Page 19 of Hate To Be Mine

I turned to Bernadette, planning to ask if she was looking forward to the trip while easing into some light flirting that would make the next two weeks less adversarial.

“We need to talk about environmental protocols,” she said, pulling out a tablet from her bag. “Specifically, how careful we need to be to not spoil any of the natural areas where we’ll be shooting.”

I blinked. Was it too late to change seats? “Right now? We haven’t even taken off yet.”

“When better? You’ll be busy once we land, and I want to make sure we’re on the same page before we set foot on the island.”

The plane started taxiing toward the runway. Any hope of switching seats vanished. We were buckled in, the seatbelt sign was illuminated, and I was trapped next to her for at least the next fifteen minutes or so.

This was what I got for trying to be nice.

“Okay,” I said, resignation settling over me like a weighted blanket. “Hit me with the environmental protocols.”

She tapped her tablet, pulling up what looked like a PowerPoint presentation. Of course she had a presentation. “Miratoa is known for its mostly untouched natural beauty. The government is very careful to limit the number of tourists at any time, and they have strict regulations about development and environmental impact.”

“I know. That’s why we picked it.”

“And part of your agreement with the Miratoan government is that you’ll leave no trace behind. Everything you bring in, you take out. No littering, no disturbing wildlife, no damaging vegetation. They have inspectors who will verify compliance after you leave.”

The plane accelerated down the runway, the force pressing us back into our seats. Through the window, I watched New York fall away beneath us, the city shrinking as we climbed into the morning sky.

“I’m aware of all this,” I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “It’s in the contracts we signed. It’s in your binder. We’re not going to trash the island.”

“I’m sure you don’t intend to,” she said, and somehow made it sound like an insult. “But intentions don’t matter if the execution fails. Do you know what happens if even one member of your crew leaves trash on a protected beach? If someone disturbs a nesting site? Do you know what they’ll do if your equipment damages the coral reefs?”

“We get fined?”

“The Miratoan government shuts down the entire production. Immediately. No runway show, no final photoshoots, no global streaming event. Everything you’ve invested is gone. And my company has to pay out millions of dollars because you couldn’t be bothered to follow basic environmental guidelines.”

I looked at Bernadette and her pinched expression.

“You think I don’t take this seriously,” I said.

She shrugged. “My job is to make sure you do.”

The woman made a killjoy look like a good time. And I was going to be stuck with her for the next two weeks in a place many would consider heaven.

And she was going to be the sentry at the pearly gates making sure none of us enjoyed ourselves—especially me.

8

BERNADETTE

Sebastian moved to a different seat about twenty minutes into the flight. I told myself I was relieved. Sitting next to him was too much. The man smelled like candy. Man candy. What did man candy smell like? Sex.

No. I was thinking about sex. He smelled like vanilla bean in leather with a splash of spice. I didn’t know what it was, but it flipped a switch inside me. I felt feral. I wanted to pounce on him. I wanted to rub my body against him like a cat seeking attention.

Holy shit. What was wrong with me?

Pheromones. That’s it.

I needed to cool my jets or the next two weeks were going to be very uncomfortable. I couldn’t be lusting after a man I was supposed to be watching like a hawk.

I pulled out my phone and queued up my audiobook. It wasn’t one of those erotic novels that so many of my coworkers listened to. I had tried a couple and realized I was blushing in my own apartment. No way in hell was I going to try and listen to that on a plane full of people with one of those people being a man I would absolutely love to plug into the role of the male main character.

Instead, I’m going to listen to A Social History of Knitting: From Ancient Craft to Modern Revival.

I reclined my seat just a little bit and settled in for the long journey. The narrator had a soothing voice, perfect for long flights, and the subject matter was genuinely fascinating. At least to me. I knew others would find the book as exciting as listening to a phonebook.