Page 21 of Beauty and the Beach

“Hi, Wyatt,” I say to Phoenix’s assistant, a middle-aged man who’s way nicer than Phoenix deserves. He dips his chinat me from his leather chair, a large folder open in his lap, and Phoenix speaks from behind his giant executive desk.

“What do you want, Amsterdam?” he says, not looking away from his desktop. There’s a furrow of concentration between his brows, a little frown bracketing his lips.

“There was a man downstairs who said hi to me,” I say, dropping into the armchair across from Wyatt’s. My pulse is jittering at the conversation I’m about to have, and while I normally enjoy looking around Phoenix’s office, today I’m too nervous.

“I prefer to employ pleasant people,” he says, eyes still on his computer. “Part of why I only reluctantly offered you work here.”

I ignore this barb in favor of the point I’m trying to make. “No, he greeted meby name.”

“I don’t understand the question,” Phoenix says. He clicks the mouse with an air of finality and then leans back in his chair, finally looking at me. “How does he know your name, you mean?”

“Yes,” I say. “He called me Miss Blakely.”

Phoenix shrugs his broad shoulders. “You visit the office relatively frequently.”

I blink at him, frowning. “No, I don’t.”

He snorts and swivels his chair, standing up. “Yes, you do. Wyatt, I’m done on here,” he says to Wyatt, gesturing to the computer. “You can get in there and organize those accounts now.”

Wyatt nods while I think back, mentally examining my calendar of the last month. I came once to pick up the window locks Phoenix insisted I use; another time I dropped by to return the suit coat I had to have dry cleaned after I (mostly accidentally) sprayed hairspray on it.

I guess I come here sometimes.

I shake my head. “Fine. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.” Taking a deep breath, I stand up. “We need to discuss something.” My gaze darts to Wyatt, but I don’t say anything; I’m not his boss, and he’s under no obligation to listen to me.

He seems to understand, though, because he inclines his head again and rises from his chair. “I’ll be in my office,” he says tactfully, and some of the tension leaks out of my shoulders.

I don’t really want anyone else to hear this conversation.

Phoenix rounds his desk slowly, eyes on Wyatt as he exits. Only when the door has clicked shut behind him does he turn his gaze on me.

“Have you reconsidered my offer?” he says, strolling casually toward where I’m standing. His hands are in his pockets, and one dark brow is raised at me—he fills this role so easily, with an arrogant elegance that comes from a lifetime of privilege and power.

It’s a look he wears well.

I swallow and don’t let myself shrink away, standing taller instead. “No. Or—I don’t know.”Admitting you need help is its own form of bravery,I remind myself. “Maybe.” And here comes the heat creeping up my neck; I ignore it. “We need to clarify something first.”

His eyes narrow on me, but he nods slowly and takes another casual step in my direction. “All right. I’m listening.”

Say it. Just say it. It will sound stupid, but it would be more stupid not to clarify.

So I take one last breath, so deep my lungs hurt, and then I blurt it out:

“I’m worried you might have feelings for me.”

Phoenix

“I’mworried you might have feelings for me.”

I hear those words come out of Holland’s mouth—I definitely hear them, but they don’t register very well. I stop dead in my tracks, because walking and processing are too much for my brain to handle at once.

“Feelings,” I say dumbly. “For you?”

She tucks a few strands of that blonde hair behind her ears, shifting her weight. Her eyes dart away before meeting mine again, like she’s forcing herself to hold my gaze. “Yes,” she says. She raises her chin defiantly. “I’m concerned that you might feel romantically toward me.”

She’s a vivid spot of color in this office, bright hair and blue fingernails and a little yellow dress that shows off more tan skin than I need to see. I take pride in my space—brown leather chairs and dark wood bookshelves; a large, comfortable desk; lots of natural light—but when she’s here, she makes the place look dull.

Even when she’s spitting nonsense.

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