C4 4

“I’m just happy you’re looking for a job that’ll keep your summers free,” he says. “We need you for high season.”

“Maybe have a chat with your business partner before inviting me back for next year,” I say, looking pointedly toward Colton’s office.

Crosley’s always-smiling face goes solemn. “He does care about you. He just acts like a hard-ass because he doesn’t know what to do about it.”

“You’re a busybody. Get back to work.” I force a smile as he retreats. He has no idea how wrong he is.

Colton doesn’t care about me. He can’t stand me.

Colton

W

hen my office door is open, I have the perfect view of the Heartbreak Bay Adventures reception area. At first, this was by design: I’d keep an eye on reception and take care of any walk-in traffic between dealing with the contracts, bookkeeping, and endless paperwork involved in running a business. Since we offer everything from sunset cruises to ATV rentals to winery tours, the “paperwork” side of things got overwhelming fast. I had to quickly find someone to cover the front so I could get anything done at all. I gave the job to Veronica Maddox as a favor to her twin sister, Nic. And now I have the perfect view of the only woman who’s ever gotten under my skin this way.

“Maybe if you didn’t stare at me all day, I’d do a better job remembering my appearance isn’t supposed to be a priority.”

I can’t even scoff at that because she’s right. Most of the time when Veronica’s around, I have trouble looking anywhere else. This whole arrangement would be easier if my irritation with her weren’t matched by a borderline obsessive attraction.

I never should’ve followed her away from the crowd at the Jacksons’ cabin last summer. I never should’ve kissed her. Definitely shouldn’t have touched her or made her come. I’m fucking haunted by the sounds she made and the way her eyes fluttered closed and her head fell back as she came apart.

Crosley slaps the back of my head. “You’re staring again.”

I wince, rubbing my scalp and glaring up at him from my desk chair. “That hurt, asshole.”

“Sorry. Next time I’ll kick you in the balls instead.”

I make sure Veronica isn’t looking our way before I add, “And lower your voice.”

His lips twitch. “Is it a secret?”

I shove the contract at him, shaking my head. “Is that all you need?”

He takes the stack of papers and nods. “You okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I hear you were in a mood this morning. Made our receptionist think she needs to be job hunting.”

“She was late.” But hell, it wasn’t her fault I was so on edge. My mood was less about my late departure from the office and more about the call I got on my way to the office. I’ve been sober for two and a half years, but learning an AA friend relapsed always sucks. Not only am I worried sick about Mike, but something about seeing him fall off the wagon makes me feel vulnerable as fuck. It’s an unwanted reminder that I’m just one bad decision away from losing the life I’ve had to fight so damn hard to build after destroying my old one.

“Shit happens,” Crosley says. “And Veronica has way more on her plate than the rest of us. You need backup in here, pick up the fucking phone. If I’m not in the shop, I’m upstairs and I’ll cover.”

I give a casual shrug. He’s right, of course. When we bought this place, we debated renting out the run-down apartments that sit over the office and garages. We decided we’d be better off living upstairs ourselves—we’d renovate them as our budgets and schedules allowed and eventually charge what the bay-view apartments are really worth. It also meant we’d be right on site when extra hands were needed and could run upstairs to clean up between excursions. I know all this, and yet when it comes to Veronica, I lose my goddamned mind.

I was a dick this morning, and I owe her an apology. I’ll swallow my pride and make sure she knows I’m not planning to fire her. Maybe I’ll even ask if we need to adjust her schedule. She’s a single mom juggling a lot. I’m a compassionate guy under normal circumstances, but there’s nothing normal about how I feel when Veronica is around. “I’ll talk to her and fix it.”

“Good,” Cros says. “Coming out with us tonight?”

I arch a brow. “We’re going out?”

“Jackson Brews after work. What do you say?”

“Sure.” My first year sober, I avoided bars like the plague, but Jackson Brews is low-key, and their new selection of nonalcoholic beer makes going feel like a treat instead of a test. Especially when I get to drink it while kicking Crosley’s ass at pool. “Rematch?”

“We’ll see,” he says, grinning and backing out the door. “I’m heading upstairs. I need a shower, but I’ll meet you there.”

“Good deal,” I say, turning my attention to my computer. Only when Crosley’s gone do I realize I forgot to tell him to close the door.

My gaze drifts to the reception area again. To Veronica. She’s wearing a little white sundress that seems to be one of her favorites. It has skinny straps that slip off her shoulders all day, and the hem barely reaches mid-thigh. And if she forgets a sweater, which she usually does because she’s a hot fucking mess most of the time, her nipples get hard in the cool air conditioning, and the dress is too thin to disguise it. That fucking dress haunts my dreams.

She leans on the counter, helping a customer scroll the iPad we keep loaded with details and pictures of our services, and I have the perfect view of the curve of her ass and the exposed backs of her thighs. If she leans over just a little more, I might get a glimpse of her panties. Are they the same silky fabric as the ones I stroked between her thighs last summer? The ones I took home and still haven’t returned.

I’m dying to know, and I fucking hate myself for it. I don’t want to be that creepy coworker who puts his eyes where they’re not welcome. I don’t like to think of myself as her boss. That just makes this whole situation even more fucked up.

The guy at the counter says something I can’t quite make out, and Veronica’s full laugh fills my ears. His gaze drifts down to her cleavage, and I want to kick the asshole right out the door. Even if the impulse makes me a fucking hypocrite. Maybe because it makes me a hypocrite.

I force my attention back to my computer, and within a few minutes, I’m lost in preparing new contracts and mapping out future expeditions.