She backs up a few steps, still not done. I can’t hear the shutter from here, but I’m sure I’m not in the shots. I hope not, anyway, because looking at her in the moonlight has me hard again. I tug the swimsuits up to my hips and head back to the towels. Jenny looks at the screen on the back of the camera, rubbing at her eyes with one hand.
“Tired?”
“Yeah.” Then she looks me up and down with an impish grin. “You never know, though. The walk back home might reinvigorate me.”
My cock leaps at the suggestion. “Let’s find out.”
21
Jenny
How can it be this good?
Even this moment, this regular, run-of-the-mill, working-late moment, is good. I’ve never been so tired and so happy in all of my life. I can’t even think casually about the last week without finding myself with an idiotic grin.
I stretch my arms over my head and use the arm of the sofa to get my spine to crack. There. That’s the last part of me with any tension at all.
The scent of Roman’s skin still lingers in the air of my apartment. I’ve been taking careful breaths to make it last as long as possible, but I’m already getting used to it, which means he needs to come back.
Another rule bites the dust.
I told myself we wouldn’t do anything in my employee bungalow, but that went the way of the hotel rooms tonight. It was the closest place to the office. To be fair to him, I’ve been staring at him all day, making sure it was with sexy eyes and not the deadly glare he says I unleashed on him too often in high school. By the end of the day I could see the tension building in his jaw and the fire in his eyes. That’s how I started my day. That and guzzling coffee to make up for the late-night trek up to the Bliss Resort’s hidden gem.
That waterfall.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way Roman looked standing in the middle of the pool, satisfied and happy and dripping wet. I couldn’t forget it even if I didn’t have fifty photos of the occasion, which I do.
I huddle closer to my laptop. I spent a large chunk of today coordinating with Beau for his next event, which is a beach party he’s throwing this weekend down at the yoga surface. We’ll try and drum up lead-up exposure via social media even though Roman wouldn’t approve catering a full dinner. Beau didn’t like that. He wears the same serious look as Roman does when he’s not getting his way, but he kept his disgruntled comments to a minimum like a true gentleman.
Because of all that—and the back-and-forth to Roman’s office to bicker about approvals—the meeting took up my editing time for the day. That’s one thing I’ll lose sleep for. Get behind on editing, and you’ll get behind on scheduling, and you’ll forever be playing catch-up. That’s not a good game in the social media business, so here I am, just past midnight, speed editing the waterfall photos. It’ll be a day and night theme for Thursday and Friday, leading into the party on Saturday, then followup.
I skim through the photos quickly, grabbing one here, another there, narrowing it down to a shot of the waterfall itself. Roman is visible in the lower third, his hands raised to his hair. It’s only a photo, but it makes that familiar heat build between my legs.
Again. And he only left fifteen minutes ago.
I apply my usual edits to the photo and hold the computer away from me to survey my work. My heart beats faster at the sight. This will get people’s attention.
The guilt comes next.
There are lines I didn’t want to cross. Not with the job I’ve taken, and not with Roman. But everything seems different now that we’re in this place. Now that the way I feel for him seems too large to fit in my chest.
If I’m going by Connor’s guidelines, I should stick with a waterfall picture, and nothing else. I shouldn’t edit it to make it stand out. I toggle back through the photos until I get to one with just the falls.
The moonlight on the water makes it interesting, but it’s missing that human element.
I toggle back forward, passing the photos of Roman on the way, chewing at my lip.
I have his permission to post what I want. But posting a killer photo will piss Connor off. I’m only under contract with him for another week.
Then what?
I let my head fall back against the arm of the couch and stare at the ceiling, guilt roiling at the pit of my gut. I should quit working at Bliss. That’s the right thing to do, after I’ve been a secret operative for Global. It’ll hurt like hell, leaving Roman, but how can I face him after this? The low-key job I’ve done here hasn’t been a bad one, but it hasn’t been stellar, either. And Roman deserves stellar.
He deserves more than stellar. He deserves someone’s whole heart and soul, and he has mine.
He has mine.
I sit bolt upright. Why am I doing all these mental gymnastics? I know how I feel about him. I know how I feel about the resort. Despite what I’ve done, I feel loyal. And in a week’s time, I can stop doing Connor’s bidding and just do my job instead. Connor would have no reason to out me if I fulfilled his contract, I think blearily. Who am I to him? Nobody.
I brush over the trackpad of my computer with purpose. Fuck Connor. I could do a good job now and be true to my heart, even if that sounds ridiculous. And if Roman asks me about it, I’ll come clean. No harm, no foul.
Besides...I don’t want to lose him. My heart wrenches at the possibility. I don’t have to lose him if I make up for lost time. What’s a few weeks of posting good-not-great pictures in the grand scheme of things? It’s nothing. I can more than make up for it if I stay for the summer.
And if I stay forever...
This’ll be a distant memory.
I flip through the photos to the last ones I downloaded. There—that’s the one. It’s just the waterfall, but with a few clicks I have a standout image. The water cascades sensually into the pool, the moonlight glistens...it’s golden. Connor won’t notice that I’m posting better images until it’s too late. There are two days until the party. This photo will go live now, with a sunny image in the morning, a hint of an attractive person, building to a crescendo with the party.
I load the photo into Instagram, then into the scheduling program. The rest of the social media sites will get the image over the next hour. Send. Done.
That feels better.
I swipe my hand over my eyes. Pride and fear and certainty roll together in my chest. I’m doing the right thing. I know it. I know it...
*****
Sunlight stabs into my eyelids, and the moment I notice it is the moment I know I’m late for work. Shit. Shit. And my phone is ringing, somewhere near my...ass?
I wrench myself sideways on the sofa, digging for the phone. In the process my still-open laptop clatters to the floor. What time is it? I blink at the name on the phone. The name does not compute.
“Hello?” My mouth feels sticky. How long has it been since I passed out on the couch? A long time. “Hello.”
“Are you on your way back to New York City?” Connor. Something fills his voice with a glee I don’t understand.
I push my hair off my forehead. “No, why?” I swallow again, trying to get myself together.
He laughs so loud and long I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “Oh, you are so cute when you act all innocent. It’s my favorite look on you.”
“Connor, what are you talking about?” My heart pounds harder, and cold builds at the pit of my gut.
“You are a ruthless bitch,” he crows. “Come on. Don’t act like you didn’t do that all for me. You have more than proven yourself.” He clicks his tongue. “I see what this was all about. You were angling for a way back into your old office at Global, and this was the master stroke to end all master strokes. Ha—strokes.” Connor chortles evilly again, and I swallow down an acid fear. “That photo was a complete success. You’ve got your old office back. I’ll clean it out and have it ready by the time you get here, and then we can discuss compensation. I’ll make sure you get a hefty signing bonus.”
The feed loads.
I click over to the Bliss Resort account.
My heart stops dead.
The moment I see it, I can’t unsee it. It’s like one of those cruel internet jokes with something scary in the corner of a picture, only this isn’t scary.
This is much, much worse than that.
The phone falls out of my hand, crashing against the laptop, but I don’t stop to get it. I’m too busy running.
22
Roman
Something’s up.
I knew it when I walked into the lobby this morning. I’ve done my best to make this a place that people like to work, so I’ve spent the last two years remembering names and birthdays and families.
Nobody would look me in the eye.
I worked off the leftover tiredness from stopping at Jenny’s last night with an hour in the gym. It would be better than sleeping in, I figured, and it was. I felt great until the weirdness in the lobby began.
At the reception desk, Sarah is curiously subdued. She gives me a tight nod and a quiet good morning, Mr. Bliss, then turns back to her computer.
Is it the fact that I’m coming in closer to the start of the morning shift than I usually do? I’ve been in the habit of showing up early, especially since Jenny does the same thing, but that can’t have anyone’s hackles raised.
People are settling in around the office. Every one of them has an extraordinarily difficult time looking at me. I have half a mind to stop in the center of the bullpen and wait until they tell me, but then I catch sight of Beau. He sits uncomfortably straight in a chair in front of my desk. He gives me a wave.
That’s a relief. Something went haywire at one of Beau’s parties last night. I’m sure that’s it. If he’s sitting here waiting to confess, then he’s probably already dealt with most of it. I’m sure he’s worried sick about losing my approvals on his upcoming events.
I step inside and shut the door behind me. Beau stands, smiling apologetically, and gestures behind him at my desk. There are two glasses there. One’s a beer and one’s a cocktail with an umbrella perched against the glass.
“What’s this?” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to look stern through my relief. I’ll let him tell me in his own time what’s going on. I don’t have it in me to be a hardass today. The awkwardness in the lobby wasn’t enough to wipe away the feel-good hangover from sex with Jenny.
Beau raises a hand to his mouth and clears his throat. “I, uh, wasn’t sure which drink you preferred.” He turns to look at the glasses like they might provide him an answer. “So I brought both.”
I smile at him so he can relax a little. “Are you still buzzed from last night? You seem to have forgotten that I don’t drink this early in the morning.”
He sticks his hands into his pockets, gazing up toward the skylight. “Under normal circumstances, I can see why you’d have that policy.”
My stomach tightens. “Are these not normal circumstances, Beau?”
He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “I’d say not. So...” He lets out a long breath. “Beer or the cocktail? I’ll take whichever one you don’t want.”
“Neither.” I make my way around behind my desk, but I stay standing. “Tell me what you’ve got going on.”
He looks pained. “Could you do me a solid and choose one of these drinks?”
Irritation flares. “Just spit it out, Beau.”
“Fine.” He picks up both glasses and shoves the beer toward me, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “Take the beer. I tried to give you a choice, but—”
I grab it out of his hand. The glass is still chilled. He must have come right from the bar, or from his party. “The anticipation is fucking killing me,” I snarl. “What went wrong at your event?”
Beau’s eyes go wide. “Nothing went wrong. People would have appreciated more robust catering, but I told you that before. Do you really want to talk about my event right now?”
“I’m assuming that’s what all this groveling is about.” I hold the glass up between us. “Why the hell else would you come in here like this?”
The whites of his eyes seem huge as he shakes his head from side to side. “It’s not about my event.”
“Then tell me what it is about.” I register then that the bullpen is still hushed, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary happening. Not that I can see over Beau’s shoulder, at least. “Right. Now.”
He takes a fortifying sip of his cocktail. “I was hoping you’d have seen it yourself, or that someone else had told you, but here I am, sacrificing myself for the greater good.”
“Beau...” I’m ten seconds away from losing my cool completely.
“Okay.” Beau stands up straight and takes a deep breath. “Your dick is on the internet.”
I almost forget I’m holding the beer and catch it at the last moment. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Listen, at some point last night, and I don’t have all the details...” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
“My dick is not on the internet.”
“It is, though.” He’s scrolling in staccato stabs through his phone, and with a sinking feeling I realize he’s not shitting me. He’s getting proof. “This is not a joke.”
I study his face like I’ve never studied anything before, but there’s not a single hint he’s kidding at all. The blood drains from my face. Each moment stretches out into eternity. And then Beau turns his phone toward me.
It’s our company Instagram account.
The top photo in the feed is a picture of the Bliss waterfall.
It’s...just the waterfall.
“That’s not my dick, you fucking idiot. That’s a waterfall.”
Beau angles the phone so he can see it. “You have to click...” He clicks on the photo and it gets larger on the screen. The editing is good on this one, making the water and the moonlight look romantic as hell and more gorgeous than they looked that night. I scan over the photo and open my mouth to tell him to go sleep off whatever he’s high on when I see it.
Me.
In the corner of the photo.
My right shoulder is out of the frame, but you can still see my right hand. I’m standing tall, pulling my swim trunks on, looking at something to the left.
Beau’s right. My dick is on the internet. Full. Fucking. Display.
The secondary truth of this scenario hits me like a wrecking ball. There’s only one person who had access to these photos, and this account.
My brother clicks off the phone, shoves it into his pocket, and raises his glass. “I don’t know what to say in this situation, so...cheers.”
I woodenly clink my glass against his, then drain the whole thing. Beau sips from his glass.
Running footsteps sound outside the door, and Jenny catches herself on the frame.
She’s a mess. She’s wearing lounge pants and a camisole with no bra, and her hair is wild. The chalky white of her face tells me instantly that she did this.
“All right,” says Beau, nodding like we’ve just closed a deal. “This is—I’ll—” He rescues himself with another drink from his cocktail. “Hey, Jenny.” He gives her a half-bow, then scoots out the door behind her and hustles through the bullpen.
Her breath is ragged in the quiet of my office as she steps inside, hands spread in front of her. “It was a mistake.” Her green eyes glisten beneath a sheen of tears.
“Do you fucking think so?” I shove the empty beer glass down on my desk and run a hand through my hair. “How did you do this? You don’t double-check the images before you send them?”
“I do,” Jenny says, the words
running close together. “I do. I do. This was really and truly a mistake. I was trying to do the right thing—”
“So you posted a nude picture of me on our company account?” I hiss the words to keep from shouting them. Then her words sink in. “What do you mean, you were trying to do the right thing? Are you saying that posting appropriate images was the wrong thing?”
Color flashes to her cheeks. “I might as well come clean, now that—oh, god.” She buries her faces in her hands.
“Jenny, tell me what’s going on before my brain shuts down.” The things she’s saying aren’t making sense. Coming clean? About what?
She lifts her face and meets my eyes. “Okay. Okay. I...I didn’t come here just to show off my new look. That was part of a misguided revenge, but—”
“Part of it?” What the fuck? What the fuck?
“It’s not as bad as you think.”
“It’s worse than I think if you’re posting this kind of photo to get back at me—”
“I didn’t. I did not do that.” Sincerity shines from her eyes, and I almost believe her...but how can I? “I thought that was a photo of the waterfall. But before that, I was only letting you choose from run-of-the-mill photos for the account because...” She hesitates and I hold my breath. “My old PR firm hired me to run defense for another company.”
That...makes zero sense. “What does that mean?”
“They hired me to come here and work for you and post things that would make Bliss look less attractive than their client.” She bites her lip so hard I want to tell her to stop, but I say nothing. “Not to make you look bad. Just to...make the other place look even better. More luxurious. I was supposed to be here for a month and then quit.” She shakes her head, looking up at the ceiling like something there will help her. “You have no idea how bad it was in New York. A piece of my ceiling fell into this soup, and then a bunch of bugs crawled out—”
“Just stop.” I can’t process this. I can’t believe that Jenny, my Jenny, the Jenny who has been in my bed every night, who cried at the thought of other people judging her for wanting to be different, did this.
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