Gemma
“What’ll you have, Gemma?”Robbie asks as we queue at the bar.
“Chardonnay,” I say. “Just a small one, though. I’m still technically on the clock tonight, and after today’s adventures, I have a feeling I’ll be tipsy on nothing.”
The team’s crammed into this cozy pub overlooking the harbor in Cowes. It’s my first time on the Isle of Wight and I’ve got to say, I’m digging the vibe. Real summer holiday feel to it with the bustling port and quaint town. Almost makes you forget we’re not actually on vacation.
A drink is the least I deserve after the day I’ve had. My limbs feel like they’ve been put through a meat grinder from all that rigging and trimming nonsense. Pretending to be a sailor is tougher than it looks.
We all go up to our hotels after the race to check in and make ourselves presentable for society again. The awards ceremony kicks off in an hour, and the pub is packed to the gills with finance types moonlighting as sailors. It’s all a bit of a ruse to get these companies to shell out double the cash for a fancy dinner and some booze, but it’s for a good cause. And let’s be real, these companies can afford it.
I hate to admit it, but I can’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment that Liam didn’t join us for this post-race shindig. As the boss, he should be here connecting with the team, building morale.
My cheeks flush as I replay his loaded words in my head.Be very, very careful what you wish for, Gemma.
I adjust the strap of my red sundress nervously, making sure I’m not showing too much boobage.
Did he mean that in a dirty way? I swear there was some filthy innuendo but with him, who knows. The man delivers everything in the same stoic, unreadable tone, whether he’s ordering coffee or threatening to toss me overboard. I wish Lizzie were here to overanalyze every detail with me.
Maybe he’s being suggestive because we’re stuck on this island together with limited options. I bet Liam’s the kind of guy who needs his regular . . . releases. I’m sure he has a ridiculous sex drive.
Although, he did say that night in the Executive Lounge that he’d never mess around with an employee. Not that I would ever go there, obviously.
But that doesn’t stop my mind from conjuring up an image of him, on the boat, taking matters into his own hands to relieve some of that pent-up tension. I picture those strong fingers wrapped around his . . .
I swallow hard and take a gulp of the wine Robbie hands me, downing it faster than is probably wise.
“You look like you’ve got a bit of sun there.”
I blink at him, my face flushing even hotter. “Hm? Oh, no, just . . . windburn. From having my ponytail whipping me in the face all day.” I must be radiating my horniness through my cheeks. Might as well havesexually frustratedwritten across my forehead.
“Did you manage to have a relaxing time out there?” I tease him. “I saw your boat strolling into the dock last.”
He grins, unapologetic. “What can I say? I was too busy soaking in the scenery to care about silly things like winning.”
“Robbie can go hurl over the side of the party barge and leave the sailing to us grown-ups from now on, the lazy shit,” Andy, one of our team, butts in.
I flash Andy my sweetest smile. “Remember, Andy, this is supposed to be a friendly competition. We all have the same goal here.”
“Like hell,” Andy growls. “Robbie tanked the race for us. Too busy ogling the women from the Vertex boat to pay attention to where he was steering.”
Robbie leans in, his grin widening as he slings an arm around Andy’s shoulders. “Oh, Andy, you know I only have eyes for you. I just like to wind you up, mate. It made thecruiseso much more enjoyable, watching that vein in your forehead throb.”
“Can you two behave?” I sigh, rolling my eyes at them. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork I’ll have to fill out if you two kill each other on this trip?”
“I can’t believe Ashbury Thornton didn’t win this year,” Andy mutters. “McLaren must be livid.”
I flinch, remembering the thunderous expression on his face as we crossed the finish line in second place. “He’s fine,” I mutter, taking a gulp of my wine.
“I’m sure he’ll find a way to console himself,” Andy says with a smirk. “Probably by firing half the company and making the rest of us work weekends for the next six months.”
“Speaking of firings . . .” Robbie interjects with a broad grin, rubbing his hands together with exaggerated glee. “Who’s up for a game of darts? Andy, try not to aim for my head this time.”
As the two of them bicker back and forth amiably, already lining up their first sloppy rounds of darts, I feel a flicker of warmth in my chest. For the first time since I started this job, I don’t feel like the HR fun police. I feel like part of the team.
As I rear back and launch what can only be described as the worst dart toss in human history, nearly taking out poor Robbie’s left eye in the process, the door to the pub swings open.
Alastair strides inside, looking like he just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren sailor ad in his crisp shirt and flashy suit.
