The calendar on Ana’s office computer blurted out an alert.
She looked up from the spa write-up—which she still wasn’t happy with—and sent the monitor a hard look, but sadly that didn’t shut it up. Punching the button on the mouse did the trick though.
Now that she was using the sound alerts to remind her when she needed to do something, the stupid thing never stopped chirping at her. Her annoyance levels were reaching critical, but she’d be more annoyed if she missed something important. Lesser of two evils and all that, but the cheery electronic bing was starting to sound pretty evil.
And all right, she was also ticked because it was reminding her of a meeting she did not want to have. Chelsea Thomas was stopping by in five minutes, and Ana already had a knot of cold dread in her belly.
For the past three months, Ana had seen Chelsea around the resort, asking questions, poking into things, and e-mailing Ana occasionally with requests for figures and data. Ana knew her turn was up for an interrogation, but today really wasn’t a good day. She was exhausted, and her body kept insisting that it was a really good idea to kiss Luke, when her brain knew good and well it was a really bad idea.
Their workouts of the past few weeks had been done with a minimum of talking and zero touching. Their almost-kiss was ignored hard enough to generate its own force field, but that shared force roped them together all the same, even as they tiptoed around it.
But she couldn’t worry about that—her attention was already too divided here. She rolled her shoulders and shook out her hands, trying to unseat some of the exhaustion—and thoughts of Luke—that were clinging to her.
She gulped some coffee from the mug on her desk and grimaced at how cold it was. Hot coffee was a thing of beauty, iced coffee was pretty nice too, but cold coffee was just awful. But there was no time to freshen it up. She began to pull up the spreadsheets she knew Chelsea would ask for—every conceivable bit of information about the spa and salon and restaurants and the weddings and all of it. It was Ana’s job to ensure the guests’ experience was seamless, but it took a lot of stitching to get there.
“Knock knock.”
Chelsea said it instead of actually knocking, which unreasonably annoyed Ana. Maybe because it was cutesy and Ana suspected that in her heart of hearts, Chelsea was anything but.
“Come in,” Ana said. “It’s so good to see you.”
Ana wouldn’t say that the hospitality industry was built on deceit per se, but carefully placed illusions were always necessary. The little bottles of soap and shampoo that seemed so much more luxurious than at home, the robes in the rooms, the staff who seemed to be ready to answer your every whim and yours alone—it wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t quite the truth.
So she told Chelsea she was happy to see her and didn’t feel even a twinge of guilt.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting with you again.” Chelsea was dressed in an electric-blue skirt that skimmed her hips and a baggy gray knit sweater that somehow emphasized how thin she was.
“Coffee?” Ana offered. “Or maybe tea or soda?”
“No thank you, I have some cucumber water here.” Chelsea posed herself in her chair—the set of her limbs was exactly that carefully arranged.
Ana took another deliberate sip of her coffee. “If you’re sure.” She didn’t trust anyone who survived the day only on cucumber water.
Chelsea arranged her folio—leather bound, with cream paper—on her lap and pulled out a gleaming black pen with a gold clip, uncapping it decisively. “I am.”
Ready to get down to business, Ana set her cup down. But as she did, her jaw cracked open wide, and to her horror, she yawned like a toad showing its tonsils, only just covering her mouth in time. Stupid exhausted body.
“Oh my,” Chelsea trilled. “I hope I’m not boring you.” Her smile clung to the edge of politeness by its fingertips.
“Hardly.” Ana’s smile was less polite. “I was at a funeral last night.”
Rosario Garcia had passed away and the funeral mass had been at the little Catholic church on the reservation. Afterward, everyone had gone to the tribal hall for stew and the bird singers had come, singing bird throughout the night to honor Rosario while the women danced. Ana had listened most of the night, the songs mixing with her dreams when she finally fell asleep.
It had been sad, yes, but there had been a sense of deep contentment too as they all came together to say good-bye and thank you.
“I’m so sorry,” Chelsea said, her gaze softening.
“It’s all right.” Losing an elder was always difficult, but Ana didn’t want to get into that with Chelsea. “What do you need from me?”
Chelsea was all business again, her pen coming to attention. “Well, as I’ve been speaking with the other employees, I’ve received some conflicting information as to what your job entails.”
Ana already knew where this was heading. “I’m the assistant manager in charge of resort operations. I believe I already e-mailed a description of my duties.”
“Yes, but it’s clear that you’re involved in many other things besides the resort operations. Some people seemed confused about who they should report to.”
Ana’s hand tightened on the mug handle. That was misleading. Ana never told anyone else what to do, at least no one who wasn’t directly under her. There was nothing to complain about there. But if there was an opportunity to reach out to the community and the PR department wasn’t already on it, Ana wasn’t going to let those opportunities slide.
She wasn’t acting outside her authority; she was picking up slack.
“Let me know who’s confused,” Ana said, each word snipped off as if by scissors, “and I can help clarify matters.”
Chelsea’s pen tilted toward Ana. “I was thinking we could try something else first.”
Judging by the expression on Chelsea’s face, Ana guessed she wasn’t going to like this.
“It would be helpful if you could keep track of everything you do in the course of a day. And that includes things you do outside the resort. For example, the training you’re doing for the charity race—that would count.”
“But that’s all unpaid. I’m not counting that as work-work.”
“Yes, but it does benefit the resort, if indirectly. I’m wondering if we should take a look at everything you do and reassess where your energies are going. Perhaps we need some new hires. Or to reassign some of your duties.”
Reassess her energies. Ana swallowed down her instinctive response to that. “I’m handling my duties just fine,” she said. “I was instrumental in the spa redesign, in hiring the new wedding cake baker—who is exclusive to us—and I made contacts at Style magazine, which will run a story on the new spa. I also recently organized the wine festival, which brought in several hundred guests, and we were voted best resort in the county by the newspaper this year and last.”
Chelsea couldn’t argue with Ana’s results. And if she wanted to, Ana had even more accomplishments to trot out.
“You are a valuable asset here,” Chelsea said. “We just don’t want you to burn out.”
Since when did a company care if its employees were working too much? Ana sensed there was something off here, but she couldn’t quite bring it into focus.
“That’s touching,” she said. “But there’s no worry of that.”
Again with the lie that wasn’t quite a lie. After all, once the charity race was done, she had every intention of slowing down. Once she had less on her plate, she’d stop having these crazy, panicky, suffocating moments when she looked at that overflowing plate.
“Great.” Chelsea drew out the r the same way Tony the Tiger did. “But to humor me, could you fill out the schedule? Only for a week or so.”
She passed across a sheaf of printouts with a day’s worth of hours blocked off. There was even a place to mark off when and how long she slept.
“Wow. Thank you.” The fog of insincerity floating between them was thick enough to choke a horse.
“Don’t mention it.”
They smiled at each other for a long, sharp beat.
Then Ana said, “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’ve got to get started on my homework.”
Chelsea waggled her fingers in farewell. “I expect you to get an A.”
As soon as the door closed behind the consultant, Ana let the papers and her smile fall.
Boy, she really wanted to punch something. Thank goodness she had a workout scheduled tonight with Luke.
She turned back to her computer to the write-up she’d been wrestling with for weeks. Chelsea wanted her to delegate? Fine, she’d delegate.
Ana marched to her door and looked out. “Cece?”
Her assistant poked her head over the cubical wall. “Yeah?”
“I’ve been trying to write up something on the new spa for ages, but it’s just not working. It needs fresh eyes. Do you think you could take a look at it?”
Cece’s expression lit with pleased surprise. “Sure. I’d love to.”
“Thanks.” Ana smiled at her. “I’ll send over what I have so far.”
She ducked into her office, trying not to feel too smug. Well, she could already put “Successfully reassigned task” on Chelsea’s little schedule.
Luke pushed open the back door to the Big House, catching it right before it slammed into the wall. He still remembered his mother yelling at them whenever they forgot and let the doorknob gouge the wall. His mom had retired to Cambria, but he continued to treat the house the same as when she’d lived in it.
Something smelled damn good. His stomach gurgled as he walked into the kitchen where Lil was preparing dinner. Maybe she’d let him sneak a bite.
“Hey, Lil.”
Her back was to him as she worked over the stove, her apron strings tied in a messy bow at the small of her back. The strings dangling from the end of the knot grew shorter and shorter each day as she made room under the apron for her growing belly.
“Hey.” She turned, and the size of her smile nearly knocked him over. “How are you?”
“Good,” he said slowly. “You seem really happy. Happier than usual to see me.”
She didn’t answer—instead, she closed the distance between them and wrapped him in a bear hug.
“Oof!” he grunted out. Lil had a grip on her. He patted her back. “I’m happy to see you too.”
And he was, but he hadn’t been expecting such a vigorous welcome.
“I’m not on bed rest anymore!” She punctuated that with another squeeze.
“Great.” He kept patting her back. “Could you let me get some air?”
She released him but kept hold of his arms, grinning up at him. Luke hadn’t seen her this happy in a while now. She seemed her old self again.
“I’m so glad to get back to my life,” she said.
Which raised the question of who was coming with her back to that life. “And Adriano?”
His sister’s face lit with an emotion he’d never seen from her before. She looked almost serene. “We’ve worked it all out. He’s staying and we’re…” A wondering disbelief took hold of her voice. “We’re in love.”
Luke could only blink at her. She was in love? Lil? His hard-charging, roughneck little sister? She hardly even did relationships, much less love.
But she must have been, because Lil wouldn’t say it unless she was 110% sure.
“That’s… that’s awesome.” It was, and he was happy that Lil was so happy, but he felt… left behind.
Benedict had Pilar and now Lil had Adriano. And Luke had—
He wouldn’t even allow himself to think her name. No matter that they’d almost kissed, that he spent more time with her than anyone else in his life at the moment… hell, no matter how eagerly he looked forward to seeing her… he wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t put the burden of his need on her, even in the privacy of his own mind.
“We should have a barbeque,” Lil was saying. “To celebrate that I’m off bed rest and to introduce Adriano to the family.” She rubbed her hands together, probably already thinking up a menu.
“Yeah.” Luke’s tongue was numb as he said it. “Yeah. You should invite Bea and Russ. I think she’d like to show him off.”
Well, at least he could still sound halfway normal.
“Oh my God, can you believe it?” Lil asked. “But I called that before they even left.”
He raised a skeptical brow. “You did not.”
Luke had been the one to arrange for Russ to help Bea on her trip. Lil hadn’t known anything about it.
“Did so,” Lil countered. “Ask Bea.”
He had talked to Bea—he’d been the one to meet her in the hospital after the trip had gone terribly. Bea had been fine though, just shaken. “She said you called him Fireman Goofy—which, if you really knew Russ, you’d know he’s anything but—so how was that predicting them getting together?”
Sometimes following Lil’s train of thought felt like running off a cliff.
“I called him Fireman Goofy because I knew it would send Bea into a panic. And when Bea panics, she does interesting things.” Lil twirled her hand through the air as she pronounced interesting. “And then there was the one-night stand thing between them too,” she said as a rapid afterthought.
“Huh. Right, so it was your calling him Goofy that set everything off and not that incidental detail?”
“Yup.” She gave him a brazen grin, daring him to do anything but find her adorable.
Which of course he couldn’t do. He laughed and pulled her in for another hug, not quite so tight as hers because of the baby. “Never change, Lil.”
She squeezed him back. “I love you too, bro.”
Maybe his siblings pairing off wouldn’t be so bad. Although the empty sensation in his middle didn’t exactly fade at the thought.
Adriano walked in then, giving Luke a wary look.
Luke released his sister. “Hey.”
It wasn’t aggressive, but it wasn’t exactly welcoming. He was glad that Lil and Adriano had worked things out, but he wasn’t quite ready to admit that to Adriano. It wasn’t like he and Luke had fallen in love.
“Hey.” Adriano’s greeting was just as flat. But when he caught Lil’s eye, they exchanged a look that made Luke want to squirm.
He turned his face away, needing to give them some privacy.
“I’ll just be off then,” he called in their general direction with a halfhearted wave.
“You don’t want dinner?” Lil asked.
It smelled amazing and it killed him to say it, but: “No, I’ve got plans.” He didn’t, but he didn’t want to play the third wheel tonight.
Moping sounded pretty good, so he went to his room to do exactly that. He flopped onto his bed. After a minute or two, he got sick of feeling sorry for himself. He needed something to do.
He pondered calling Ana. It was a Friday night, but she was probably at home. Probably working. They couldn’t go out or anything—the two of them sharing a cozy meal wasn’t happening—but they could…
He drew a blank. If they weren’t working out, he had no excuse to call her. And “I just wanted to talk to you” wasn’t an excuse.
He could call up a friend. He had plenty of friends. Except that the person he wanted to talk to wasn’t his friend anymore thanks to what Josh had done. So calling Jackson was out too.
He rubbed his thumb across his forehead, trying to smooth out the lines there. Trying to figure out what he ought to be doing.
Fuck it. He pulled out his cell phone. He wouldn’t call Ana, but he could text her. That was pretty innocuous. If she didn’t want to reply, she didn’t have to.
What are you up to?
The reply buzzed back only a few seconds later. Working.
He smiled. She was around and she did want to talk. Then he read her text again and shook his head. She was a dynamo at her job and everything else she did, but she never stopped. It made him tired just to think about everything she did. At work or at home?
Home. What are you up to?
He wanted to write, Feeling sorry for myself and wishing I could actually meet up with you. Instead he sent, Nothing. Just being bored. Which was still kind of pathetic. But hey, it beat what he first wanted to send.
If you’re bored, then you’re boring. That came a second after he hit send. She might say she was working, but she was answering him back fast.
He sent back, Thanks, Mom.
Her reply took a little longer this time. So, because you have nothing to do, you’re bugging me?
Bugging was kind of an unkind way to put it. But it was true enough—he always had liked to poke her. Yep.
She’d said she was at home, but he wondered exactly what that meant. He knew she lived with her mom and sister, but he’d never seen the house himself. Was she in her bedroom, lying on her stomach with her work spread before her, her legs kicked over her head? Or maybe she was at the dining room table, having taken it over. She might even have her own office there. Her desk at the resort was organized, but not really neat. Would her desk at home be the same? Or did she let that one get messier?
His phone buzzed again: Did you reach the end of your Netflix queue? Like, you really have nothing to do?
He couldn’t help but smile as he imagined how she’d say that. He could almost see the expression she was wearing right now: halfway to rolling her eyes, but also halfway to smiling. For all that she was scolding him, she’d answered his texts and kept on answering them. Which raised the question: Why are you working so late on a Friday? Didn’t we talk about burnout?
Another long pause. Maybe he’d pushed too far with that. But then she replied: Yes. But I had another meeting with the consultant yesterday.
He shifted on his bed, pondering how to respond to that. The consultant stuff was obviously a sore spot, but Ana wouldn’t be able to tell him much about what was going on and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by asking the wrong thing. You didn’t say anything about it when I saw you.
There. That was neutral. She could go on and say how she felt, or let it drop.
I was still working out my feelings. And working out my rage on the body bag.
He remembered that from last night, although he’d pinned it down to simple determination on her part. She didn’t just work out—she attacked the exercises. Yeah, if that had been a real live human, he’d be hurting today.
Hopefully that would make her smile a bit. Yeah, he was bored and wanted to distract himself, but more than that, he wanted to amuse her. To give her a few moments of happy distraction.
It didn’t work though. Ana sent back: She wants me to track everything I do all day. So I’m trying to get all this work done so I won’t have anything to track over the weekend. Except our workouts.
He could imagine how someone as independent as Ana felt about having to report on her movements. Probably about the same as he would feel.
Let me understand, he wrote. In order to minimize how much work you have to report to her, you’re doing more work?
No, it’s the same amount of work. I’m just trying to do it faster.
That was nuts, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. And I’m interrupting you with my boredom.
Yep.
But she didn’t tell him she had to go. So he decided to tease her a little. After all, he did like poking her.
Sorry my boredom is annoying you. Maybe you should suggest something for me to do?
Another long pause. Shit. Maybe he had misread the situation and she just wanted to get back to work.
But then the phone buzzed again and he busted out laughing at her message: Was that a proposition for sexting?
Oh yeah, she wanted to play.
Can you really have sex through texts?
Sure. You can have any kind of sex.
E-mail sex?
It’ll take longer, but yes.
Now he was really laughing, doubled over on his bed as he tried to breathe. Jesus, she was funny. And quick.
She went on: With e-mail sex, you fill my inbox with your hot musky spurts of manly essence.
As you wish. E-mail’s sent. Watch out—it might be a little sticky.
There was another long pause, and he watched the phone eagerly, anxious for her response. Needing her response, really. His fingers were tight on the phone as he practically willed her to continue the game.
Then she wrote: My mom just called up the stairs asking if I was okay because I was laughing so hard.
What’d you tell her?
That I was having phone sex with Luke Merrill.
Sexting. Nuance matters.
I have to say, it’s been pretty disappointing so far. You haven’t even sent me a dick pic.
That made him do a spit take. Why the hell would I ever take a picture of my own penis? I see him every day. I don’t need a picture to remember.
I’ve never seen your penis.
Shit. He went very, very still. Of course she wasn’t asking to see it, and she didn’t want to… but the possibility was a bubble right in the middle of his brain, expanding and expanding, making him light-headed and his limbs tingly—
And then it popped.
They were playing a game. Nothing more. So he made another joke: He looks like pretty much every other penis you’ve seen.
He sent that, then couldn’t resist the next: Only bigger though.
You call him “he”?
Yeah. He’s pretty much my best friend. Always there, always up for a good time.
He tucked a hand behind his head and grinned at his own wit. She was going to love that one.
It took a full two minutes for her to write back: I can’t breathe I’m laughing so hard. Your texts are going to kill me and they’ll use them as evidence at the homicide trial.
Don’t go into the light. I still need you for this race.
See? There? I’m dead. I hope you’re happy.
He was. He really was. Bantering like this with her had been exactly what he’d needed. And he hoped that she was happy too—the “laughing fit to die” was probably a good sign of that.
Reluctantly, he typed out: I’m happy that you’re happy. And I’ll let you get back to work now.
He’d bugged her enough for one night, and he had no doubt that she had a mountain of work to get through.
Yeah, I’ve still got a ton of stuff to do. Thanks for the break though.
He smiled sadly at his phone. He’d been expecting her to say just that—hell, he’d purposely left it open for her to—but it still ached a bit to know the game was done. No problem. And if you need another, you know where to come for some more of that hot text love. I’ll spurt it right into your messages.
Thanks. You’re super generous.
I know.
Talk to you later.
Later.
He switched off the phone and tucked both hands behind his head, contemplating his ceiling.