Page 44 of Work: Strictly Professional

“I’ll come with you.”

It's pretty much the last thing I need.

“What? Oh no, no, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine on my own. The car’s ready for me. I just got a message from reception.”

“Wyn, I’dneverlet my partner venture off on their own on an island they’ve never been to. Never. No one would believe that.”

Well, that’s great. Just great. More time in a small, confined space with Derek.

I accept defeat and whip my pen out as he tips the valet. Might as well make it a work trip.

“So,” I say, as he puts the car into Drive, “the pressure is on. By the time we get back, all the guests will have arrived. We’ll have a full house. We have cocktails on the beach this evening and the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. Cocktails should be fine as it’s informal and we can mingle and move around, but we need to be prepared for the rehearsal and wedding dinners. The seating is set, and we can’t stall or wander off if someone asks a question we don’t know.”

“Fair enough,” he says with a light sigh. “Do your worst.”

I flick through my questionnaire and pick up where we left off. “Favorite food?”

“Lasagna.”

“Really? I thought you’d like something fancier.”

“Nah, the less fancy, the better. You?”

“Depends if you’re asking Healthy Me or Actual Me. Healthy Me is all about Buddha bowls and salads with lots of protein and hemp seeds and things like that.”

“Sounds like someone who’d get along with The Awakening.” I try not to snort. The last thing he needs is encouragement. “And Actual You?”

“Nachos forever. But only with real melted cheese, not cheese sauce. I can’t stand that damn sauce. Totally ruins a perfect meal.”

“Got it. Cheese good. Sauce bad.”

I ignore that.

“Hey, Siri,” I say, “remind me to add lasagna to The Dar—Derek’s lunch menu rotation.” A single dark brow arches. I move on swiftly. “Favorite sweet treat?”

“I’m not really a fan of sweets unless you can drink them. Milkshakes are good though. And Peruvian hot chocolate isn’t bad.”

Not bad, my ass. The manlovesthat hot chocolate.

“It’s dark chocolate and hot cakey things served with ice cream for me.”

I turn the page over, skipping over several questions. I was in a high state of agitation when I prepared the document and though I’d never admit it to Derek, there are a few questions that might not be absolutely essential.

“Hobbies?”

“Definitely not,” he says with some heat. “No hobbiesever. Don’t even like the word hobby.”

“You’re offended by the word hobby?” I check with some suspicion. I can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. He glances in my direction and cracks a smile so perfect and pristine it makes me feel like the car’s gone into a skid. “Right.” I jot down what I’m saying as I say it. “Hobbies include making money, terrifying people, and being difficult.”

A throaty chuckle rumbles around the car, causing the temperature to spike so severely that I feel compelled to punch all the dials on the air conditioning several times. Hot airimmediately starts blasting onto the windshield and into my face. I keep punching. Eventually, Derek swats my hand away and sets the dial back where it was, hardly taking his eyes off the road.

“Come to think of it,” he says when order has been restored, “I do have a hobby. It’s new, but I like it a lot…” I can tell from his voice exactly what he’s about to say.

“Don’t say giving blowjobs,” I warn. “Don’t you dare say—”

“Giving blowjobs,” he says firmly. There’s that laugh again. Throatier. Deeper. A soft cackle that makes my throat dry. “No, no, you’re right. I don’t think that qualifies as a hobby. More of a hidden talent, I think. D’you have a question about hidden talents in there? If not, you should add one.”

“Sports?” I ask, moving on.

---