Either way, I’ve fucked it up, yet again.
11
Amara
The day after the storm, I wake up in the guest cottage with a splitting headache and the kind of emotional hangover that has nothing to do with alcohol.
Last night, Corin and I had the most incredible sex of my life in his study.
And then, while I was still catching my breath, he looked at me with those stupidly dark eyes and said, “We can’t do this again.”
The worst part? He was right.
Exactly right.
Which doesn’t make him any less infuriating.
I want to throttle him.
And at the same time, I want to kiss him until he forgets every professional boundary he’s ever learned.
When I emerge from the guest cottage, I pull out my phone and call a taxi. My rental car is still parked at the clinic where I left it yesterday, before the storm trapped us at the community hall and everything went sideways.
Keon appears. “Ms. Khan, Mr. Saelinger asked me to drive you.”
“That’s okay. Got it covered.” I wave my phone like it’s evidence. “Taxi’s on the way.”
Because sitting in an SUV with Corin for twenty minutes sounds like actual torture right now.
Keon nods once, doesn’t push, and disappears back toward the main villa. Probably reporting to Corin that I’m being difficult.
Good.
While I wait for the taxi, I stay well away from the main villa, not wanting to run into Corin just yet. I feel oddly exposed the whole time, like Corin will suddenly round the bend and demand I take the SUV.
Shortly thereafter, I hear a vehicle starting somewhere, and catch sight of a blur through the trees. I suppose that was his SUV leaving.
The taxi finally arrives fifteen minutes later. The driver is a cheerful local guy who spends the entire ride telling me about his daughter’s upcoming wedding and asking if I’ve tried the conch fritters at this place near the harbor.
When we pull up to the clinic, the SUV is already there, parked in its usual spot. Through the clinic window I can see Corin at the steel desk.
My heart rate instantly picks up.
I pay the driver, grab my canvas tote and legal pad, and walk inside like I’m heading to my own execution.
Corin looks up when I enter our shared office. His expression is completely neutral. Like we didn’t have our hands all over each other twelve hours ago.
“Morning,” he says.
My cheeks immediately heat. “Morning.”
He closes his laptop screen. “We should talk.”
Oh God.
Here it comes.
He’s firing me.
