“Are we good?” Joe asks Sunny with a tap on the counter. She nods and I barely hear him tell her, “Be strong, Sun. You’ve got this.” Her answering smile is weak. My heart aches when he turns on his heel to walk back to his office.
I jump up. “Wait.” I hobble toward him, adjusting my leggings and top as I walk.
He spins to face me and I’m struck all over again by how good looking he is. His dark eyes are broody today, skimming over me while he waits. It looks like he skipped shaving. He folds his big arms over his chest like a shield. “How can I help you, Indigo?”
Well, that sounded unnecessarily formal. I bite my lip and wait until I’ve caught up to him before I answer. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, worried that my voice will carry to my mother. I don't want to draw attention to my friendship with Joe—I don't need her bursting my bubble. I'm well aware that he's a hundred miles out of my league, besides that we literally live hundreds of miles apart.
I feel immediate relief when his gaze softens. His voice is low, “I’m sorry, too.” His eyes search my face, “You were right. I don’t know you well enough to butt in. I should’ve listened without trying to fix it.” He’s thoughtful for a moment, then his mouth tips up at the corner and his eyes twinkle. “And what areyousorry for?” There’s the Joe I’ve come to know.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you and called you arrogant, and for telling you to butt out when all you’ve done is help me, and for generally being an entitled brat." I grimace and go on, "And youdoknow me, that's the thing. I think you know me as well as anyone." I whisper it all in a rush before I lose my nerve. I can still hear my mother’s loud phone conversation so I add, “And I’m sorry about all that.” I gesture toward her. "Do you get why I don’t say no to her very often?"
His brown eyes are full of compassion and his voice is quiet and gentle, “Do not apologize for that.”
His large hand finds mine and his fingers squeeze. I squeeze back and a zap of electricity passes between us. We stand there in the empty corridor, hands linked together, staring straight into each other's eyes for longer than is usually considered just friendly. I'm not letting go until he makes me. I refuse to think about tomorrow, or even an hour from now.
He's the first to break our mind-melding silence. "I have a thing for you in pink," he says in that low, rumbling voice that makes my heart trip. His fingers squeeze mine again and he looks relieved at the admission, like it’s been a burden for him to carry.
My cheeks warm and my eyes dart around us, double checking that we're alone. My voice is barely audible, "Yeah?"
He lets out a long breath. "Yes. I know we decided to be just friends and I’m walking the line. I shouldn't tell you this—" He rakes his free hand through his hair making a mess of it. "I don't care anymore. You in pink? That's my kryptonite."
Did I die? Is this heaven?
I crook my finger and he leans in. I stand on my tiptoes and stretch to whisper in his ear, maybe a little too close for friends, "Since we’re friends I probably shouldn’t mention it, but—" I pause to work up the confidence to say what I want to say. My lips barely brush against his earlobe, and we've definitely exited friendship territory.
He releases a slow, steady breath and I spot goosebumps on his neck that give me the courage I need. I move my free hand to his bicep for balance and whisper, "I have a thing for your forearms."
At that he barks out a laugh, but I can tell he's pleased. "Myforearms?Really?"
I nod, biting my lip. "My kryptonite."
His eyes zero in on my mouth. He picks up my hand and moves it from his bicep to his forearm, holding it in place. He leans down to my ear and whispers, "I guess we've found each other’s weaknesses."
“Indigo?” It’s my mother, and I jump away from Joe and we both drop our hands.Nothing to see here!
I had been so wrapped in Joe that she snuck up on us. I turn slowly to face her, using the time to wonder how long she’s been watching us. Judging by her expression she’s seen more than I want. One perfectly sculpted eyebrow is arched and her plump lips are pinched together. She had better not hold that face or she’ll undo all the effort of using that weird straw of hers.
“We have a lot to do.” She brushes past us to the glass back door. “Let’s go.” She’s twenty feet away before I can respond.
“Don’t we just have the lunch meeting?” I sound whiny, and I cringe.
“We need to have a meeting with the team about cross-promotion since you took off last night.” She’s holding the door open for me. “Come on.”
Joe is watching me in silence. His brow is furrowed and his arms are crossed. He’s made his opinion clear. If there were a cartoonthought bubble over his head it would read, “You can say no to her. SAY NO.” And it would be in his sexy voice, because I’m in charge of this imaginary thought bubble.
But my mother’s glare is like a tractor beam. I shoot Joe and apologetic look and walk out the door.
Chapter 15
I’m standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows in my mother’s room at the resort, gazing out at her sweeping view of the desert. It’s golden hour and the cliffs and rocks are lit up like they’re on fire. It’s an incredible view, and I want nothing more than to walk out the door and hike until no one can find me. Instead, Ashley is setting up a computer in the sitting area behind me because we’re about to go live.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” my mother asks from somewhere behind a fluttering makeup brush.
I look down. When I couldn’t handle the hot pink chain mail any longer I changed into a long, bohemian-looking skirt and tank top that I borrowed from Sunny. I love her style. I think I look good. I thought I did, anyway. “I guess? I don’t have a lot of options here.”
My mother actually groans. “Really?”
“I left pretty fast and didn’t pack anything. It’s either this or Target leggings and a t-shirt.” I am aware that leggings from a store that also sells Drain-o might give her a brain aneurysm. I’m also going on four hours of sleep, it’s the end of the day, and words are starting to slip out. I let her team do my hair and makeup. My long hair is deep parted and crimped into tight, beachy curls that I keephaving to flip away from my face. My face has so many layers of paint I’m almost unrecognizable as the freckled, free-spirited woman I’ve seen in the mirror all week. I feel like a colorful bird in a zoo. That should appease my mother.
