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I slam the laptop's lid down. Sebastian raises his head. He looks as rough as I feel, which is something I never expected to see from the usual impeccable and well-put-together man. His hair is mussed, and there are dark bags under his eyes. I doubt I look any better.

“What?”

He blinks at me, his eyes red-rimmed from staring at the screen and all the paperwork piled on the table in front of us, along with dirty plates, silverware, and coffee mugs.

“I’m done,” I repeat. My voice sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a well, and the spreadsheet has started to look like a collection of pictographs from a yet-to-be-discovered ancient language. “My brain is leaking out of my ears. I can actually hear it dripping on the floor. Can't you? Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.”

“Quit that,” Sebastian snaps, but the words have no bite. “You know we can't stop now.”

“There won't be a ‘we’ by Monday,” I mutter, pushing my chair back. “All that's going to be left is dust and brain juice. And it’s going to get all over this antique wood floor. You’ll have to have a restoration team come out just to save it. Is that what you really want?”

Sebastian’s expression twists between horrified and shocked amusement. “That was,” he searches for the right word, “alarmingly descriptive.”

“Well, I’m going for a swim. I assume there’s a bathing suit included in the clothes that were brought in?”

Sebastian simply blinks at me.

“Okay, then I’m going to go buy a swimsuit and take a swim before I meld into the aforementioned puddle. There has to be multiple places I can buy a bathing suit here. I’ll call an Uber.”

I get up and head to where I left my purse when we first arrived.

“Isabella, we have work to do.”

I stop and look over my shoulder at him. “This is one of those times when stepping away is necessary in order to complete the work. I’m too lost in the trees to see the forest. I’m going to miss something vital, and we can’t afford that. So, I’m going to get a bathing suit, and then I’m going to take a swim. After that, I’ll be refreshed and ready to get back into it. I promise.”

I don’t wait for his answer. I walk to the enormous entryway, then step out into the summer light. The humidity hits me like a physical weight the second my feet hit the stone steps.

I’m just about to call an Uber when I hear the heavy thud of the massive front door closing behind me. I turn, surprised to see Sebastian walking out, blinking like he’s a vampire who hasn't seen the sun for a hundred years.

“I’m only coming because I need to make sure you don’t buy something ridiculous.”

“Of course,” I say, hiding my smile. “Not only are you the COO of the King Corporation and heir to the name, but your expertise in women's swimwear is legendary.”

Sebastian grunts in reply, then slips on sunglasses and a baseball cap. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Town,” as Sebastian calls it, is a madhouse. It’s a sea of Ralph Lauren polo shirts, oversized sunglasses, and tourists in beachwear, clogging the sidewalks. The traffic is a crawling line of luxury SUVs, Jeep Wranglers, and sporty convertibles.

Sebastian expertly parks the Bentley Continental GT in one of the few available spots. The energy is far more frantic than I imagined for a beach getaway. It’s the exact opposite of the quiet library we just left, and the sensory overload is almost as dizzying as the spreadsheets.

“So,” I look around as we step out of the car, trying to get my bearings in a place I’m unfamiliar with. “Where exactly can I get a bathing suit?”

“This way.” We weave our way through the crowded sidewalk to a store, where the staff greet him by name and nearly trip over themselves to help him.

The place smells of sea salt and citrus, and it’s blessedly quiet and cool, a sanctuary of muted beach tones and silk wraps. I follow one of the sales associates to the back, where the swimwear hangs, like delicate pieces of art.

Sebastian lingers near the front, speaking with someone I imagine is the owner, as though they’ve known each other for years. They probably have. Though from the way his attention flicks between the woman, the door, and the street, his mind is still clearly half submerged in the work we left behind.

I finally find a one-piece in a deep forest green, something sophisticated and simple, and duck into the fitting room. The light is harsh and unforgiving. And while Sebastian has seen me naked, there’s something different about being in a bathing suit in front of him, without the desire, lust, and darkness to blur the things about myself I don’t always love.

I turn this way and that, examining myself in the three-way mirror in the fitting room. My olive skin is pale from being indoors for the past couple of weeks, enduring stress, late nights, and lack of sleep. My eyes have faint shadows under them, and my hair is pulled up into a messy bun.

I look at the curve of my hip and the softness of my thighs, and I feel exposed. Not just because of my skin, but because I’ve spent so long being a professional that exposing myself in such a way feels like a costume I don't know how to wear.

My breasts ache under the stretchy fabric, tender in a way I blame on the heat, the stress, and three weeks of sleeping four hours a night.

This was a bad idea.

I’m contemplating my exit strategy when I realize the door isn't fully closed, and I catch Sebastian’s reflection in the mirror. He’s standing in the narrow hallway, watching me. His dark eyes are fixed on my reflection with an intensity that makes the air in the small fitting room feel thin and uncomfortable.