Page 5 of Hate To Be Mine

They. So they were going to try and gang up on me.

Bring it.

Once she left, I got to work. I pulled out my files and binders from my Kate Spade leather briefcase. I arranged them on the table in front of where I’d be sitting. The main binder with the comprehensive safety protocols and checklists. The folder with the Miratoan government’s environmental requirements. The documentation folder with every piece of paperwork Blackwell had submitted so far. The binder filled with far-fetched but possible scenarios, like what happened if there was a tsunami or one of the unfriendly island inhabitants like a sea snake or centipede decided to attack. Each talking point for our meeting had been noted with a color-coded sticky tab.

I ran my fingers over the binders and folders and straightened them so they were perfectly parallel. Perfectly straight. While the minutes ticked by, I reviewed my notes and breathed in the rich scent of the freshly brewed pot of coffee on the bar at the front of the room.

I was about to go pour myself a cup when the door opened.

Two men walked in, and I recognized them both immediately from my research. Briggs Blackwell, in an impeccably tailored suit, had the calm, assessing look of an attorney who’d seen everything. And Sebastian Blackwell, who also wore a suit but managed to look less buttoned up and more… troublesome.

He was taller than I’d expected. Beefier. And those blue eyes were even more distracting in person, which was deeply annoying, especially when he stared right at me and didn’t look away. His lips softened in an almost-smile, and for a moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off the way his lower lip⁠—

“Ms. Simmons,” Briggs said, extending his hand with a professional smile. “Thank you for coming in. I’m Briggs Blackwell, and this is my brother Sebastian.”

I cleared my throat and stood up abruptly. My thighs hit the table and I let out a little yelp before clasping Briggs’s hand. “Nice to meet you both.”

“You alright?” Briggs asked.

“Fine.” I reached for Sebastian’s hand next, and he clasped my fingers in his own. His grip was firm, warm, and steady, just like his stare. I licked my lips and pulled my hand free. I sat back down and gestured to the chairs across from me. “Shall we begin?”

Briggs took a seat but immediately leaned back. “This is Sebastian’s show,” he said. “He’ll be running the production on Miratoa, so I’ll let him take the lead here.”

Sebastian nodded. “Let me begin by assuring you that most of the shots will be totally safe. Standard beach stuff, models in the dresses and swimsuits, very straightforward. But if I go with the paragliding stuff—and I’m really leaning toward it because the aerial shots would be incredible—you can coordinate with the speedboat captain on the safety measures.”

I beg your finest pardon?

Surely Sebastian Blackwell had not just said what I thought he said.

“I’m sorry,” I interrupted, pulling my documentation folder closer. “The preliminary shot list you submitted made no mention of paragliding or speedboats.”

He blinked at me. “Well, yeah, that’s because I just thought of it. This is a fluid situation. Creativity strikes when it strikes.”

“Not if you want insurance coverage it doesn’t,” I said firmly.

His jaw tightened, and it made him look even more like the version of him on the posters in the lobby, but that easy smile quickly returned. “Right. Okay. I get it. Rules and regulations and all that.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Let me guess—you’re also going to tell me I can’t bring in the tigers?”

“If you mean the animals?” I asked flatly. “No. But if you mean the baseball team? Also no.”

Briggs snorted and Sebastian shot him a prickly glare before taking a slow, methodical sip of his coffee. Sebastian reached into the folder he’d brought with him and pulled out a single sheet of paper, sliding it across the table toward me.

“I actually anticipated this,” he said. He looked so pleased with himself. “I worked on this last night. It’s a list of additional safety measures I’ll be implementing for any new ideas I have. It should cover all the bases. I apologize if it clashes with your…” He trailed off and looked at my color-coded binders. “Whatever this is.”

He sat back and folded his arms across his chest, looking at me like he’d just checkmated a grandmaster.

I glanced down at the paper. The scrawled handwriting made a doctor’s chicken scratch look legible. Bless his heart.

Without a word, I reached for my main binder—all ninety pages of it, meticulously compiled over the past week—and slid it across the table to him. “Now here’s the safety protocols I’ve been working on.”

His eyes widened as he looked at it. Then he looked at me. Then back at the binder.

“You expect me to read that?” His voice had gone up slightly.

I nodded coolly. “Assuming you can read, yes.”

Briggs made no attempt to hide his laugh this time, a sharp bark of amusement that echoed in the conference room. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Sebastian’s mouth opened and closed a few times. He flipped open the binder, scanned the table of contents, flipped through a few pages of dense text and checklists, then looked back up at me like I’d just asked him to translate ancient Greek.