There was no easy way to explain myself out of this.
No way to spin it into a joke.
Maybe if I was really lucky, I could just avoid John for the rest of the retreat.
Or the rest of my life.
Elaine stepped into the room, saving me.
She looked like she’d just walked out of a spa. Draped in a silk lounge set, long blonde curls still damp and brushed back, her skin glowing. We didn’t even have to ask her twice to take a photo.
“This was your idea?” she asked as I positioned my phone on the window ledge.
“I thought it’d be fun,” I said, every syllable a lie. “You know… for social.”
John leaned back against the kitchen island, arms crossed, watching me with mild suspicion.
“I’m ready,” Elaine announced. She’d angled herself toward the window just enough to catch the light—her cheekbones gleamed like they could fry an egg. Otis would’ve wept.
“You coming?” I asked John, my voice a full octave too high.
“Only because you asked so nicely.” He smirked. Insufferable man. He probably thought he had something on me now—a little story he could drop at any moment to make me look ridiculous. I lifted my chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“Cool,” I said, trying to position myself near him without it seeming obvious. But as soon as I hit the timer and turned back, I realized I’d completely miscalculated.
John was already flanked by Elaine and Jeremy. Her hand had vanished behind his back. Jeremy, on his tiptoes, tried to match John’s height.
May sat beside Jeremy on the arm of a leather chair. That left me the only available spot—right next to Elaine. I had five seconds to wedge myself in.
My god did this woman smell good.
I crossed my fingers, hoping I could crop her out later, send my mom the doctored version, and drown my shame in gin. I smiled—forced and too wide—just as the shutter clicked.
Elaine lunged for my phone.
“Oh my god, we look amazing. Tag me when you post it.” She immediately started snapping more selfies with her own phone. Apparently, the lighting wasjust that good.
I scanned the shot.
Elaine did look amazing. Of course she did. Soft curves, perfectly posed hands, the barest suggestion of cleavage—she looked like she belonged on John’s arm.
Jeremy looked like himself. Big grin. Pure joy.
May had been distracted by something outside, most likely another squirrel.
John Kater, New York Times bestselling author, looked ready for a magazine shoot. Long legs, smug grin. Fucking dimples.
And me?
I had my eyes closed.
Chapter Ten
Judgment and time of day have zero correlation.
John Kater does not unnerve me.
I am terrible at hiding.
