Page 2 of Strictly the Worst

“No,” I say tightly. “I don’t play golf.” I never had the chance to learn. I remember wanting to every Saturday morning when my ex-husband would head for the golf club, leaving me to nurse a baby with one arm and replying to emails with the other.

“That’s a shame,” Roman says.

Linc still hasn’t said anything. I turn to look at him and his dark blue gaze hits mine. “Carmichael,” he says softly, not moving his gaze at all. I swallow hard, because as much as I hate it, this man is stupidly attractive.

“Salinger.”

He’s not in the New York office very much, because his job requires him to fly to whatever client is threatening to leave at any given time. I’ve seen him in action. The man could smooth talk anybody. He has this way about him that makes everybody love him.

Everybody but me. Because, no, my insides aren’t tingling like they’ve just touched a frayed piece of electrical wire. Not at all. I’m not interested in this man with the sharp jaw and god-like charm.

And yes, part of that is professional jealousy. I’ve been working for Hampshire PR for the last nine years. Managed to claw my way up to Head of Social Media Marketing. And then Salinger sails in a year ago pretty much above my head and Roman thinks the sun shines out of his rather fine behind.

“Salinger agreed that he can give the pitch,” Roman tells me, smiling as though he’s doing me a favor. “You just need to meet with him to give him all the details. The videos and whatnot.”

And whatnot. I blew out a mouthful of air. There’s no point in explaining that whatnot involves many hours of my life. Or that I’ve fallen in love with this project.

“This isn’t fair,” I say, aware I sound like a kid who’s just been told to go to bed. “This is my project.”

Roman lifts a brow and I know I’ve spoken out of line.

But they can’t give Exuma to him. That’s just wrong.

“James specifically asked for Linc to take over,” Roman says. “He knows you’re not able to travel at short notice because…” he waves his hand, as though my reasons are unimportant.

As though Zoe is unimportant.

Linc still says nothing. I turn to look at him and he presses his lips together, his vivid blue eyes still trained on my face. I know he doesn’t like me much either. I also know that’s because he knows I don’t like him.

So why is the air sizzling between us like somebody’s just popped it into a Soda Stream?

It’s uncomfortable, because there’s not many people I dislike.

My ex-husband. Obviously.

His girlfriend. Who is also his boss’ daughter.

And Ryan Sharp from first grade who stole my favorite Peanuts pencil topper and threw it down the boy’s toilet.

That’s it. I like everybody else. Except him…

Linc Salinger is part of a very favored few. And from the way he’s looking at me, he knows it.

“Okay,” I say, because I need to get out of here. My throat is doing that weird ticklish thing it always does before I start to cry. And I’m not going to let Salinger know he’s upset me. “Is there anything else?”

Roman shrugs. “No, that’s it.”

I nod wordlessly and turn around, wrenching his door open and stepping outside.

“Sixty-eight,” Roman says. “How the heck do you score that?”

“Practice,” Salinger replies. “And a little bit of genius.”

“He can’t do that,” my assistant, Gina, whispers, horrified. She’s force feeding me a Snickers bar – king sized – and a mug of coffee. As soon as I walked into the large office full of desks she took one look at my pale face and forced me to sit down while she took care of me. So I’m in her chair while she’s perched on her desk in front of me, pointing half a candy bar at my mouth.

“Eat,” she says.

I shake my head. “I can’t eat any more.”

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