Page 74 of Last Resort

I should go to the office and work. Run over the latest cost estimates that came in this afternoon to see if any of this nonstop dinner-meeting-bullshit is even worth it.

Restless, I head in that direction, but when I get there and see all the lights off, the thought of the solitude I normally love doesn’t sound so appealing.

You’re all screwed up, Sharpe. Since when do you not love your solitude?

I know the answer, but don’t want to admit it to myself.

Ever since I’ve shared the space with Sutton. The quiet humming in her bedroom to whatever music is on her earbuds. The soft clatter of dishes in the sink late at night. The muted sound of the television as she laughs at something on the rare occasion she watches it.

This is fucking stupid. How are you used to something you don’t actively participate in, Cal? Huh?

Keone.

He’s the answer. I’ll visit him, indulge in his quick wit. He’ll keep serving me drink after drink until all this fucking noise in my head abates, and I can think straight again.

With a sigh, I turn a corner on the path toward the bar and run into Sutton. We both make garbled yelps. But it’s only when she steps back that I notice the skirt that’s too short and a shirt that’s too tight and, fuck, I love everything about it.

So much for steering clear of her.

“And you’re going where?” I ask.

“To item number eight on my top-ten list.” Her smile is quick and disarming.

“What is number eight?”

The smile crawls over her lips. “Singles night at Isla del Mar.”

Like that? Over my dead body.

“I’m pretty sure I told you that you weren’t going.”

“And I’m pretty sure I told you that no one tells me what to do.” She shrugs unapologetically while I hear the trainers’ comments from the gym earlier today. “Besides, you’ve been avoiding me for some reason or another. Gia says hi,” she mimics Solomon in a way that completely throws me off guard. “What do you care if I go dance and have fun?”

“You’re jealous?”

“I am not. You’re just being a jerk.”

“You’re not going, Sutton.”

She takes a step forward, her eyes darting around while the darkness plays shadows over her face. Her voice is low when she speaks. “The whole dominant thing? That only works with me in the bedroom.” She pokes me in the chest and I chuckle, her determination and temper totally sexy. “And since it’s clear we’re not there nor will we be anytime soon, then it seems you can’t exactly tell me what I can and cannot do.”

There’s that moxie of hers I love. Christ, it gets me hard.

“I’m your boss.”

“Correction. I’m your consultant. We work for each other, with each other, and—”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“The whole boss, employee, we can’t sleep together theory. You just said it yourself. That we work with each other, not you for me. So if that doesn’t hold water, then perhaps the what do I get out of this doesn’t hold any either.” I cross my arms over my chest and smile slowly. “Seems to me you just like playing hard to get.”

“And it seems to me you haven’t figured out the answer to the question.”

I want to kiss her. I want to pull her to me by the back of the neck and taste those lips of hers. But the guests and staff milling about in my periphery tell me I can’t.

Her eyes hold mine and the look in them says she knows exactly what I’m thinking.