Page 23 of Bad for Business
My jaw pops open. Delicate feelings? What the fuck?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I counter, crossing my arms over my chest.
Her lips press into a thin line. “You’re a little sensitive, and you don’t like constructive criticism.”
“I take criticism just fine,” I argue.
Her head tilts to the side. “Do you?”
I can’t help but frown. The slightly higher pitch to her voice at the end of her question tells me she has other ideas. “Of course I do.”
Camille picks at an invisible piece of lint from the skirt of her dress. “Mmm. Remember dinner last night?”
I scoff and throw my head back in frustration. “That doesn’t count.”
One of her dark eyebrows lifts. “Sure it does.”
I shake my head. “You were telling me I wasn’t doing a good job at making small talk, and no offense, but you’re not exactly the poster child for being chatty. It’s not that I couldn’t take criticism. I just don’t think I need a lecture from you, of all people, on how to have a casual conversation.”
“Me, of all people? What’s that supposed to mean?”
I laugh. “C’mon, Camille. You know you’re not the friendliest person. Making small talk isn’t really your thing.”
She huffs, her hands finding her hips. “The clock is ticking, Ryker.” I can’t help but smile at her avoidance of the topic. Herpersonality is a bit…prickly. I know it’s something she’s got to be aware of. I don’t think shewantsto be known as friendly. If I had to guess, she wants people to leave her alone.
“Goodbye, Camille,” I respond, waving my hand in the air to dismiss her.
The moment she closes the door behind her, I pull the comforter over my head and allow myself five more minutes in bed before having to get up. There’s no reason I need to be fully ready in twenty minutes. There’s a formal brunch at Pembroke that happens every year. It’s another celebration to mark the start of the summer season. Almost everyone attends. It’s the perfect opportunity to talk with the Davenport Media members casually. If you asked me, I thought the last week had been going well in winning them over, but Camille seems to think otherwise.
I make a mental note to ask her about that. I got lost in talking about her lack of small-talk skills and her belief that I can’t take criticism.
With a sigh, I close my eyes and pull the cover farther over my head. With my eyes shut, the memories of my dream come crashing back.
I’d been dreaming about Camille—about our night together. It’s been the same dream every night since we arrived in the Hamptons.
I hate that she’s here and keeps invading my thoughts. She annoys me and gets under my skin—something few people can do.
And yet, I can’t stop dreaming about her. It’s a major problem. One that I don’t know how to solve because as much as I’d like to, I don’t think I’ll be getting rid of her anytime soon.
Something else I don’t think I’ll be ditching anytime soon?
The dirty dreams I’m having about my publicist.
FOURTEEN
CAMILLE
“Pleasure to see you this morning,”Jude croons, coming to a stop in front of me.
“Did you expect not to see me?” I ask, taking a sip of my mimosa. Whoever was in charge of making them this morning had a heavy hand with the champagne. It’s strong. Strong enough that I’ll probably stick to only one. I want to keep a clear head as I watch over Ryker.
“No, I definitely expected to see you. Where Ryker goes, his babysitter goes.” Jude looks at Ryker with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Ryker’s face turns red as he narrows his eyes on his friend. “She’s not my babysitter. She’s my publicist. And if she keeps frowning and looking around the room like she’d rather be anywhere else, then none of the Davenport Media board members will want to talk to me.”
Jude snickers, his sandy-brown eyebrows rising as he looks between Ryker and me.
I look to my side and glare at Ryker. “I don’t have to be approachable. I’m not trying to talk to anyone.”
