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Kendall grimaces. “Partially. It’s mostly dirty slush right now. So jealous of you guys. That sunshine looks amazing.”
“Yep. It’ll be eighty degrees today,” I boast, not even trying to downplay the awesomeness of wearing shorts in late November. “We’ll probably go to the beach after breakfast again. Right?” I glance at Marcus—and flush again as I see that he’s still looking at me like a kid at an ice cream cone… the salted caramel kind you savor with every lick.
Does the man have no shame? Kendall is bound to think we fuck like rabbits on Viagra—which, come to think of it, isn’t far from the truth.
“I was actually thinking we might visit St. Augustine,” Marcus says, blinking slowly. “But if you prefer the beach—”
“No, no, St. Augustine is great. Oldest city in the United States and all that. It’s very pretty, really, all historical and stuff. There’s a fort and an alligator farm and museums—” I stop, realizing I’m babbling and totally ignoring Kendall. Turning back to the camera, I give my friend an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. We’ll figure out our day later. Tell me how your Thanksgiving went. Did you end up visiting your parents?”
Kendall grins and launches into the always-entertaining tale of her family’s dinnertime shenanigans. Marcus listens attentively, laughing in all the appropriate places, but as soon as she’s done, he excuses himself to go shower and shave. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your chat—just came out here to make sure Emma didn’t disappear on me,” he explains to my friend with a rueful grin. “It was nice chatting with you. I hope to see you in person soon.”
With a wave at the camera, he presses a blush-inducing kiss to my lips and heads back inside.
Kendall waits exactly five seconds after the sliding door closes behind his muscled back before hissing, “Oh. My. God. Emma, oh my fucking God.”
I blink at her. “What?”
“That man is legit crazy about you, that’s what!”
“What? No, it’s just—”
“Nuh-uh. Don’t even start. I have eyes, you know.”
“I know, but…” I look around to make sure my grandparents didn’t come back and Marcus isn’t within hearing distance. No one is around, but I still lean closer to the camera as I say in a low voice, “It’s just sexual, okay? The attraction is there, for sure, but that doesn’t change anything. I’m not what he needs, and he’s not my type either.”
“Bullshit.”
I pull back, irrationally offended. “No, it’s not. The man is a billionaire—a billionaire, Kendall—and I can barely pay my rent. And even if that weren’t the case, he’s like the ultimate Type A: ambitious, athletic, career-driven—everything I’m not. I mean, you should’ve heard him talking to my grandfather about stocks. He personally knows all the Fortune 500 CEOs.”
“So what?” Kendall says. “You’ll get to know them too if you keep dating him. They’re just people, you know. Rich and powerful, sure, but still people. As to being ambitious and career-obsessed, when was the last time you played hooky from work? Or didn’t meet an editing deadline?”
“Well, never, obviously,” I say with a frown. “But that doesn’t mean—”
“No? Then how about the fact that you’re basically running two careers in parallel—your editing and your full-time bookstore job?”
“Where I’m a cashier,” I say pointedly, but Kendall is undeterred.
“On paper, maybe. From what you’ve told me, your boss relies on you to pretty much run the place. Haven’t you been deciding which books to order lately? Accepting the deliveries? Opening and closing the store when Mr. Smithson is on vacation?”
I sigh. “Kendall, please. Marcus runs a hundred-billion-dollar hedge fund. There’s no comparison here, okay?”
She blows out a breath. “Okay, fine. So he’s more ambitious than you. That doesn’t mean you can’t be together. Who says he needs another Type A person? Maybe his own Type-A-ness is plenty for him. In fact, maybe he—”
“Emma? Emma, sweetheart?”
Grandma’s voice carries faintly toward me, and I glance over my shoulder to see her approaching the sliding doors from the kitchen. She and Gramps must be back from their salsa class, which means it’s time for breakfast.
“Sorry, I have to run,” I tell Kendall, and she nods, gathering her sleek hair into a stylish ponytail.
“Fine, but don’t disappear on me again, okay? Unless Marcus steals you to a private island, I want a daily report on what’s going on with you and Mr. Type A. Got it?”
“Got it,” I promise with a grin, and hanging up, I turn to face my grandmother.
14
Marcus
We eat breakfast with Emma’s grandparents, then head out to explore the historical parts of St. Augustine. As Emma promised, the place is very pretty, with Spanish colonial architecture and an old fort serving as a scenic backdrop to hundreds of cute souvenir shops and restaurants. We wander around the cobblestone streets for a while, then buy a couple of slices of pizza and eat them while standing next to a shack that claims to be “The Oldest Jail in the United States.” Naturally, Emma insists on paying for her slice, and I let her, though it goes against every instinct I possess.
