Page 72 of Spring Break Fling

“Uh, nobody.” My brain scrambled for an excuse. “Radio? TV.”

“Bullshit. Listen, I handled your pitch over the phone for you. You’re lucky you uploaded your files to the shared drive, otherwise I’d have been talking out of my ass and we’d have lost this client. Speaking of files, yours were practically an incoherent mess and unfinished. I had to improvise.” Clarke paused to draw a deep breath, sounding like a disappointed father scolding his daughter on her Spring Break trip. I had a feeling he was saving the worst of it for when we were face to face. “The client still wants to move forward, but I need you to commit to giving this your full attention. This is your last chance. No distractions. Do you understand?”

I stared at Nikko, who was now scratching his head, still looking very much like a man who’d just woken up in chaos. “I understand,” I said quietly.

“Good,” Clarke said curtly. “I’m booking your flight back to Idaho. I don’t think the ocean air is doing you any favors. I’ll send the itinerary in the morning. And Hannah?”

“Yes?”

“No more screw-ups.”

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone. My stomach rolled as the weight of what had just happened settled over me. I pinched my arm. “Ow!”

“Why’d you do that?” Nikko asked, rubbing a hand over his belly.

“Clarke, my boss, delivered the pitch I’d spent days preparing.”

“That’s bad?”

“Yes. Very bad. He saved me and the account, but he just stripped me of the chance to prove myself.”

“That’s bad,” Nikko said with a nod.

I could tell he was still half asleep. We had been up late. We had ordered another bottle of wine after finishing the first. While I didn’t think either of us had been drunk, we were not firing on all cylinders.

“It’s fine,” I lied, tossing my phone onto the dresser.

Nikko was still standing there, clearly trying to make heads or tails of things. I paused to consider his reaction. He panicked when I startled him awake. I was sure that had a little something to do with his past life.

I walked around the bed and put my hands on his chest. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, but his voice lacked its usual conviction. He glanced around the room as if to reassure himself of where he was. “Just not used to waking up to crisis mode, you know?”

I nodded, understanding more than he realized. He wasn’t the type to let anyone see him flustered. “I know,” I replied, squeezing his wrists gently. “Sorry for the commotion. It’s just, well, I really fucked up. I missed the presentation. I’ve spent nearly a full week trying to perfect this thing and I screwed up. It’s the whole reason I’m in town.”

He reached up and cupped my cheek. “Hannah, are you okay?”

It was my turn to hesitate. Clarke’s call had shaken me more than I wanted to admit. Not just the near-miss on the presentation but how quickly everything seemed to be slipping through my fingers—the job I valued, the respect I craved in my field, even my own grip on this unexpected, improbable thing with him.

I dug down and found the part of me that was all about goals.

“I need to work,” I said. “Just because Clarke saved my ass once does not mean he’s going to let me off easy. I have to hit the ground running.”

He nodded. “I can order breakfast.”

“I don’t have time for breakfast! Did you not hear what I said? I should be in a meeting right now. I messed up.”

“Yeah, I got that.” His tone was carefully neutral, but his expression betrayed his disappointment. He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry for taking up all your time. When you’re done, call me. You can come by the shop. I’ll fix your tattoo. Like I should’ve done from the start.”

I froze, my fingers gripping the hem of my shirt. The way he said it—quiet, resigned—made me feel like the worst person in the world. “Nikko, I⁠—”

“It’s fine,” he cut me off with a small, tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Go do what you need to do, Hannah.”

He started to dress.

“Nikko, I’m not sorry about the time we spent together. I’m just saying, this account is really important.”