Page 32 of Bad for Business
Is he… embarrassed?
I narrow my eyes, wondering what he was about to say. “You were what?” I prod.
“I was checking on you,” he rushes to get out. He casts his gaze down at his feet, and I can’t help but smile because Ryker Davenport is acting shy.
“You were checking on me,” I repeat, but my words come out as more of a sentence than a question. Why would he feel the need to check on me?
Ryker scrapes a hand over his mouth as he keeps his eyes still pinned to the ground. “Beck told me I probably should.”
I nod, my eyes scanning his downcast face as I try to figure him out. He doesn’t like me. He’s made that much very clear. Not that I blame him. I don’t take well to others telling me what to do either.
“You don’t need to check on me,” I respond, my tone getting defensive. “I’m fine. I just needed a moment to compose myself before I acted unprofessionally.”
Ryker smirks as he tilts his head to the side. “And do what exactly?”
My eyes go wide for a moment. I wasn’t expecting him to ask more questions. I can’t tell him I was contemplating homicide, so I go for something safer. “As you just heard, I was contemplating kicking you in the balls.”
His head falls back, and the sound of his booming laugh echoes off the walls. “That sounds about right.” The smile stays on his lips for a few more seconds before it fades. He nods toward the table. “You can join us for the rest of the lunch. Just don’t ask too many questions or make it weird.”
I place a hand on my chest, a little offended by what he’s insinuating. “I don’t make anything weird.”
Ryker’s lips twitch with the hint of a smile.
I straighten my spine as I keep my eyes locked on him. “What?”
He lifts his hands defensively in front of him. He hasn’t even answered me yet, and he’s acting as if he knows I’m not going to like whatever he’s about to say.
I roll my eyes, making a hurried motion with my hand in front of me. “Oh, just spit it out, Ryker.”
“You just ask a lot of questions, and sometimes you can get intense. I don’t want it to feel more like an interrogation instead of a conversation. Don’t scare Beck away.”
My jaw pops open as I stare at him. I blink a few times as I gather my thoughts. “I never scare people away.”
I probably do. He isn’t necessarily wrong. I can be intense. But that doesn’t mean I want him to be the one to point it out.
Ryker lifts an eyebrow. “Whatever you say,princess,” he responds with a sigh.
My head rears back at the nickname. “Never call me that again.” He didn’t say it with affection. In fact, it was said sarcastically. That doesn’t mean I ever want him calling me that name again.
I don’t know if he just doesn’t hear me or if it’s that he doesn’t care, but either way, he walks back to the table where Beck waits, not bothering to spare me another word.
NINETEEN
RYKER
“Are you sure you’re okay?”I ask, my gaze raking over a pale Camille.
Camille glares at me before her focus turns back to the boat we’re supposed to be boarding. One of my board members, Mitchell Bailey, invited us on his yacht, so we’re spending the afternoon on the water. We’ve been here in the Hamptons for a little over two weeks, and I feel good about the progress we’re making. It’s slow progress, but I’ll take it.
“Are you going to just stare at the boat, or are we going to get on it?”
This earns me another glare from Camille. To be fair, I think glaring is her default. She always has a fierce stare aimed right in my direction. “By all means, get on,” she responds, her voice tight as she yanks her gaze from me and looks at Mitchell’s boat.
I tuck my hands into the pockets of my linen pants, my eyes narrowing on her slightly. Camille is a lot of things. She’s annoying, always grumpy, stubborn, and a thorn in my side that I can’t seem to get rid of, but I’ve never seen her like this. She looks…scared. Worried might be a better word for it. Either way, she doesn’t seem thrilled about stepping onto Mitchell’s yacht.
“I plan on getting on the boat. The question is, doyouplan on it?” I ask, a slight tease to my tone. Before we left the house earlier, she didn’t seem nervous at all about an afternoon spent on a yacht. It wasn’t until she came face-to-face with the boat that her skin turned a little white and she first gave any warning signs of being nervous.
“Of course I’m going to,” Camille spits. She scratches her chest, her eyes bouncing from the front of the boat to the back.
