I tugged at my starched collar, the night air suddenly heavy in my lungs, and forced my eyes to safer territory—her feet.
“Who wears three-inch heels to walk through sand?”
She wriggled her toes, the nails painted red like the flowers on her dress. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”
Valerie breezed past me, leaving behind a hint of vanilla and stiletto footprints.
“You’re late,” she tossed back.
“They call it fashionably,” I muttered, falling into step behind her. “And I’m already sweltering in this getup. I’ll probably die of heatstroke.”
“I’ll send carnations,” she drawled, glancing over her shoulder—just in time to catch her heel in the sand. A soft yelp, a flail, and her wide eyes snapped to mine.
Instinct kicked in. My hand found her waist before she could pitch forward. Her back hit my chest, her curls brushing my chin. I cleared my throat, the sound rough as if sand had lodged there, too.
“Careful," I said, "or we’ll have HR-mandated side-by-side caskets.”
She steadied, gaze flicking to where my hand still rested on her hip. “Only you would be morbid in paradise.”
“Only you would send budget-friendly flowers to my funeral.”
Her nose wrinkled as she bent to kick off her heels. Slinging them over her shoulder, she slipped free of my grip and moved down the path.
I swallowed the very braveI told you so.
Ahead, festive music mingled with the crash of waves. Twinkle lights draped the palms, a canopy of a thousand tiny spotlights.
We walked in silence.
Not the comfortable kind.
Tension clung to the balmy air as I searched for something—anything—to say. Small talk was my specialty: weather, sports, whatever meme had gone viral. Nothing too deep.
But Valerie saw straight through all that. And it wasn’t like I could tell her the truth, that I was already in over my head.
She’d love that. She'd probably start a conga line straight to the board, hips swaying to the rhythm of my downfall.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but that only made things worse. All I saw was Valerie in that too-tight tropical dress.
I needed to take the edge off, but one-night stands had long lost their appeal—leaving me alone with a head full of not-so-professional scenarios starring my arch-nemesis.
If she had any clue, she'd make me the case study for her next seminar:Soulmate Red Flags 101.
Which was fine. She wasn’t exactly my dream girl. I didn’t expect my partner to be a walking miracle who ticked every box on her impossible romance checklist.
Valerie slowed, then stopped in the middle of the path. She bounced once on her toes, breaking the silence with an audible curse. Watching her was like watching an elf dressed to kill commit to a decision.
She turned to face me. “We need a plan.”
I narrowed my eyes. “A plan?”
Valerie planted her hand on her hips, the silky fabric of her dress tightening over her curves. “Let’s face it. That last challenge was a disaster. Half the agency expected us to drown each other. Everyone will be watching to see if one of us stabs the other with a limbo pole tonight.”
I tried to hide my grin at her weapon of choice. “A limbo pole? They’re serving dinner. I’d opt for a shrimp skewer. More portable.”
Her growl was unexpectedly cute. “Delaney, I’m being serious. We need to play thisdifferently.”
I tipped my head back, staring at the lightbulb canopy. She wasn’t wrong. If I messed up tonight, I’d also have to worry about my grandfather scanning the pavilion for sharp objects.
