Wait, did he say twenty-five more? Per day? That was a lot of money for basically nothing.
I had two choices: I could spend another ten days at the posh Costa Rican resort where I would wake up every morning in a cold sweat, freaking out about my failed business because the fifty grand that Andrew paid me for these two days would hold me afloat only for a few months; or I could spend an extra few days pretending to be Short Round fromIndiana Jones, enjoying Colombian culture, their wonderful food and coffee, and getting paid a lot more money. If I were to stay here for four more days, I couldpossiblykeep my building, renovate itandpurchase—minimal—initial inventory. I couldpossiblyfinish what I started but on my own, without a partner or investor.
It was allpossible, but it also sounded too good to be true.
We sat in the same position, our faces a foot apart, our eyes not losing contact. This sent my pulse into overdrive. To the outside world, we probably appeared as if we were talking dirty.
“What’s the catch?” I whispered.
Andrew’s smile increased. My heart rate increased, too. Because of the money, of course. Not because of being so close to him, inhaling the scent of his lemon and bergamot soap and noticing how full and long his eyelashes were. Men should pay extra taxes for having such beautiful lashes.
“There’s no catch.” His eyes searched mine. “I work, and you just need to stay near me.”
In such proximity and in the bright morning, his irises were like two mysterious, unexplored planets. One was nothing but a green jungle and the other a bottomless blue sea. I could get easily lost in both unfathomable places.
“Doctor Andrew Jones,” an unfamiliar voice with a British accent boomed next to us.
We straightened in our seats, and Andrew’s grin fell, a bleakness replacing his playful expression.
A middle-aged man with an arrogant face and a cynical twist to his smile stood at our table. He resembled someone who had recently pledged a college fraternity with his blond hair parted on one side and glued to his skull with an overabundance of gel.
“Richard,” Andrew said with so much disgust he might as well have thrown shit at this man.
“We don’t ever run into each other in Cambridge, and yet we meet in Colombia of all places. What are you doing here?” he said, leaning on William’s empty chair.
Andrew’s jaw ticked. “The usual: buying coffee beans at wholesale prices.”
Richard’s gray gaze fell on me, and his smile widened, exposing large and long canine teeth. “Are you going to introduce me to your companion?”
“Adriana Jones, meet Richard Head.” Andrew’s hand gently curled around my right wrist, covering the bracelet and enveloping my skin with warmth. I gave him a quick questioning look but didn’t pull away. Was he trying to hide the jewelry? Or was he grasping at anything just to keep himself from jumping at the man’s throat? I didn’t need to know these men or their history to understand that the tension between them was stretched wire thin.
I sized up the man standing by our table and rested my left hand on top of Andrew’s. “Did your mother dislike you, Richard? She would have to, to give you that name.”
Andrew chuckled quietly.
Richard’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion, but then his eyes dropped to my ring, and his eyebrows shut up.
“Andrew, you finally tied the knot. Holy shit. Brie will be delighted to hear that someone finally made an honest man out of you.”
I opened my mouth to correct the misunderstanding?—
Andrew’s fingers tightened around my wrist. “Too bad the same never could be said about you.”
Was he fake marrying me at this moment? What about his actual wife?
“Don’t tell me you’re on honeymoon?” Richard narrowed his eyes at Andrew. “And shame on you. You can afford a much bigger stone than that.”
“Congratulations, Richard,” Andrew bit off, “you have ruined our breakfast. You can leave now.”
“So much for a friendly hello. Does he treat all his old friends like this?” Richard turned his attention to me.
“No. Only dickheads.” I grinned and leaned my head on Andrew’s shoulder.
A human Barbie doll, only about five feet four, with dirty-snow-blond hair walked up to Richard and snaked her arm around his. She wore a tight white shirt and cream-colored satin pants. I sat up straighter. Dr. Jones wasn’t my man, but the way this blue-eyed doll gazed down at him, I instantly wanted to yank her high ponytail.
“Andy, so good to see you,” she said with a posh (you guessed it) British accent on a half-sigh, her mouth turning into a bright smile.
She was a happy-go-lucky ray of fucking sunshine, but Andrew’s face went ashen as if he had seen an image of his own death.
