Page 54 of The Wrong Boss

I couldn’t let that happen. After she’d wriggled out of my arms following our fender bender, I knew I couldn’t let myself touch her as much as I wanted to. That was a slippery slope to betraying all my morals, to becoming the type of man I swore I’d never be.

The plane finally smoothed out. Carrie opened her eyes and blew out a breath. I met those big grey doe eyes, watched a soft smile curl her lips, and I knew that as long as she worked for me, I would want her.

The pedestal I thought I’d put her on had never existed. She was exactly the woman I’d met seven years ago. I hadn’t made up a fantasy; the fantasy was real, and she was sitting directly across from me.

The hell of it was that I could never have her again.

TWENTY-ONE

CARRIE

By the time we landed,it felt like I’d run a marathon. Cole motioned for me to precede him as we disembarked, and I felt his gaze rake over me as I slipped into the aisle and walked out into the sunshine. We stepped down onto the tarmac, and yet another car waited for us.

The air was warm, the sky was a clear, pale blue, and palm trees waved in the distance. I took a moment to inhale deeply, smelling salt on the air along with engine oil and asphalt. A knot between my shoulders relaxed just in time for me to feel a bead of sweat run down my spine. I should’ve worn something more lightweight.

I hadn’t been on vacation in years. This wasn’t a vacation—not really—but it still felt like a break from real life. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the palm trees to send to Evie. She’d get it on her tablet when she got home from school.

Turning at the sound of Cole’s approach, I gave him a widesmile. Even behind his dark sunglasses, I thought I could sense him staring at my lips.

But that was just my runaway mind making up stories again.

“Ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be.” I got into the car after making sure my bag was loaded in the trunk. My big purse took up the space between my feet, and I ignored the quickening of my pulse as Cole entered the car on the other side and closed the door.

Being in an enclosed space with him always made my senses extra sensitive. I smelled his cologne and the leather of the seats. I heard that same leather creaking as he shifted, the click of the seatbelt as he buckled himself in. From the corner of my eye, I watched the way his pants revealed a little sliver of charcoal gray sock and the shiny surface of his shoes.

The big countdown clock in my head flashed. After this trip, I’d tell him about Evie. I might lose my job—I’d definitely lose this ease and comfort with him.

We drove through flat, scrubby landscape, and I caught glimpses of the ocean between the gentle swells of beach dunes. Buildings dotted the area, knots of residential houses, cute beachside towns, and a strip of large resorts. The lush, manicured green of a golf course passed by, and then finally, we slowed and pulled into a long drive, entering through an ornate, open gate flanked by stone walls. The drive was circular with a fountain in the center, spraying crystal-clear water into a large basin. Large palms framed the entryway, which was tiled with a mosaic and covered with a wide awning.

The Hearst resort swept toward the ocean in a gentle C-shape, with the communal areas in the center of the building.I’d learned that when the Hearst family wasn’t using the resort themselves, they rented out the thirty-bedroom space as a boutique hotel for part of the year and sometimes made the whole place available for larger parties.

As the car pulled up on the far side of the fountain and came to a stop in front of the awning, Cole swore under his breath. I followed his gaze to the man ambling through the entrance toward us, recognizing Chuck Hearst from the company onboarding materials I’d studied when I started the job.

The older man had thick gray hair and a weathered face. His eyes were the same dark brown as Cole’s—and my daughter’s. My throat went dry at the reminder of what I was hiding.

Not waiting for the driver, Chuck pulled open my door. “Oh!” he said. “You’re not my son.”

I stuck out my hand. “I’m Carrie Woods,” I said. “Executive assistant.”

“Any relation to Tiger?” He laughed, proud of his joke.

Never heard that one before. I hid my eye roll and gave him a wide smile. “Not that I’m aware, but I haven’t done my family tree since the second grade, so there’s always hope.”

He grinned, pleased that I’d played along. If I had a nickel for every time a golf-obsessed retiree made that joke, I’d have a pocket full of shrapnel. But Chuck Hearst surprised me by slapping his hand in mine and saying, “You’re the one who revamped the company travel procedures and increased our productivity on travel days by eleven percent.”

Pride was a warm glow in my gut. He knew about that? About me? “That’s right. Nice to meet you.”

“Good to have you on board. Do you golf?”

I blinked. “I—um...yes?” Rachael had not been kidding about this guy.

During our exchange, Cole had exited his side of the car and come around the back. “Stop crowding her, Chuck,” he said, and I noted that he didn’t call the older man “Dad.” Cole took my hand and pulled me out of the car. “Don’t mind him. I’ll get someone to show you to your room.”

“Hold on a minute,” Chuck said. “Ted! This is Carrie. Carrie Woods. No relation to Tiger”—both men chortled and looked at me, so I smiled too—"She’s the one who does the travel planning now. She golfs!”

How was that for an endorsement? I turned to face the incoming man, knowing one of the board members was Ted Enders. His wife was celiac. His daughter was engaged to Cole.

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