“I’m glad we got it all sorted out. As you said, Clinton, you and Paloma are well-acquainted. With you being the owner of Albatross, and Paloma, co-owner of Shaken Tropes, as your right-hand woman, this is going to be a wonderful event.” He pulls out two folders packed with information. Leaning over his desk, he holds one out for each of us. “Here.”
Flipping through the paper packet, I note the multiple touchpoints that will need to happen during the next several months. I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off; I may need to drop a few shifts at Shaken Tropes to do it.
“This seems like quite a bit of work, Glen. I may be a bit out of my depth,” I admit to them both.
“It’s quite a lift, and with the both of you, I think it can be separated into what really needs to be done together and what each of you can handle and delegate to staff. I’ll let you decide what’s best for you. Tell you what, why don’t you sleep on it?”
“No, it’s okay,” I reply, not wanting to back out of something I agreed to moments ago. “We can figure it out together.”
I shift toward Clinton, whose jaw is tightening. Whether he can feel my eyes on him or not, he relaxes his features. “No worriesover here. We’ve got it covered.”
“Thank you both so very much,” Glen replies, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Would you look at the time? We three better be off to the welcome meeting so I can introduce our two new committee members for the Albatross Charity Tournament. It’s going to belit, as the kids would say.” He cheerily rises from his chair. I don’t have the heart to tell him the kids, in fact, do not say that anymore. I laugh under my breath and stand from my chair, gathering my bag on my shoulder.
The three of us walk out into the hallway and I watch as Glen speed walks like a granny on her way to midday mimosas. I keep my eyes on him for as long as I possibly can before it becomes weird and obvious that I’m choosing to pretend Clinton’s sandalwood and lavender scent isn’t the only thing I can focus on.
“Paloma.” Clint clears his throat as he says my name, and the gravely sound of his deep voice begs me to close my eyes and enjoy this moment, taking me back to one of the many nights I fell asleep curled into his side, how his hands felt as they dug into my fleshy hips. My lashes flutter rapidly as I blink away the memory.
Clinton’s arm is angled toward me when I turn to face him. “Paloma, can we meet for lunch this week? So we can discuss everything.”
He nods his head in the direction of the entrance, inviting me to walk with him. I can’t help but notice he matches my shorter strides, and I do my best to hold back the grin pulling at my lips.
I peek over in his direction and swallow before I answer, “Yeah, we can meet at Shaken Tropes. If that’s okay with you?”
“You gonna run from me again?” Clint’s voice has a hint of playfulness to it, but I know it’s an honest question.
I cross my fingers, holding them in the air. “No running.”
His chuckle feels like the icebreaker we need. “I’ll hold you to it, Heartbreaker.”
I open my mouth to say something, anything to rectify myself from the nickname he’s graced me with, but before I can, he continues, “Let me give you my number. So we can connect about the tournament.”
I don’t know if he realizes that he already has my number from my mother’s meddling. Maybe he tossed it the moment she handed it to him. “What’s yours? I’ll text you right now.”
I type in his number, realizing it’s still the same from all those years ago. My face heats with the realization that I never deleted his contact information from my phone, and I type out a quick text to him. “There,” I say, glancing back up at him.
“I already have your number saved but thanks for the text.”
“But you just asked—”
“I wanted to give you my number. I wasn’t sure if you would still have it.” His words hit me in the chest, because the last messages we exchanged weren’t great. More like him wondering where I was, and I was too much of a coward to respond. He takes my silence as a dismissal.
“I’ll meet you inside, okay?”
“Oh, um. Yeah.” I shake my head slightly. “See you inside.”
Soft chatter lingers just inside the door to the conference room. I step into the full room and notice several individuals I’ve seen around town. I give a couple polite hellos before I’m making my way to the table nearest the big bay window, loving how the sun shines in.
Pulling out the chair, I’m grateful these have no arm rests as they’re never wide enough and end up digging into my hips. I scan the doorway for the tall, lean figure who came rushing back into my life. What would it be like to work closely with him again after I ran out on him, twicenow? But seeing him, even for the moment now, it’s easy to fall into thinking this is my second chance at what could have been. It’s foolish, I know. Hell, it’s only been a few encounters now. This isn’t a whirlwind romance; this was my life and my heart is warring with the past what-could-have-beens. He agreed so quickly to Glen’s question—after how I hurt him, I don’t know why he would even agree to this.Maybe it’s his way of starting fresh, I think to myself.
“I didn’t get the chance to tell you at the bar—” I press my hand to my chest to calm my surprise as Clinton leans in, whispering against the shell of my ear, his voice soothing some deep part of me. “I love that color on you, Heartbreaker.”
I don’t need to turn my head to know he has a smirk plastered across his smug, sexy face. With how close he’s standing, I can feel the heat radiate off his body, seeping through my clothes. It sends a delicious shiver down my spine. I hate that I love it.
“You’re like a ninja.”
“You want to be my sidekick?” he asks.
I turn toward him. “I don’t think ninjas have sidekicks.”
