by Lucy Eden
“Aren’t you going drink that?” the handsome man next to me inquired.
“It doesn’t always help,” I said quietly. “Sometimes, it makes it worse.” I couldn’t believe I’d just said that out loud. I didn’t owe him an explanation but he seemed so genuinely concerned.
“How long have you been having panic attacks?” he asked matching my quiet tone.
Shocked, I turned to look at him. How did he know?
“I’m sorry. It’s just that I used to see them all the time at school. I studied architecture at Pratt and it was pretty intense. One of my friends used to—”
Wait. Did he say he studied architecture at Pratt? He’s also drop-dead gorgeous and on the same flight to Barbados? What were the odds?
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but are you Adam Price?”
It was his turn to be shocked and he smiled again. “I am. How did you know that?”
The Man-Whore. I was sitting next to the Man-Whore.
“Just a guess.” I shrugged.
“Well, I assume from your sudden change of expression my reputation precedes me.”
My poker face needed some serious work. I tried to plaster on a professional smile. “You studied architecture at The Pratt Institute for both undergrad and grad school. You’ve worked on an impressive number of international projects before becoming the youngest senior architect at Will and Peking Design. Now, you’re on your way to Barbados to pitch WP for a hospitality project for Wolfe Industries.”
“That’s pretty impressive and spot on.” He nodded appreciatively. “Who are you?”
“Thanks,” I said with a nod, feeling like I’d dodged a very uncomfortable bullet. “I’m Kimberly Simmons. I work for Wolfe. I’ll be working with you on the pitch.”
I extended my hand to shake and he accepted, engulfing my dark slender hand in his huge pale one. It briefly reminded me of a Gap ad. My heart started to race again, but in a good way. This conversation had succeeded in drawing my attention elsewhere and I started to feel like myself again. I tried to withdraw my hand from his grasp and noticed he hadn’t relinquished his grip, not that I minded. I’d make sure not to let him know that.
“And that’s all you’ve heard about me?” His voice became a low, sexy growl.
My eyes narrowed and I steeled myself. I was prepared for this, though I didn’t think I was his type. Maybe Man-Whores didn’t have a type.
“No.” I smiled innocently, pulling my hand back and placing it in my lap. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“Hmm.” He smirked, but seemed thoroughly unconvinced.
We sat in awkward silence through the inflight announcements. I organized my laptop, headphones and tablet; all the things I brought to help me get through the flight. My hand briefly closed around the little plastic prescription bottle—that I hoped I wouldn’t need—in the inner pocket of my tote, just in case. I glanced over at Adam and he was sketching on a large tablet with a stylus. It was a large rustic house with wood and stone exteriors. He’d created an odd combination of a log cabin, a ski chalet and a mansion, but it worked together beautifully. He caught me looking and smiled.
“You know,” he said, smirking, “most people would consider it rude to read over someone’s shoulder.”
“You know,” I replied, returning his sly smile, “most people would assume that someone who’d invest in an obnoxiously large tablet doesn’t prioritize discretion.”
“Discretion happens to be one of my specialties.” His smile never faltered. I didn’t answer him and was glad he couldn’t tell I was blushing. “An obnoxiously large tablet is a requirement for the job,” he said, mimicking me. “It’s a passion project of mine. I plan on building it myself in Upstate New York.” He held the large tablet out for me to see. I shot him a wary glance before looking down. It was breathtaking. He scrolled through the plans, explaining all the details and he sounded like a kid describing his favorite new toy.
“—an open floor plan, of course. These large kitchen windows would face east, so when I’m having breakfast in the morning I can watch the sunrise. The windows in the dining area,” he scrolled to the next rendering, “would face the west for sunsets—” I’d never heard someone so excited about natural sunlight. It was very endearing.
No, Kimberly. You will not find the Man-Whore endearing.
“It’s very nice.” I said, giving him a small smile. Then I tried to focus on something else, anything else, but his forearm on my armrest, the way his eyes lit up when he described the atrium he was planning for the center of his house or the small playground in the backyard. I put in my earbuds and Sade began singing to me about a quiet storm. Closing my eyes, I drew in deep calming breaths. Then the plane started to taxi down the runway.
I forced my breaths to become longer and slower as I tried to recreate the breathing exercises Dr. Marquez recommended, but it did nothing to slow my heart rate. My heart was throwing itself against my chest as if it were trying to break through my ribcage. My body pressed into the seat back as the plane ascended, but instead of just feeling an incline, I felt like I was tumbling head over heels like Alice down the rabbit hole. I wanted to scream, and I must have made some sound of distress because my hand was suddenly encased in warmth.
“Hey!” It was Adam’s voice.
I didn’t feel him remove my earbuds. Sade wasn’t singing anymore, and it sounded like he was calling to me from the end of a tunnel. The more he said my name, the louder and clearer his voice became.
“Hey, Kimberly. Look at me. Look. At. Me.”
I forced my eyes open and turned to face him. His handsome face was calm but his eyes were full of concern.
“You’re going to be fine.”
That was easy for him to say. He wasn’t dying.
“Just breathe.”
I was trying to breathe.
“In through your nose.”
I focused on his words and drew in a deep breath through my nostrils and held it.
“Out through your mouth.” I did as he said.
“Again,” he ordered, and breathed with me.
After five breaths, I started to feel a little better, but I was still spinning. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flight attendant approaching, her face full of apprehension. My heart started pounding again. Adam held up his hand and she backed away.
“Look at me. Stay with me.”
He clasped my hand with both of his. I hoped he would never let go. I felt like his hands were the only things keeping me tethered to reality. If he let go, I would float away.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“What?” I managed to say but it sounded like a croak.
“Tell me what you see. Name five things that you see right now.”
“I don’t underst—”
“Just do it.”
“I see, um, I see…a headrest.” I forced myself to look at him again. He smiled and nodded to encourage me.
“That’s one.”
“Your tablet.”
“That’s two.”
“Your eyes.” Damn it. Did I actually say that?
“That’s three.” Then he grinned. “Are you flirting with me in the middle of a panic attack?”
“No, I’m not, I…” I stammered.
“Hey, I’m into it.”
His golden brown eyes glittered with mirth. I laughed with him, more out of relief than anything else. I was starting to feel okay again. Every breath felt like a gift. My world was no longer spinning. I took a few sips of water and sat in silence for a long time, embracing the calm.
Adam held my right hand with his left, pulled out his tablet and read a book, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t fuss over me. He didn’t ask me if I was okay a million times. He didn’t embarrass me. He just knew that I was all right and let me be, but still held my hand. It was the kindest thing anyone—who wasn’t a relative— had ever done for me, and I was feeling guilty for judging him so harshl
y.
He will charm the panties right off of you. Be careful.
Was I being charmed? Was Adam Price taking advantage of a vulnerable woman? I was so grateful for him in that moment and I didn’t want to believe that a person who could be so sweet and attentive to a total stranger could be so manipulative. I also didn’t believe he would behave the same way if I were a man who’d just had a panic attack.
Adam Price wouldn’t be the first to try to get into my pants; if that’s what he was trying to do. I had to think about my career and I’d received very clear warnings about him. If I ignored them and ruined this opportunity, I’d only have myself to blame.
But it wouldn’t hurt to hold his hand for a little while longer.
A little longer turned out to be the entire flight, with breaks for eating, a trip to the bathroom—one for him, one for me—and a couple of crossword puzzles. I also managed to nap for a couple of hours. He was holding my hand when I fell asleep and was still holding it when I woke up.
I felt a little guilty allowing myself to enjoy this hand holding for so long—a little less guilty when I got some major side eye from the flight attendant—but he had such a calming effect on me. Still, I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.
The landing was far less traumatic than the take off, and I couldn’t be sure, but I think Adam was purposely trying to keep my focus on him.
“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those people who clap when the plane lands,” he said with the corners of his mouth curling. He caressed the back of my hand with his thumb. It was sending waves of heat throughout my body. My cheeks flushed, my chest tightened and I felt a tingling between my thighs.
“What’s the problem with giving the pilot a little appreciation for not killing us?” I tried to push every unprofessional thought about Adam Price out of my head.
The plane bumped to a relatively smooth landing. My hand tightened around Adam’s as the plane taxied down the runway and came to a stop at the terminal. A burst of applause and cheers erupted from the rear of the plane. We turned to each other and cracked up. Our laughter died down and our gazes lingered for a moment too long.
Damn it.
“Thank you for coaching me through that panic attack,” I said, then disembarked as quickly and politely as possible. I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast in my life. My carry-on suitcase bumped and bounced behind me as I made my way down the air-stairs and hustled across the tarmac, trying to put as much distance as I could between myself and Adam Price until I had to see him again at the meeting.
There were only three people ahead of me in the customs line and I couldn’t be more grateful. The customs officer was incredibly efficient and within minutes I was making a beeline for the taxi stand.
I approached the curb and looked around for a taxi, realizing I wasn’t quite sure how car services worked in Barbados.
“Do you need a ride?” Adam’s voice called from behind me, and I swear I could hear him smiling.
How the hell did he get through customs so fast?
“No, thank you.” I replied without turning around. “I can manage.”
“If I didn’t know any better,” He put his hand on my shoulder. His touch made me shiver in eighty-degree weather, “I would think you were trying to avoid me.” I turned to face him. He was smirking at me again, an expression I was beginning to find incredibly sexy.
No, Kimberly. You must not find the Man-Whore sexy.
“I’m not trying to avoid you.” I dropped my bags and put my hands on my hips. “I just think it would be in our best interests if we kept things professional from now on.”
His smile widened, threatening to give me another glimpse of his perfect white teeth. “Do you mind if I wait to make sure you get into a car?” He put his hands up in a defenseless posture. “…strictly as a professional courtesy.”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary, Mr. Price.”
Adam clutched his heart and staggered backwards causing my resolve to crack and eliciting a chuckle. His spot-on fake heart attack made me wonder if he’d also grown up watching Sanford and Son reruns.
“Mr. Price? Seriously?” he cried in feigned indignation. “Ugh. I thought I meant more to you than that.”
“Could you stop that?” I hissed through clenched teeth while fighting the beginning of a smile. A few heads turned in our direction. “You’re making a scene.”
“Let me give you a ride to your hotel,” Adam offered again, dropping his voice to a normal volume.
I shook my head and dug my fists into my hips. “I already told you, I’ll be fine.”
“After all we’ve been through! How could —” He threw his head back and flung his arms wide, clearly winding up for another histrionic display.
“Okay, okay.” I grabbed his arms and pulled them down. His biceps were firm against my palms. “You can drop me off at my hotel. Will you stop now?”
“If you insist, but please try to keep your hands to yourself. We are professionals after all.” His eyes flicked downward to where my hands still gripped his biceps then back to mine. I pulled my hands away quickly, feeling my cheeks flush again.
Adam grabbed my rolling carry-on and walked toward a black SUV with tinted windows. He opened the door and held out his hand for me to use to climb inside. After a moment, he climbed in beside me. I half expected him to reach for my hand. I couldn’t tell if I was more relieved or disappointed when he didn’t.
“Where are we headed?” he asked.
I opened and closed my mouth a few times. Apparently, his proximity caused me to temporarily lose my ability to speak.
“Where’s your hotel, Kimberly? We have to tell the driver…”
“Right, um.” I shook my head in an attempt to regain my senses, grabbed my tablet, and opened my itinerary. “The Sterling Beachfront Paradise.”
“Wait. Did you say The Sterling Beachfront Paradise?” Adam asked
I nodded.
“I’m also staying at The Sterling Beachfront Paradise.”
“Bullshit.” I glared at him.
He opened his tablet and handed it to me. I took it from him and discovered that he was telling the truth. A quick comparison of our reservations assured me that at least we weren’t staying in the same building. I knew The Sterling was a big resort, with accommodations ranging from small hotel rooms to big luxury apartments. Most likely, we’d never run into each other.
I couldn’t tell if I was more relieved or disappointed by this.
Damn it.
Thank you for reading this bonus chapter of Everything’s Better with Kimberly. For purchase information please visit geni.us/EBWK
bonus chapter
one: alexander
“Hey, John!”
“What do you want, you little creep?” A smile tugged at my lips. I was sitting on the balcony of my one bedroom luxury suite in front of my open laptop. I’ve been at the Sterling three weeks. It was initially a work trip, but the longer I spent on the island, the more it felt like something else.
The voice belonged to Philip, the eight-year-old interloper who I’d met during one of my many walks around the resort. I checked into The Sterling under an assumed name three weeks ago, and my new little friend had spent almost every day of the last week making a habit of rudely interrupting my daily morning routine of gym and coffee followed by hours of reading legal briefs and interpreting reports.
“I want to kick your sorry arse again,” he shouted up to me while holding a soccer ball over his head, John Cusack in Say Anything style.
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” I barked a laugh at the kid’s sass and leaned away from my computer.
Philip looked around carefully, no doubt checking to be sure his mother wasn’t around, and I knew that I was going to appreciate his next words. A sly grin spread across his face.
“No, but I kissed your mother with this mouth.” He waggled his eyebrows.
I shook my head and laughed again.
“Get out of here, kid. I have a lot of work to do today.” I did have a lot of work, too much work.
“But it’s Saturday. You’re not supposed to work on the weekends.” He was still too young to understand that the world didn’t stop spinning because of a day on the calendar. That’s a lesson I knew all too well at his age. There was always work to be done, and there was always someone waiting to take your job.
“I work every day. Where’s your old man? Ask him to play with you.”
Philip’s face fell, and he dropped the soccer ball at his side.
“He’s working too. He told my mum and me that he was taking us on holiday to spend time with us, but he’s always on his mobile.” He looked down at his feet and kicked the ground.
Well, that did it. I started closing the files on my computer.
Philip’s career aspirations were a mystery to me, but he had a very bright future as a con man because he knew the right buttons to push. I lost my parents when I was a little younger than he was and was raised by my father’s parents. I inherited my grandfather’s work ethic, but it wasn’t something I appreciated when I was Philip’s age.
“All right, you little weasel. I’ll be right down.” I shut my laptop just in time to see an excited grin spread on Philip’s face. It didn’t help that the kid reminded me of myself at that age: skinny, dark hair and blue eyes. He was well cared for with the faintest air of neglect that kids who were raised wealthy with absentee parents recognized in each other.
I ran down the stairs, snatched the ball out of Philip’s hand, and took off running to the field next to a cluster of buildings that housed the luxury suites.
“Hey!” he squealed and ran after me.
I dropped the ball at my feet and passed it to Philip. He kicked it back.
“Do your parents know where you are?”
“No. They don’t care.”
“I don’t know about that.” I pulled my phone from the pocket of my shorts. “Why don’t you let them know, so they don’t worry.” I dialed the concierge.