Elizabeth O'Roark

He’s right and at the moment I don’t fucking care. He’s got everything else—free to do what he wants, no responsibility for the farm. He doesn’t get Olivia too.

sink into the pillow again. Who the hell sleeps this hard in a complete stranger’s home?

I’m not so certain about that, I think, remembering the one and only time Hayes and I have stood in the same room. I still don’t know why he was in Topside, sticking out like a sore thumb in his expensive suit

or why—for one long moment—he was watching me with something that seemed like interest. But he hadn’t even reached the bar before that thing in his face changed, turned cold and resigned, and the next time I looked up he was gone. Perhaps it had nothing to do with me, but it doesn’t seem like the most auspicious start to our working relationship

Tali. When the right guy comes along, your walls will recede.”

I sort of doubt that, given my plan is just to avoid men altogether.

But either way, Hayes Flynn won’t be touching my walls, or anything else.

Before I can correct it, he appears, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black suit, even taller than I’d realized—and even prettier. Dark hair gleaming, damp and pushed off his face, a slight flush to his sharp cheekbones, still warm from the shower.

It’s a face that would force you to look a second and then a third time. A face that makes you brace for the sound of his voice...undoubtedly low and rough as gravel, the kind of voice that plucks a chord at the base of your stomach, makes you squeeze your thighs together in anticipation. Or would, were he not looking at me as if I’d just broken into his home.

“Is this a joke?” he demands. His voice is exactly as I imagined. Too bad he had to ruin it by being him. He must have known I was coming, and I haven’t done anything wrong yet.

“No,” I say, suddenly grateful the counter separates us. “I’m Tali. Jonathan asked me to fill in for him while he was gone. I assumed you knew.”

A muscle flickers in his jaw. “He told me my replacement was named Natalia,” he says, blowing out a tight breath. “Not his friend, the bartender.”

He says “bartender” as if it’s synonymous with racist or pedophile. I’d think a guy who drinks as much as he does would have a great deal of respect for my profession.

“Is there a problem?” I ask. My voice is probably more threatening and less conciliatory than is called for—no bad situation I can’t make worse. But I quit my job for this, so I’m not going down without a fight.

“I need to speak to Jonathan when he lands,” he says, pressing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “There’s obviously been a misunderstanding. I mean, do you even have any experience?”

Do I have experience answering the phone and picking up dry cleaning? Yes. Loads. I truly can’t believe Jonathan worried I’d sleep with this guy. Granted, I’d like to do plenty of things to him, but they mostly involve spit, and not in a sexy way.

“Yes,” I reply, folding my arms beneath my chest. “Last I checked, answering phones didn’t require an MBA from Harvard.”

“Which you clearly don’t have,” he says.

I could counter that I’ve attended grad school, but referencing something I quit probably won’t help my case.

He grabs the coffee, sighing as he glances at the sugars. Apparently, he is too busy and important to tear his own sugar packets. Lesson learned for tomorrow, not that it appears there will be a tomorrow.

pertinent, personal or otherwise. But the only people who actually have Hayes’s number are his friend Ben, Jonathan, and now me…so he’ll know who’s to blame if it gets out.

“Make sure people leave you alone. Jonathan told me.”

“Exactly,” he replies. “Yourself included.” And then he hangs up without another word.

I heave a deep sigh and close my eyes. It’s going to be a really, really long six weeks.

“Are you...are you wearing my date’s dress?” he asks, horrified.

The silver lining to having nothing left to lose is that...I have nothing left to lose.

“Do you like it?” I whisper, raising nervous, hopeful eyes to him. “I disposed of her, just like you asked.”

He’s frozen. There’s confusion in his gaze, and the tiniest seed of dawning terror.

I need you to meet me in Malibu,” Hayes says exactly fifteen minutes later.

It’s a plot turn I should have absolutely predicted, given the way my year has gone