bowl ways of getting intoxicated.” He downs his brandy, his throat muscles working obscenely. “When would you like our Hawaiian honeymoon to begin?”
Oh, no, no, no.
I choke on my next sip of sunrise and turn away, sputtering against my hand.
“As soon as you stop doing that. And after our drinks are gone.” I hope the dirty look I’m wearing tells him how serious I am. Enough of this crap.
“Did you enjoy the spa, at least?” he asks.
I smile. “Yeah. I actually got a hot stone massage. I’ve always wanted one of those.”
“Always fortifying. I enjoy them a few times a year.”
“You use the spa?” I clutch my glass closer, surprised.
“Occasionally.”
God. There’s an image I don’t need—this tightwad wall of hard muscle sprawled out on the table, wearing nothing but a towel, hot stones dancing down corded muscle.
“I need to be a resort manager when I grow up,” I say absently.
He cocks his head.
“Sure. It’s all fun and games until you shower in someone else’s room.” He taps his long, thick fingers on the desk again. Weirdly, they’re more like workman’s hands—thick and weathered—definitely not the kind you’d expect from a guy who takes spa days. “What do you like to do, Miss Renee? So I know where to take you.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t have to like it, necessarily. I just need to see the places there aren’t already two thousand videos about. Go for uniqueness. I told you, traveling is about getting outside of your comfort zone. And if you don’t try new things, how can you know what you like?”
His piercing blue eyes connect with mine, stealing my attention.
He’s very good at that.
He’s also talented at making me feel like an unwanted piece of modern art he can’t quite decipher.
Something about the way our gazes fuse feels too close. Too intimate.
Everyone who praises an overactive imagination doesn’t know it’s a curse.
“There’s some truth to that,” he admits. “Still, if the point is salvaging your trip, having some idea what you enjoy would help immensely.”
I shrug, drawing a slow breath.
“I like sharing the world, honestly. More views, more messages, more subscribers. Just get me anywhere with good scenery and some sun. Oh, and birds.”
For the briefest second, he smiles.
I’m so taken aback I tilt my head.
“Birds, huh? I appreciate that you’re all business. I didn’t know we spoke the same language. I should be a social media influencer,” he growls.
I start laughing because I can’t even imagine it. He’d have to grow a real personality first.
His phone buzzes and he plucks it from his pocket. He stares at it for a moment before he pounds out a message with both hands.
“Something wrong?” I venture, taking another drink of my adult smoothie.
“The joys of management,” he says, never looking up at me. “If you’re feeling up to it today, we can start our tour this afternoon.”
“If it’s not a lot of hiking, sure. Let’s get this over with.”
The angry look he throws back should make me smile, but I wonder why a twisted part of me is actually looking forward to this.
“Finish your drink and we’ll hit the beach. Or pack it up and take it with, I don’t care,” he snaps.
“Management must be brutal if you can flop down on Lanai beaches in the middle of the day,” I say sarcastically.
“I don’t have a choice. Some smart-ass influencer stole my room, blamed me for a murder plot, and then threatened to torch my livelihood if I didn’t fall down and worship her.”
For a second, I’m not sure he’s joking until I see the spark in his eyes.