Page 29 of The Trouble with Flings

I study him for a moment, this man who gave up his day for me, who acts like his job is easy, and decide to call him on it. “What’s it really like, running the resort?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes. Mysterious only goes so far. What’s a typical day like for you?”

“It starts with a run and a workout before the town wakes up.” He goes on to tell me about staff briefings and the endless operational elements of running a resort—marketing strategies, compliance, finance, facility and staff management—on an island where unexpected New England weather can make or break events and reservations. He speaks quickly, as if I’ll truly find it boring, but impassioned, the way I talk about my students, like it’s his reason for breathing.

“That’s a lot of responsibility, and just so you know, I don’t find any of it boring,” I say. “But it sounds like a staggering amount of work. I can’t imagine how you do it all. Do you ever tire of it? Or are the benefits of a never-ending stream of gorgeous guests who’d like a private island tour worth the work?”

“There is no shortage of available female tourists,” he says as smoothly as he does everything else. “But I don’t go out with resort guests.”

“Really?” That surprises me. “Why not?”

“Mixing business and pleasure opens the door for things to get messy, and I don’t do messy.”

“That makes sense. But it also begs the question, how did you know I wasn’t a resort guest?”

“I asked you when we first met.”

“You did? I don’t remember that.”

“You were a little busy undressing me with your eyes at the time, but one of the first questions I asked was where you were staying.”

I think back to that night, when our eyes locked across the room, and he made his way over, all seasoned charm and hungry eyes. I remember Fitz introducing himself and asking if he could buy me a drink.

“I asked if you were on vacation with friends, and you said you were on a solo escape from the noise of the city,” he reminds me. “Then I asked if you were staying at the resort or a B and B—”

“And I said I’d rented a cottage in Seaport for the weekend and was leaving the next morning. I remember now.” I hadn’t actually rented a cottage. I’d rented a room above someone’s garage. It was the only place I could afford to stay for two nights.

He goes up on his elbow, amused. “You know, if you want to know about my dating habits, all you have to do is ask.”

“You can’t blame a girl for being curious,” I say, appreciating that he’s so straightforward.

“Do I sound like I mind? Like I said, you can ask me anything.”

“I don’t want to know anything else.” I’m not sure that’s really true, but knowing more about that part of his life will only make me more curious about him, and that’s not what this is, so I let it go.

“Okay. Well, I have a question. You said you don’t do relationships. Was there a catalyst to that decision? Or was it just a stream of bad choices?”

“Did I say you could ask?” I tease, although fair is fair.

His gaze turns thoughtful. “You did not. In fact, you told me you’re a woman who doesn’t need to explain herself. But you can’t blame a guy for being curious.”

“Clever, parroting my words,” I tease. I don’t want to get into a deep conversation about the man who broke my trust beyond repair, but I also don’t want to undermine the trust Fitz has put in me these last two days with his generosity and honesty.

“It was both,” I admit. “But it’s not something I like talking about.”

“That’s understandable. Thank you for being honest with me.”

My heartstrings give a little tug.

“Is the rest of your life off the table, too?” he asks. “Or am I allowed to ask about your job?”

I smile, appreciating the careful way he asks. He’s such a dichotomy of in control and commanding one minute and careful thoughtfulness the next, and then he hovers in this middle ground, which makes me want to share a little more of myself.

“You can ask,” I say, but the guarded part of me adds, “but it doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

Amusement sparks in his eyes again. “I’d expect no less. What’s your life like? You achieved your goal and took the principal’s job. Any regrets?”