Page 27 of Spring Break Fling

“Good son, my ass. Try being a mediocre father and I’d be happy.”

9

HANNAH

It was the kind of day where everything clicked. The kind of day I’d been chasing for years. I looked good and I felt good. The week in Miami had been the renewal I needed.

I wanted to say it was the new outfit I was wearing. But it was more than that. I felt like I was glowing. The Miami sun had given me a little color. And there was this new confidence I was wearing. That could be attributed to the sex with Nikko. That night did change me. He made me feel beautiful.

He made me feel desired in a way that I hadn’t for a long time. It wasn’t just about the physical connection, though that was definitely electric. It was how he paid attention to what I needed to enjoy the experience.

When I walked into the office that morning, Cheryl from accounting immediately noticed. “Girl, you’ve got that post-vacation glow,” she teased, handing me a pile of mail she’d been collecting for me while I was away.

“Thank you.” I laughed, flipping through the envelopes and circulars. “Miami treated me well.”

I walked to my office, prepared for the day. I was wearing my new outfit because today was a big day. I had been working on this pitch for weeks. As soon as we got home, I had gone right back to work on it.

Now, it was time to present it.

My blouse was long-sleeved. That was intentional. I wasn’t worried about my tattoo insulting anyone but it wasn’t ready for the world just yet. The damn thing was still itchy. It was enough to drive me insane. Nikko’s initials—NM—felt like they were seared into my soul. I didn’t want anyone to see the tattoo and ask me what the initials meant. That would be an awkward story. I thought about claiming it was my grandma’s initials or a childhood pet, but that made zero sense.

Every time I thought about the damn tattoo, I wanted to book a flight back to Florida just to throttle him.

But for now, I had bigger fish to fry.

I went over the pitch for what was like the hundredth time. No detail was ignored. It was basically an audition. My company was hoping to land a new client based in New York. The account would be huge for us.

The company had a huge release coming out next year. The marketing strategy had to be a long game that paid off. I had come up with my own concept and I was going to pitch it to my manager and marketing board first to see if they thought it was good enough to pitch to the company.

I wanted this account. It would be a huge steppingstone in my career.

Before it was time to present the strategy, I made a quick trip to the restroom. I adjusted my hair and checked my makeup.

I couldn’t resist rolling up my sleeve and looking at the tattoo. It itched, but it wasn’t infected. If I was being fair, it was actually cool. But dammit, every time I looked at those stupid little letters, I thought about him.

I was sure that was his intention. But I didn’t like it. How would he have felt if I had branded his ass?

“He’d like it,” I muttered to myself.

Which was why he did it.

Asshole.

But there was a tiny part of me that liked it too, liked that he claimed me as his. I couldn’t explain it, but it was intoxicating. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me was all so… dominating. It scared and thrilled me at the same time.

I rolled my sleeve back down. It was time to separate professional Hannah from personal Hannah.

As I entered the room, all eyes were on me. Clearing my throat, I started my presentation with a confidence that felt as if it had been gifted to me on those Miami beaches. “Good morning, everyone.”

I had been practicing this pitch so often it was second nature, so I dove right in.

“…and with this strategy,” I said, finishing up my pitch, “we’re not just creating a campaign. We’re creating a legacy. Something that connects with their audience, builds loyalty, and makes this release the kind of cultural event that’s talked about for years. It’ll be huge. They will explode onto the map.”

I paused, scanning the room. The marketing board members looked thoughtful. My manager, Clarke Mitchell, leaned back in his chair, nodding slightly. It was a good sign. Or at least I hoped it was.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. You could have easily heard a pin drop in the room. I wanted to believe I knocked them speechless because it was so damn good but they were giving me nothing.

Clarke clapped his hands together once. “Hannah, I have to say, I’m impressed.”