Page 21 of Forbidden Fruit

She laughs softly. "Well, Jack actually said that you're 'obsessively meticulous' about your boats, which I took to mean you know what you're doing."

I chuckle. "Fair enough."

We fall into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the gentle lapping of water against the infinity edge and distant seabirds calling to one another. I steal glances at Rebecca's profile as she gazes at the horizon. The sun catches the natural highlights in her dark hair, and I notice a small scar near her collarbone I've never seen before.

"What are you reading?" I ask, nodding toward her book.

"Oh, it's a historical novel about Catherine de Medici." She holds it up, revealing the cover. "I've always been fascinated by powerful women in history who navigated impossible situations."

"Appropriate reading for someone who deals with bridezillas for a living," I observe.

Her laugh is genuine this time. "God, you have no idea. Last month, I had a bride who insisted we release fifty white doves at sunset, but she discovered that her groom was terrified of birds."

"What happened?"

"We compromised with butterfly releases. The groom was fine with insects, thankfully." She takes a sip of her drink. "This is delicious, by the way."

"Secret family recipe," I say with mock seriousness. "Passed down through generations of Bishops."

"Really?"

"No. I googled it five years ago and memorized it to impress guests."

She laughs again, and I realize I've been counting her smiles since I sat down. Seven. Seven genuine smiles in less than ten minutes, more than I've seen Jack elicit in hours.

"So what's your escape, Rebecca?" I ask, surprising myself with the personal question.

"My escape?"

"Everyone has one. That thing they do when the world gets too loud." I gesture around us. "This is mine. The ocean, solitude."

She considers this, tapping her finger against her glass. "I have a cat named Mr. Darcy. When things get overwhelming, I go home and tell him all my problems while he ignores me completely."

"Sounds like my board of directors."

Eight smiles. This one reaches Becca's eyes, crinkling the corners.

"At least Mr. Darcy doesn't interrupt you with quarterly projections," I add, taking another sip of my drink.

"No, but he occasionally walks across my keyboard when I'm working from home. Last month he sent an incomplete email to my biggest client." She laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Nine smiles.

"What did it say?"

"Just 'kkkkkk7777777.' Very professional."

"Sounds like most of Jack's business proposals," I say before I can stop myself.

Her smile falters slightly, and I immediately regret the comment. Damn it. The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "That was out of line."

She shakes her head, surprising me. "It's okay. He's... not exactly career-focused right now."

That is an understatement if I've ever heard one. Jack hasn't been "career-focused" since I reluctantly hired him at Kay's insistence. But I don't say this.

Instead, I ask, "How did you two meet? I don't think I've ever heard the story."

"College party. I was ahead of schedule, finishing my MBA, while he struggled to finish his senior year. He spilled a drink on my economics textbook and bought me coffee to apologize." She gazes out at the horizon, her expression softening with nostalgia. "He was charming back then. Funny. Said I was the smartest girl he'd ever met."

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