Morgan makes a face. “What, are you pitching me on Target stock right now?”
“Oh yes, that’s averyin-touch question.”
Morgan looks absolutely incredulous, but in a… pleased sort of way. Not her usual unflappable aura, but something a little deeper, a little more real. More like the hunger I saw on the racetrack.
“Hm.”
“Now,” I sigh, “why are you making me wait to get into the pool? These aren’t going to stain the water or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not making you do anything,” Morgan says coolly. A challenge.
I meet her violet eyes. “You know what I mean.”
Silence. A game of chicken. I don’t back down.
After ten seconds, it’s subtle, but I swear I see a chill go down Morgan’s spine, like she’s enjoying this too.
“Like I said, I’m fixing this. There’s a retail store attached to the hotel spa. They’ll have something more appropriate.”
“I’m not paying for this.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m not wearing a speedo.”
“I’m not buying you a speedo.”
I narrow my eyes. “Fine. But I’m not standing around.” I find the closest chair in the shade.
Morgan leans against the wall, seeming intent on staring me down until her phone buzzes from the woven bag on her arm and she starts typing a reply.
A few minutes later, the woman with the honey-colored ponytail returns with a small paper bag—deep blue, topped with tissue.
Of course even the shopping bags are fancy. I thank her profusely as Morgan just nods, and I duck back into the locker room to change.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I pull the tissue out and find a pair of swim trunks in the bag. Albeitmuchshorter andmuchtighter.
I thought they’d be black or grey or something ‘respectable.’
But they’re floral print. Not the wild tropical monstrosity of my swim trunks, but something that looks pulled out of a painting, with delicate white blooms on a background of salmon and grey, a piece of art for me to wear.
Something goes tight in my chest. Not the usual panic of being perceived.
Because, unlike the meals or the flights or the manicure, which all served a purpose on this work trip, this is… agift.
Morgan could have easily banned me from joining her at the pool and let me make a fool of myself on my own time.
It’s probably not wise to read too much into it, since I’m pretty sure billionaires give out expensive gifts like sticks of gum, but… it’s like shewantsme here.
I carefully fold the paper bag and tissue, setting them aside to take home and use for a gift, because they’re way too nice to recycle after only two minutes of use. I’ll put Mom’s souvenirs in it or something.
My reflection regards me from the mirror. This swimsuit looks…goodon me. Maybereallygood. It’s certainly short enough to show off my legs in a way I hadn’t really considered before. It’salsoshort enough to reveal a slightly more embarrassing tattoo on my upper thigh—my first. All threeevolutions of Chikorita strike dramatic battle poses. I got it in honor of the intersection of my childhood obsessions with Pokémon and plants.
But there’s nothing to do about it now except hope Morgan doesn’t give me too much shit. I take a deep breath and step back out into the sun.
Chapter 21
JAMIE
