Camila forced herself to pick up the kiwi. Inwardly, she willed the heat to leave her cheeks before they burst into flame. “I’m glad you like it.” Okay, so it was an understatement. Camila wasthrilledover how much he liked it. And if she were honest, quite affected by the whole marry me comment.
He rested his forearms on the counter and glanced around the kitchen a bit. “Maybe I’ll take in the view before breakfast. We’ve got another fifteen minutes or so, right?”
“Right,” Camila said while glancing at the clock.
Without another word, James strode out of the kitchen and toward the double doors.
Camila set her eyes back on the kiwi. She’d removed the skin and was ready to cut it in half and add it to the blender with the power greens, yogurt, and the rest of the fresh fruit. Yet as she hit the blend button, her eyes focused on the action, she admitted that the scene before her might be a good example of what was happening on her insides about now.
James Benton was unpredictable. And absolutely gorgeous when he smiled. Her heart thumped out of rhythm once more. She forced herself to look at the bigger picture: either the guy had been giving her the brushoff for the last two days, or he’d legitimately had a whole lot of work to do. He was a billionaire after all.
Of course, another option lingered in her mind. One she couldn’t get herself to ignore: He was in a state of mourning over his brother’s death. It made sense, with the year mark approaching. Her heart ached at the mere idea. She wouldn’t beat herself up for comforting him, she decided. She’d done the right thing, and that was final.
Still, before pushing her mind to other matters, Camila allowed herself to replay the interaction once more. James shooting her that lingering look as he sampled the kraut, the shocking words ‘marry me’ in the sound of his voice, and that full, knowing smile that crossed his face.
Goosebumps raced up her arms in the replay alone. As much as she hated admitting it, hope was starting to bloom. But hope for what—a good referral? A decent work relationship? A possible friendship as the weeks passed? It would be unrealistic to hope for more than that. Which was fine—she wasn’t the least bit interested in anything more.
An irritating voice spoke up in her mind, one she hadn’t been able to stifle in time.Sure, Camila. Friendship. Just keep telling yourself that.
* * *
Marry me?Had he lost his mind?
James raked a hand through his hair and groaned. What in the name of all things holy had caused those two words to come out of his mouth?
Thisis why he should have just kept taking his meals in his office.Thiswas why spending a month at the Royal Palms might not be such a good idea.
He took the stairs off the deck in a mad dash, pulled the phone from his pocket and, since Stephanie had forwarded all of his contacts to him so he could conduct business over the last two days, tapped the number for the man who’d come up with the dumb plan in the first place.
James squinted against the morning brightness as he shuffled around the pool and toward the trail leading to the beach.
“This is Duke,” came his brother’s voice.
“Hey,” James grumbled. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“James? Why are you calling me from some random number?”
“I left my cell with my PA. Listen, I...” He almost didn’t say what he wanted to say, but desperation got the best of him. Anger too. Heck, this was all Duke’s idea. “I asked my personal chef to marry me just now.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You didwhat?”
“Not literally, for crying out loud. I just…took a bite of this stuff she makes and looked into her brown eyes and said, ‘marry me’like some lovesick puppy.”
A group of seagulls circled overhead, their cawing suspiciously close to the sounds of laughter.
“That’swhat you’re freaking out over? That’s called flirting, James. Sheesh. Welcome to the game.”
“Well, I’m definitely not supposed to be flirting with the personal chef. No dating someone in the service industry, right? I’m sure of all the rules you go around breaking, that’soneyou stand firm on.”
“You’re wrong there,” Duke mumbled, “but personal chefs don’t really count. They’re entrepreneurs, in a way. If you think she’s hot, and you wouldn’t normally let yourself go for her, then do it.”
James glanced a pleading look heavenward, cursing himself for taking advice from his wild brother in the first place. And that’s when he saw it. A red tailed hawk flying overhead. He followed its flight for a breath, watching the impressive wingspan of its matching shadow on the sand below. Something stirred within him, anxious energy in the pit of his stomach.
Twice since Winston’s death, James had spotted such a hawk. His late brother had a firm belief that the hawks were there to send messages from the spirit world. To sort of lead the living into new paths. And while James had never embraced the idea himself, he couldn’t help but think Winston was somehow trying to speak to him.
He shook off the notion and forced his mind back to the argument at hand. “I got kind of close to one of my housekeepers,” James started. “Not like flirting or anything, she was in her mid thirties, I’d guess…but just friendly, you know. I’d ask about her family, where she’d come from, did she have any kids. Next thing you know I’m paying off her mother’s mortgage because she was diagnosed with stage four cancer and had too many expenses to juggle it all.”
“That’s just you being a nice guy,” Duke said. “Nothing wrong with that.”
