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Damien
There was nothing quite as satisfying as the plasticclack!of upcoming revenge. Smug, Damien nudged the Super Soaker that had made the noise with the toe of his shoe, bumping it into the Soakzooka he’d already loaded into his suitcase. Another clack sounded, filling Damien with untold glee.
It was the sound of total annihilation, and it wasbeautiful.
Giddy, Damien turned to the third Super Soaker on his bed—a Zombie Strike Revenge Contaminator—and wrenched it from its packaging. No grown-ass man should have been so excited over the prospect of total drenchability, but for Damien, this moment had been a long time coming. He tossed the Contaminator into his bag, grinned at the clatter it made, then wedged two basic water pistols into the mesh pouch on the inside front flap of his suitcase. The TSA was going to have a field day tearing his bag apart, but Damien was ready for the carnage. The worst they could do wouldn’t come close to the utter devastation he had planned.
There would be no mercy.
Gwynn was going down.
Pleased with his neon-colored armory, Damien began to pack his less important belongings. Toiletries, shoes, shirts… what kind of clothes did people wear in Fiji, anyway? Tropical prints and khaki shorts? Ugh. As much as Damien complained about anything and everything, it wasn’t like he’d given up on life. There had to be an alternative that wouldn’t make him feel like he was committing social suicide.
But what was it?
He’d already packed two suits—one for xVerity’s wedding, and one in case he needed to attend an emergency video conference—but suits weren’t built with sunny beaches, the ocean, and a goddamn glitter war in mind. What he’d need was something lighter, something breezier, and something he wouldn’t have to dry clean.
While Damien agonized over what else to pack, his phone chimed. He’d received a text from his personal assistant, Nadja.
This is your friendly reminder that you’ve got fifteen minutes until you need to hit the road. I swear to god if you miss your flight and I’m the one who has to figure out your last-minute travel details, not even those water guns will keep you safe.
Me, late? Never.
Riiiight.Nadja might as well have attached a GIF of herself rolling her eyes. The sarcasm was palpable. Damien loved it.
So, on the topic of being late, while I’ve got you here, what do men wear while on vacation in Fiji?
Omg are you serious? There’s fifteen minutes before you need to get your ass in a taxi and you’re asking me about what to wear NOW?
Yup.Damien opened his closet door and flipped on the light. A row of designer suits lined the right side, while linens and other bedding were folded and strategically shelved on the left. Casual wear wasn’t something Damien had much need for.
I can’t even with you. Sunscreen, for one. That pasty ass of yours is going to burn. There should have been a bottle of it in the bag with the groceries I brought you on Tuesday. Apart from that, what about the linen shirt you brought along with you that one time you went to Charleston to meet with Ian Willett? What did you pack for that trip?
Two years ago, Damien and his team had traveled to Charleston, South Carolina for all of three days while finalizing IPO negotiations with Willet, who was interested in raising new equity capital for his once privately held company, Bright—which was to say that Damien had been paid to fly to paradise to convince a man to sell shares of his company to investors as arranged by the Goldcorp Group. The talking part was easy—Damien was good at establishing working relationships with his clients—but the vacationing part? It wasn’t part of the job. He couldn’t recall what he’d worn apart from the same suits now hanging in his closet.
Before he could fire a text back to Nadja to tell her as much, Nadja added to her previous message.
NVM I forgot that I packed your bags for that trip. Ugh, think, brain, think. I’m pretty sure I put that linen shirt in a big plastic tote on the right side of your closet on the shelf running over the rod hanger. It should be in a vacuum sealed bag. See it?
There was, indeed, a large plastic tote on the shelf over the rod hanger. Damien yanked it down, set it on the floor, and peeled back the top. Stacks of vacuum sealed bags had been placed inside, each of them containing the exact kind of light, billowy clothing perfect for a Fijian getaway.
Holy shit. When did I get all these clothes?
Beats me. It’s almost like you panic every time you travel for work and routinely ask me about what you should wear in your downtime… ;)
You’re a lifesaver, Nadja.
I accept tips in the form of 5% raises.
Damien snorted. He chucked a couple of Nadja’s vacuum sealed bags at his suitcase, then nudged the tote back into the closet, turned off the light, and shut the door.We’ll see what I can do.
You can do anything if you put your mind to it.
Your self-serving enthusiasm never fails to warm my heart.
You know I <3 you, boss. Now get your ass out that door. I was serious about the whole water-guns-won’t-save-you thing.
