“That would be nice, but as I’m sure you know, it’s not actually my birthday today.” If his voice were a rubber band, it would be near snapping.
I wave a hand dismissively and slide a slice of cake onto a paper plate for him. “I know! But considering that I’m giving you atrip to the Bahamas with your familyfor your actual birthday, you won’t be here to celebrate with your colleagues. So, we’re doing it early!”
Everyone oohs and ahhhs and starts clapping while my husband tries so, so hard not to slice me to pieces with his eyes.
“Wow,” he grinds out. “Thanks,sweetheart.”
My mother was right. There’s no way he can reject me in this situation, with the entire conference room applauding me and thinking he’s the luckiest guy in the world right now.
I bend down and kiss him on the cheek. “Oh, you’re so welcome, darling. I know we’re going to have the best time!”
His eyes narrow in annoyance, but before he can say anything, people start lining up for cake, chattering excitedly and batting playfully at the balloon bouquet. They’re like a bunch of kids at a party. Luka’s going to have quite a job of calming them all back down.
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he finally says back, letting his eyes trail down my body suggestively. “I’m already thinking of ways to repay you.”
With that, my cheeks flushing hot and my pulse kicking up, I cut that extra big thank-you slice for Damien, then nod at Emzee to join me at the door. Feeling triumphant and pleased with myself, I saunter out with my sister-in-law at my side and let the door fall shut behind us.
“Here you go, Damien,” I say, setting the cake down on the assistant’s desk as we pass by. “I owe you one.”
“How’d it go in there?” he asks, digging in.
“It was perfection,” Emzee coos, and we practically dance our way to the elevator.
Looks like Luka Zoric’s about to pack his bags. With any luck, there will be a surprise for me in there too—a contract with Maxilene.
Bahamas, here we come.
Luka
Chapter 24
As we descend toward Nassau, all I can see out the window are crystalline turquoise waters, a shoreline edged with pure white sand beaches and luxury hotels, and thick patches of mangrove, pine, and palm trees. The plane touches down with a thump, the engine roars, and passengers start cheering as we slowly roll down the runway.
“Eff yeah!” Emzee yells in the seat in front of me, pumping her fist. “We’re here!”
A few people sitting around us chuckle at her childlike enthusiasm, and I join in.
My hand subconsciously wraps around Brooklyn’s and gives it a squeeze, and I feel my chest loosening up, my shoulders sagging with the sudden release of tension I didn’t even realize I was holding during the flight.
Despite my annoyance at being virtually trapped into agreeing to take this vacation, Brooklyn did a good thing. I can appreciate the effort she went through to pull this off.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Nassau where the local time is approximately 4:30,” a flight attendant’s voice says over the PA system. “For your safety and the safety of others, we ask that you please keep your seatbelts fastened…”
We make our way off the plane and through the airport in no time, and soon enough we’re spilling out of two taxis outside our hotel, The Island Club Resort. It looks more like a mansion than a hotel, with its white marble steps, lacy balustrades enclosing each balcony, the entrance flanked by tall white columns.
“This place is gorgeous,” Tori says, swooning beside Stefan. “You nailed it, Brooklyn.”
“Oh, don’t go giving me all the credit,” my wife says. “Emzee picked it out.”
“Thank you very much, and yes I have excellent taste in accommodations,” Emzee says smugly, marching ahead of us all. “Now let’s go check in so we can get some food ASAP!”
Our rooms aren’t just comfortable, they’re extravagant. We’re given separate bungalows along the beach, with private verandas that lead right onto the beach. Inside, it’s nothing but crisp white linens, ocean views out of every window, and touches of polished marble and muted gold. There isn’t much time to appreciate it all, though, as Emzee made us all promise to meet up in the lobby for dinner the second we’ve all changed and put our things away. That means I also don’t have much time to talk to Brooklyn.
As we head down in the elevator, I turn to her. “Thank you, for all of this,” I say.
“It really wasn’t me. It was your sister’s idea,” she says modestly.
“But you made it happen,” I tell her. “That isn’t nothing. I think we all needed this.”
