Page 33 of Stuck in Paradise with You

I notice the large, overfilled beach bag she’s carrying by her side.

‘I was just wondering how much stuff one woman can need for a day on the ocean,’ I end up jibing to spare myself.

Carrie throws daggers at me with her eyes, her cupid’s bow tightly creased. ‘I didn’t know what the itinerary would be, so I brought some options,’ she says, looking at the others apologetically as she meekly justifies the excessive luggage. I sort of feel bad. In a very miniscule way.

Alisha steps toward Carrie and loops an arm through hers. ‘Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady what’s in her bag?’ she says, playfully glowering at me. ‘Come on, Carrie, let’s head on down to the beach now that we’re all here.’ She takes Carrie’s bag and swings it back at me, narrowly missing my crotch with the heavy load, and only because I jump back out of range. ‘Youcan make yourself useful,’ she says.

Admonished like a child the same age, I end up with Noah on my back and carting Carrie’s ridiculously, needlessly hefty pack-up down to the beach for the tender.

With the help of Henry and Security Dave and Security Thom – two of three security guys who follow Joe and the family wherever they go – we get Ella and the kids, Joe and Alisha, over the inflatable sides and into the dinghy first. Then we wrestle the dogs in and there’s no space left, so Carrie and I wait for a second run.

Carrie and me. On a beach. Alone. In paradise. And she looks freaking great. Any other man would be thrilled with this outcome.

But this man, me, is both hated and hates.

‘Did you have to try to ridicule me like that?’ Carrie snaps once we’ve waved the tender around the rocks and out of sight.

‘I was joking around, Carrie. Jesus, you used to be fun.’

Despite the breeze blowing her long hair in a way that shields her face from me standing next to her, and despite the fact she has big shades covering her eyes, I know she’s glaring at me.

‘He’s my client, Luke. I need to be professional about this whole…’ She motions back and forth between us.

‘Ghost of girlfriends past?’ I offer.

‘Shit show,’ she corrects.

Now I’m a shit show.Nice. ‘I see.’

‘See what?’ she bites, now turning to face me.

‘You only have professional boundaries when it suits you. Being professional never bothered you when there were lines you wanted to cross.’

She gasps. ‘Me?Right, because me, your junior, led you on, flirted and taunted you until you had no self-control and you were forced to cheat on your wife.’

Red mist washes over me instantaneously with her words. ‘Cheat?I would never cheat.Never. I’ve seen the mess that does to a relationship. I saw my own father do it more times than I can count and I amnothim. And for your information, myex-wife cheated onme.’

‘Right, sure. Was that a little nugget you were keeping to yourself back then?’ She shakes her head. ‘Change the narrative to suit you, Luke. Next, you’ll say I blew it between us.’

I step closer to her, my heart pounding and my breaths coming thick and fast.How dare she?

‘God, you got so arrogant and conceited!’ I’m shouting, which is wholly uncharacteristic, but Carrie knows how to push all my buttons.

She doesn’t back down. If anything, my words make her more brazen. She seems to grow taller, to puff out her chest, until our bodies are almost touching. ‘When you’ve been treated like dirt, Luke, you have to choose fight or flight. I chosefight.’

‘I treatedyoulike dirt?’ I scoff. She’s unbelievable. ‘I ruined my career over you.’

She throws her head back with an ugly laugh. ‘Says the man who hangs out on private islands and fancy yachts whenever the hell he wants! It doesn’t look like things went so badly for you, does it?’

I feel myself gawking. Incredulous. ‘Did you swallow a fucking lemon tree? You’re thirty-one and on the cusp of partnership, Carrie. It’s impossible to see why you’re so bitter and twisted when you’ve got what you always wanted.’

‘Are you kidding?’ She throws her hands up in the air and finally steps back, putting some much-needed distance between us. ‘I’ve spent seven years trying to retell a narrative. Seven years trying to show people that I didn’t try to sleep my way to the top. I’ve worked harder and longer than anyone else I know. So yes, I’m fucking bitter and?—’

The sound of the tender engine cuts through her words and we both shift to watch Henry coming toward the beach, at the helm.

He kills the engine and hops off the vessel like he’s a stunt double in an action movie. Remarkably, keeping his uniform dry. Damn him and his hot man peacocking.

He drags the dinghy until the front is just touching the sand and holds onto the roped edge while the rear bobs up and down with the lapping waves.

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