Page 36 of One Week in Paradise
‘Absolutely not. I couldn’t recommend the brand to my audience in good faith. I gave them back their fee and told them they need to work on their formula some more.’
‘What’d they say about that?’
‘No response.’
Cash shakes his head in dismay. ‘I’m glad you didn’t post.’
‘Of course; I’ve got integrity,’ I say with a shrug. My lips turn upwards into a smirk, and I quirk a pointed brow. ‘And besides, I can’t lead my loyal fans, like you, astray.’
He mirrors my smirk. ‘As head of your fan base, I’m glad to hear that.’
We fall into an easy banter, and I feel a pang of regret as it hits me that we could’ve had this all along. We could’ve been friendsyearsago.
‘Be honest with me,’ I say, deciding to bite the bullet.
‘Always.’
‘Why is this the first time we’ve done this?’
‘Faked a relationship to get a free flight to Jamaica?’
I give him a look and gesture between us. ‘No. You know what I mean. You and Dane have been best friends for years,and we barely know each other. To be honest, up until now, I was sure you hated me.’
‘I’ve never hated you,’ he repeats quietly.
‘I know, I know, you’ve said. But itfeelslike you did. Like you could barely stand to be in a room alone with me before. I don’t think we’ve ever exchanged more than twenty words between us until now. You can’t blame me for thinking otherwise.’
Cash sighs and looks up at the clear night sky, his brows meeting in the middle as they furrow into a deep frown. ‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’
‘I prefer it like this,’ I tell him earnestly. ‘I think we make good friends.’
‘Yeah,’ he says, that frown still clouding his features. ‘Great friends.’
I know how to walk in heels. I’ve been doing it since I was fifteen years old, and I’m pretty proud of my walk. I’m not like Naomi Campbell or anything like that, but I know how to hold my own in a pair of six-inch heels.
However, my feet are currently killing me. An evening of dancing and aimlessly strolling around the resort, chatting about our lives and goals, will do that to your toes.
There aren’t any golf carts in the vicinity, so Cash and I are making our way back to the suite on foot.
‘I’m taking these off,’ I declare dramatically after two minutes of hobbling after him. The pain is too much to handle, and I’m throwing in the towel. I crouch down and start fiddling with the thin strap wrapped around my ankle. ‘Hold up, let me unstrap these.’
‘Your feet will get dirty.’
‘Anything’s better than this.’ I manage to unstrap and hook one heel, but before I can get to the other one, a shadow looms over me.
‘Let me carry you,’ Cash says. He turns around and offers me his back. ‘Hop on. Come on,’ he adds, sensing my hesitation.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Come on, Bailey. It’s getting late.’
I stand up as he crouches down and swing my legs over his waist. His hands come up to grip my thighs, and soon he’s lifting me into the air. I wrap my arms loosely around his neck so that I don’t fall back. Cash adjusts under me slightly, shifting his arms, so they create a little seat for me to lean into.
I’m suddenly acutely aware of just how close we are to one another now. My face is buried in his neck, his wavy hair tickling my nose with each step he takes. I wonder if he can feel my racing heartbeat thudding against his back.
‘I’m not too heavy, am I?’ I ask, more out of a desire to say anything and end the loaded silence between us than to actually know.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he says. ‘You’re perfect.’
