Breathless on the Beach. Wendy Etherington
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“In the wine cellar,” Shelby said. “So vent away.”
“What the hell does Richard think he’s doing?” Victoria asked her friends.
“Haven’t got a clue,” Calla answered, returning to her perch on the counter.
Shelby dumped chopped celery into a mixing bowl. “It’s got to be some kind of ego thing. Like having two dates to the prom.”
“Why would you want to have two dates to the prom?” Calla asked.
“I wouldn’t.” Shelby shrugged. “But some people would.”
“This is business,” Victoria reminded them. “Not social hour. And highly unprofessional.”
Calla shook her head. “Shelby’s got a point. There’s nothing technically wrong with it, apart from being underhanded and sneaky. But that’s business as usual for you.”
“He invites me and my friends for a relaxing weekend, tells me about his supposedly top secret new safe, then asks my competition to tag along and work directly against me for his contract. How do you figure that’s business as usual?”
“It’s like an on-the-job interview,” Calla said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Obviously, Coleman’s retirement isn’t the big secret you thought it was, and Richard wants to pick the best person to replace him for the ad campaign.”
Victoria contemplated the remaining contents of her glass and wondered if downing it in one swallow would make her look as desperate as she felt. “Thanks for your support, best friend.”
Calla sighed. “You have my support, as always.”
“Come on, hon,” Shelby added. “A competition between you and Peter hardly seems fair. Maybe you should spot him ten points or something.”
“Let’s not go that far,” Calla said. “Didn’t you hear him bragging earlier? The sooner he gets knocked out in this bout, the happier we’ll all be. And you …” She waggled her finger at Victoria. “We’re not happy about what Richard did, but you have to admit it makes sense. Frankly, it seems like something you’d do.”
Victoria’s jaw dropped. “Take that back.”
“Since when did you get so thin-skinned?” Calla asked.
“Since my mother called me and wanted to know why I hadn’t been promoted yet. And did I realize she’d been the youngest senior VP in the history of the company, and did I know I hadn’t met that goal, and did I want her to call Coleman Sr. and put in a good word.”
Silence fell.
Calla’s face went red, and Shelby paused her dinner prep. “When did this happen?” Shelby asked gently.
“A few days ago.” Victoria was already regretting her outburst. She wanted to earn her promotions. Wanted to be a success without her mother’s help. “Same old, same old. I don’t know why I let her get to me.” Victoria waved her hand in dismissal. She would never live up to The Legend. But, damn, she wanted to make a respectable race out of it. “How was the Jet Ski?”
Calla smiled widely. “That is one hot cowboy.”
The spurt of jealousy that shot through Victoria caught her off guard. “I thought you were crazy about Detective Antonio.”
“I am sometimes,” Calla said, “but he’s mad at me right now.”
“Why?” As far as Victoria had been able to tell, the attraction went both ways.
Calla rolled her eyes. “Who knows? He’s as ornery as a wet cat.” Looking smug, she added, “Anyway, Jared’s interested in somebody besides me.”
Victoria sipped her drink and said nothing.
“I’m with Calla on this one,” Shelby stated. “There’s no way you haven’t noticed, V.”
“Does anybody else think it’s ironic for Richard to be trolling for PR executives for a safe campaign, while at the same time hiring Mr. Adventure to keep us running around like deranged daredevils?”
Clearly not deterred by Victoria’s attempt to change the subject, Calla slid off the counter and moved toward her. “Come on. Don’t you think he’s cute?”
“No,” Victoria returned, completely honest. Cute was nowhere in the same hemisphere with Jared McKenna.
Strong, capable and smokin’ hot? Absolutely.
Finishing her martini, she set the glass on the counter. “I’m leaving now. Thanks for the drink.”
“You like him,” Calla insisted, blocking her exit.
Victoria scooted around her friend. “What is this—middle school?”
“We were all silly girls once,” Calla called after her.
Though she paused in the doorway, Victoria didn’t turn back. “I wasn’t.”
Rolling her shoulders, she moved down the hall to the stairs. The house boasted a variety of decks and sunrooms, and Victoria was intent on reaching the one outside the third-floor game room.
She really wished she could give in to her friends’ light mood, and before Peter had shown up and spoiled her weekend—along with the near certainty of her promotion—she might have. Now, however, the stakes had been raised, she was knocked off balance and she had to get her stance back in a hurry, or she’d be the one lying on the mat.
As she stepped through the French doors and onto the balcony, she was glad she’d changed into a sleeveless blue dress. The summer heat showed no sign of abating.
But the crashing waves against the shore helped her state of mind and reminded her of her own strength. Even with the complication of her rival, she’d find a way to win Richard’s business. Failure wasn’t an option.
“I’m not sure I could ever get used to that view.”
Nearly jumping out of her skin, she whirled.
Jared was stretched out on a lounge chair, a beer bottle in his hand. As he rose, the long, strong length of him towering over her, she took a second to calm her runaway pulse, as well as notice he’d changed clothes. A perfectly pressed white dress shirt covered his broad chest, and the tips of scuffed brown boots peeked from beneath his dark jeans.
“I didn’t realize anybody was up here,” she said, resisting the urge to lick her lips as a breeze ruffled his dark hair and warmth rose in his brown eyes. Why did he have to be so damn appealing?
“Since you didn’t immediately scowl at me, I kinda figured that.”
“I don’t scowl at you every minute.”
“Most minutes.” Setting his beer aside, he joined her at the railing, resting his forearms against the wood. “Calla and I missed you on the Jet Skis earlier.”
“I had my hair and nails done this morning. I didn’t realize Richard was planning Water Weekend Adventures from Hell. Do you have any idea what a blowout at a top Manhattan salon costs?”
“Nope.”
“And you don’t care.”
“Nope. But I bet your hair and nails are always perfect.”
“They are. Is there something wrong with a professional appearance?”
“Not when you’re being professional, I guess. But I think—and maybe this is just me—you’d look great messed up.”
“Messed up?”
“Maybe mussed up.” He leaned close. “You know, tousled, disheveled …” He stroked her cheek with the tip of his finger. “Thoroughly pleasured.”
Heat raced through her body. “Are you always this forward with