“Can you come closer so you don’t shout?” I asked irritably, feeling embarrassed for being caught.
You’re lucky Grayson is so nice.
Any other man would fire his assistant immediately for sunbathing in his living room.
Grayson walked slowly, a curious, feral tomcat.
Hopefully, he didn’t give me cat scratch fever like the last stray I tried to befriend. I was still paying off those medical bills.
“I thought you were going to be at a meeting,” I began, trying to come up with some explanation on the fly that didn’t make me sound like a mooching lunatic. “Did it end early?”
“You are not my boss,” he snapped. “I am your boss. You don’t get to ask me about when my meeting ended.”
“Okay,” I said hotly, “fine.”
“Can you put some fucking clothes on?” he yelled.
“Can you stop swearing at me?”
“I can see your—”
“Oh shoot, I didn’t lose my top again, did I?”
Grayson made a strangled noise as I looked down, making sure everything was still contained.
“I tried surfing once and lost my top. Everyone laughed. Never again.”
I stood up and put my hands on my hips. “You repressed Manhattanites need to get out more. It’s like you’ve never seen a girl in a bikini before. News flash, this isn’t the 1920s. Women wear bikinis. I’ve lived in swimsuits ever since I was a girl. As long as your bits are covered, you’re good.”
“You can’t wear a swimsuit in my house,” Grayson forced out.
I rolled my eyes and bent down to grab the towel off the ground.
“I’m sorry I was once again taking advantage of your penthouse, but you have such a killer view, and hey, I’m a Florida girl in beach withdrawal. I’m doing some volunteer work this weekend for your favorite charity, so hopefully that can get me a pass on the bikini?”
I turned back around.
Grayson looked like he’d seen the hellfire fromThe Hunchback of Notre Dame.
“That is not a bikini,” he hissed. “There’s no … there … you’re not …”
“Thong bathing suits are very liberating, and they are practical because you don’t get sand in your swimsuit bottoms.”
Grayson let out a strangled growl.
“Dude, you better not come to Miami during spring break weekend,” I warned, “or you’re going to be seeing a lot more than this. I’d look like a nun in comparison.”
Grayson was practically spitting he was so angry.
“You are out of control. You have no sense of decorum, no sense of self-preservation. You just waltz through life thinking nothing can hurt you and that you can do whatever you want with no consequences, up to and including lounging around practically naked in your boss’s house.”
His deep voice echoed around the empty living room.
“And here I thought we were kindness buddies.”
“We’re not buddies. I despise you. You were put on this earth to drive me to drink and ruin,” he insisted.
“That’s dramatic. Guess the meeting did not go well.”
