Page 7 of Bad for Business
Fun.
Camille takes a step back and looks at me, crossing her arms over her chest once again. “Here’s the thing, Ryker. I know that neither one of us wants to be spending time with the other, but we don’t have any other options. You’re stuck with me, and unfortunately, I’m stuck with you. There’s no reason to dwell on one simple, insignificant night that happened months ago. We’re going to let the past be the past and instead focus on the future. It’s tragic, but our futures are pretty intertwined right now. I need you to get it together so I can prove to my dad that I’m ready to be partner at the firm. And you need to prove to not only your dad but an entire board of people that you have a brain and you’re not some immature, spoiled heir anymore. They need to know that you’re not just using your charms and good looks to carry you through life. We have to prove to them that you’re ready to take on all of Davenport Media, or quite frankly, you’re fucked.”
I give her a wolfish grin. “You think I’m good-looking?”
Her eyes narrow on me as her entire face pinches together. “Oh, stop it, Ryker; you know that you’re good-looking. Please don’t come fishing for compliments.”
“It’s good to know you sayplease. I was worried you might not have manners,” I toss out, my smile getting even wider.
She lets out an annoyed groan and rubs the heels of her palms against her forehead for a moment, her eyes fluttering shut. “This summer might actually kill me,” she mutters to herself.
I put my hands up defensively. “Well, with that attitude…” I remark.
She shakes her head at me and sighs. “Remember, Ryker, two rules. We’ll help each other out and try to tolerate each other. Sound good?”
I give her a shrug, not really wanting to stand here and argue. Even after the meeting last night, I didn’t think I’d be standing here this morning with her. I was fairly confident I’d be able to convince my dad to let this whole thing go. But at least for right now, he’s determined to make me do it.
Unfortunately for me, I know I at least need to listen to her and pretend that this will work for a couple of days or maybe even weeks before I can try and convince him to drop the babysitter gig. I’ll show him I can take things seriously at Pembroke and be on my best behavior.
In no time, he should be sending Camille back to Manhattan.
At least, I hope so.
FIVE
CAMILLE
“Just wondering,will you be scowling the entire summer, or will I eventually get you to smile?” Ryker asks, his tone deep but playful and, unfortunately for me, still something I’m able to hear, even through my headphones.
I ignore him, choosing to stare at my laptop instead. I’ve never really been a fan of flying, and pairing it with having to fly withhim, I’m doing everything possible to survive.
“I know you can hear me by the way your frown deepened,” Ryker points out, humor in his tone.
I let out a long sigh before closing my laptop and looking over at him. “I was hoping that you’d take the hint that I’m not wanting to talk to you right now.”
It’s annoying that no matter what I say, it makes Ryker’s lips turn up in a smirk. It’s like he’s always smirking, something that’s beginning to annoy me more and more. His grin gets wider and wider by the second. It lights up his entire face, which I can notice even from across the aisle.
“If you’re going to be my publicist, shouldn’t we at least talk about what the plan is?” he asks, his smile not faltering in the slightest.
“You know, I thought we did talk about it,” I respond, tapping my nails against my laptop. “The plan is for you not to do anything stupid, for you to act like a grown-up and impress what ishopefullyyour future board, and for you to listen to me. We’ve talked about it. Nothing more to discuss.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, so are we adding more rules now?”
I roll my eyes and let out an annoyed sigh. “No, Ryker, I’m just stating the obvious.”
He’s quiet for a moment. All he does is stare at me, his brown eyes watching me closely. Just when I think he’s not going to respond and leave me alone, he opens his mouth to speak.
“So, do you like the Hamptons?”
I mull over his question for a minute, not expecting the sudden change of subject. “Sure, what is there not to like about the Hamptons?” My family has occasionally vacationed in the Hamptons since I was a kid. We never owned a house there—my dad preferred Manhattan or LA—but I still enjoy visiting.
Ryker shrugs, reminding me that I asked him a question. “I don’t know. I’m just trying to figure out what youdolike. Your frequent scowl and slight attitude,” he whispers under his breath, “make me wonder if you like anything.”
A surprise gasp falls from my lips. Every headline about him right now paints him as Davenport Media’s golden boy—just someone who’s been too careless as of late. I even saw one of the publications call him a golden retriever. If only they knew that this golden retriever has just a little bit of a bite. But maybe the bite is just when it comes to me. He’s been nothing but overly kind to the flight staff.
“I don’t have an attitude,” I argue, narrowing my eyes at him. “I just don’t see why it’s necessary for us to make small talk.”
I let my gaze travel over his face as I try and figure him out. If he could see what was on my laptop screen, he’d know that I’ve been doing research on all things Ryker Davenport. The firsttime we met, he told me his first name, but I didn’t get his last name. And after waking up that morning and finding him gone, I didn’t care to ever find out exactly who he was.
