When thirty minutes had passed, she figured she had drawn it out long enough. Someone was getting really anxious to use the bathroom, and she was tired of hearing the handle jiggle. She threw some water on her face and rubbed her eyes a few times. Yep, she looked suitably wiped out. As she walked down the hall back to her office, she wondered how long she could pull this off. The chances of her not snapping Brant’s head off when he made another stupid remark were slim to none. She’d give it at best the rest of the day, maybe two if he was out of the office a lot.
When she walked back inside, she saw a Starbucks Frappuccino on her desk. She found herself circling it like a bomb-sniffing dog. Someone cleared his throat behind her, and she turned to find Brant standing there looking unusually nervous. “I . . . I got your favorite.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him how he knew her favorite when he was never the one getting the coffee, but she managed to rein it in at the last second. Look pathetic. Just imagine yourself married to the man. “Thank you, it looks great. I’m sorry for running out like that.” Oh hell, there is no way I can carry this off all day, no matter how amusing. I’m dying already.
Raising a hand to rub her temple, she added, “I think it’s just this headache I’ve had all day. Maybe I’m coming down with something.” A few moments later, Brant had gathered her purse and ushered her through the door, assuring her that things would be fine there until she felt better. It was amazing—she probably could even push this fake illness to a couple of days if she wanted to because the guilt monkey was riding him heavily. If she had gone home sick any other time, he would have bitched and moaned like the world was coming to an end. Having an afternoon off with his blessing was a rare treat and one she intended to enjoy. She would go home, grab her bikini, and spend the rest of the day at the beach. Life was good. . . .
Chapter Two
Brant slammed the door to his beach house and walked straight to the liquor cabinet. The afternoon had been chaos. When Emma had gone home sick, he had been grateful. He couldn’t handle the guilt of making her cry, so running the office alone for the afternoon had seemed like a small price to pay. Who would have thought that the phone would be ringing every five minutes? Then he couldn’t find the contract he needed from Emma’s wacky filing system. His damn computer had somehow eaten his e-mails and wouldn’t spit them back out, no matter how many buttons he pushed. He was completely wiped out. First, the bomb from Ava and then Emma crying.
He poured a generous measure of whiskey and walked out onto his deck to enjoy the view with his hard-earned drink. He had just taken the last sip when someone on the beach a few feet down caught his attention. His house was next to a public-access area, so there was never a shortage of beach lovers coming and going. He wasn’t sure what made her stand out from any of the other dark-haired females in the area. Maybe the skimpy cut of the string bikini bottoms. When she finally turned fully toward him, he sucked in a deep breath. That little witch! He’d thought something about the woman on the beach looked familiar. She sure didn’t look weepy or sick now. He was off the deck and striding across the sand within moments.
When he reached Emma, she had her pert little bottom in the air while she bent over packing up her beach bag. He cleared his throat at the same time she noticed the shadow falling across the sand in front of her. She whirled, crouching into a defensive posture that impressed the hell out of him. The play of emotions across her face was downright amusing. “Well, well,” he drawled, “it certainly looks like you’re feeling better.”
Barely missing a beat, she smiled, saying, “I thought some sun would help.”
Nodding, Brant said, “Yeah, the sun usually works miracles for a headache; that is the first thing I would have done.”
“My headache was better after taking some Tylenol. I was still having the chills, though, so I thought the sun would warm me up.”
Brant had to give her credit for thinking fast on her feet, but he still moved in for the kill. He took a leisurely look down her barely covered body, smirking as he said, “Your case of the chills must be a lot better since you are wearing next to nothing. I know anytime I’m sick, I come straight to the beach practically naked and bake in the sun for hours. Ahhh, does a body good, right?”
She gave him a dirty look before flopping down on the towel in front of her. When she started rubbing her eyes like she was crying, he threw back his head and laughed. He might have been taken in again had it not been for that look she’d given him before turning on the waterworks.
She looked up at him, dropping all pretenses of sobbing, and deadpanned, “You’re a total asshole.”
If anything, that just made him laugh harder. He plopped down onto the sand beside her and nudged her shoulder. “That was some performance today. I admit, I fell for it hook, line and sinker.”
Emma snickered beside him. “That was pretty priceless. The great and powerful Brant Stone, in the hallway pleading with his lowly assistant to come out of the bathroom. You almost sounded human.”
“You stayed in there forever; what were you doing? Updating your Facebook status?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’d never give you airtime on my social media. I don’t want any of my friends to know who I work for . . . meaning you. My high school reunion is coming up and I don’t need that kind of embarrassment. If you must know, I read Star magazine from cover to cover and slept for the last ten minutes. I would have stayed longer but someone on that floor has a bladder the size of a pea. I guess it was asking too much that she go to another floor. There’s no way I would have been that persistent about trying to get into a bathroom someone had been in for half an hour.”
Beside her, Brant chuckled in agreement. “So do you live around here? You must if you’re using the beach in this area.”
Emma ignored his question, instead asking, “What are you doing here? Why in the world would you be walking on the beach in your suit? That seems uptight even for you.”
Brant pointed to his house. “Unfortunately for you, I live over there. It looks like fate brought you to my stretch of beach.”
Emma snorted. “Fate, huh? I could think of a few words to describe it, but that isn’t one of them.” Then she seemed to notice that he looked completely wiped out. “Bad day at the office, Mr. Stone?”
His easy smile turned to a scowl. “You have no idea. It started off badly when my assistant played me and then went to hell in a handbasket when said assistant went home because she was . . . sick. Everyone in the world needed something immediately today, and I couldn’t find anything in her complicated filing system.”