Her pen freezes mid-tap. "Excuse me?"
"I need someone to handle emergencies, reroute critical calls, keep things running smoothly while I'm forced into this... relaxation." I wave my hand dismissively. "It makes sense."
"You want me to come to the Caribbean with you?" Her cheeks flush pink. "That seems... inappropriate."
"It's business," I insist, though even I can hear how unconvincing I sound. The truth is, the thought of a week alone on a beach holds no appeal. But a week with Elena... that's different. "We'll get separate rooms, of course."
She raises an eyebrow. "Of course."
"Besides," I continue, moving to my desk and shuffling papers I'm not actually reading, "the doctor said no work. Someone needs to make sure the company doesn't fall apart while I'm playing beach bum."
"And that someone is me?" She crosses her arms. "The same person who's been telling you for months that you work too hard?"
I look up at her, our eyes meeting. For six months, we've danced around this undeniable tension between us. Professional lines drawn in sand, neither of us willing to cross them. But away from the office, on an island somewhere...
"Please," I say, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. I don't say please. I don't ask. I demand, I instruct, I command. But with Elena, things have always been different. "I need you there."
Her expression softens. "You need me to help you work during a vacation your doctor specifically ordered you to take for your health?"
"No." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated by my inability to articulate what I mean without saying too much. "I need you to... to help me relax."
A smile spreads across her face, slow and knowing. "Michael Morrison, are you admitting you don't know how to relax without assistance?"
"I'm admitting I don't know how to relax, period." I sink into my chair. "If I'm going to be forced into this, I'd rather not do it alone."
I can practically see the wheels turning in her mind. "I'll come on one condition."
"Name it."
"You actually rest. No sneaking work calls, no checking emails, no secret business meetings." She steps closer to my desk. "I will confiscate your phone and laptop if I have to."
I smirk. "I'd like to see you try."
"Try me." She mirrors my smirk with one of her own.
She's the only person besides my brothers who stands up to me, who sees through the armor I've spent decades building. It's terrifying. It's exhilarating.
"Fine," I concede. "One week. No work."
"I'll make the arrangements." She turns to leave, then pauses at the door. "Pack swimwear. And sunscreen. You're so pale I'm afraid you'll burst into flames in Caribbean sunlight."
I chuckle despite myself. "Yes, yes."
As she walks away, I find myself staring at the door long after she's gone. One week in paradise with the woman I've been fighting my attraction to for six months. No work to distract me. No office setting to maintain professional boundaries.
What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 2 - Elena
Everything could go wrong.
That's what I keep telling myself as our private jet begins its descent toward Saint Lucia. A whole week alone with Michael Morrison in a tropical paradise? I must have lost my mind when I agreed to this.
I sneak a glance at him across the aisle. He's sleeping, really sleeping, his usually stern face relaxed in a way I've never seen before. The permanent furrow between his brows has smoothed out, making him look younger, less intimidating. More like the man I catch glimpses of when he thinks no one is watching.
"Miss Carter?" The flight attendant's voice startles me. "We'll be landing in about fifteen minutes."
"Thank you," I whisper, not wanting to wake Michael. He needs this rest desperately, though he'd rather die than admit it.
