Page 9 of Finding Lord Landry

A grin split his warm brown skin as he reached for the handle of my rolling suitcase and handed it off to a man standing slightly behind him who was wearing a uniform branded with the name of the hotel. “Excellent. We’re just waiting for two more, and then we’ll head to the resort. How was your flight?”

We made the necessary small talk as a younger woman and an older man approached to claim the other spots in the transport van. They all continued their friendly chatter as the van bumped along the local streets, passing open-air markets and run-down storefronts interspersed with flashier souvenir shops. It reminded me of a trip to an island in Belize I’d made with the Brotherhood several years ago. They’d spent the week scuba diving and lounging in the sun while I’d taken the opportunity of having them all together to get critical papers signed and nail down business decisions and planning details.

Now, finally, I was set to have a relaxing island vacation of my own.

The warm air floated in the open windows of the van. Once we’d left the small city center, the air carried a slight floral scent mixed with the salty tang of the ocean. Soft steel-drum music playing from the van’s speakers sent a clear message to my body that it was relaxation time.

Unfortunately, I didn’t speak that language. I hadn’t in the years I’d worked for the Brotherhood and, if I was honest, not before that, either. How did you relax when your idea of a good time was achieving goals? I wasn’t sure, but I was here to learn.

My body remained tense for the remainder of the drive along the coast. I gazed out of the window toward the ocean and wondered if Landry had made it back to his place without incident. It had only been six months since he’d been clipped by a car crossing a street on one of his runs, and I worried about him.

Not because I cared about him more than I cared about any of the other members of the Brotherhood I worked for, of course. Because I didn’t. But because I would have a mountain of hospital bills and scheduling changes to manage if…

I closed my eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath, remembering what Chaska said about stress.

“To avoid stress, begin by anchoring yourself in the present moment. Breathe deeply, for every breath is a reminder that you are alive, and life is resilient.”

I inhaled for four long seconds, held it for a beat, and then exhaled slowly before opening my eyes. The waves continued to tumble rhythmically in the distance, a reminder that this world was way bigger than anything I could ever have to be concerned about.

My phone buzzed again. I knew I needed to turn it off, but old habits were hard to break. I’d turn it off when I reached the hotel.

Landry

Did you make it okay?

My heart did a little pirouette. Before I could stop myself, I typed a response.

Aren’t you supposed to be at your shoot?

Landry

Finished already. Slayed, obvi. How’s the weather? According to my app, it’s sunny and warm there.

I took a photo of the sea with the afternoon sun glinting off it and hit Send.

Landry

Well, fuck me.

No thanks.

A photo of Landry’s devastatingly beautiful face popped up in the window. He was wearing a teasing, knowing grin that completely called bullshit on my response.

And he was right. If there was one thing about Landry I couldn’t deny liking,it was his talent in bed. I’d let him fuck me pretty much whenever and wherever he wanted. And Ihad. Frequently, despite my better judgment.

I stared at the photo and drew my finger over a flyaway wisp of blond hair caught by the wind.

“That your man?” the lively woman next to me asked, startling me into nearly dropping my phone.

I quickly clicked my screen off and cleared my throat. “Oh, er. No? No. I work for him. At work.”

She looked at me knowingly. “If I worked with someone that good-looking, I’d never get anything done. He looks like a famous actor or something.”

I didn’t explain that she probably subconsciously recognized him from something. Landry got that a lot, people knowing they knew him “from somewhere” but not being able to put their finger on it.

“He’s actually a cocky asshole,” I muttered. “Sometimes the most annoying things come in lovely packaging.”

Her smile faded until her eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh. You’re so right. I once got a wall mirror from a home decor store, and it came with this super-sick custom box with a magnetic flap closure. Inside was just the fastener to hang the mirror on the wall. Here I thought there’d been a gift with purchase.”

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