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“I’ll hitchhike back. I swear, I will. Or I’ll call a private cab company and get them to drive all the way out here and give them your credit card number.”
“You wouldn’t! I’ll cancel the card.”
“Not before I can get to the taxi. Oh, and I have at least four others memorized.” She taps her head. “It’s nice to have a brain like a steel-trap.”
“But that’s…you…you can’t just—”
“We should have rented the cabin. I didn’t think it would be this rustic. Not only that, but you’re buying my acting skills, should the need arise. And I have no choice but to share a tent with you. There are bugs, spiders, mosquitoes, ants, and probably snakes too. You have no idea how much I hate camping.”
I briefly wonder, if that, by Ex-Stephanie’s standards, makes Assistant Stephanie unmanly too. Fuck, why am I even doing this? I should move on. I should forget what she said. I should stop trying to prove to her—and to myself—that I’m worth it.
God, that’s pathetic. Stop wallowing in self-pity and just get on with it. You’re only proving her right, and you know you’re not worthless. Are you for real? Get your ass out there, get the tent set up, and just enjoy yourself.
It has been forever since I took some time off from work. Maybe this could be fun. Or at least, maybe it won’t be every version of fucking terrible that’s out there. Steph’s right. This actually could be what hell looks like.
“Denver, here I come in five, four, three, two—”
Steph already has her phone in her hand by the time she gets to two. My panic reaches an entirely new level. If she leaves me here, I’m screwed. I’d have to go back to Denver, and in the past few minutes, after my little internal pep-talk, this isn’t just about proving something to my ex-wife. Maybe it never really was. This is about proving something to myself.
“Wait! Okay. Ten. Fine.”
“I want it as a fair and straight up bonus. Ten after taxes. None of this underhanded crap that I could get arrested for or something.”
“Fine.”
“Really? Will you throw in another five? My whole roof needs to be replaced, and it’s not chea
p. You have no idea how much it’s going to cost.”
“No.”
“But, you could easily afford it.”
“That’s not the point.’
“Oh, I know it’s not. I just thought I’d ask. You know, just in case you were looking for a new charity case or a good deed or something.”
“No.”
“Fine.” Steph treats me to her sweet smile that isn’t rare at all. Come to think of it, she smiles a lot, and it’s always genuine. Not only is she a kick-ass assistant (I have no clue how she does half of what she does, and on top of that, she has to put up with me), but everyone likes her in the office. “Okay. Let’s get the tent set up,” she says, reaching for the door handle.
“Just like that?”
She rolls her huge, dark eyes at me. This is the first time I’ve noticed there are some green-gold flecks in the irises’ unique swirled pattern. “One can only hope, but I have serious doubts. I anticipate hours, tons of bug bites, and a lot of cursing.”
CHAPTER 3
Stephanie
I’m not sure why I never really thought about Adam’s butt before. He has a really nice butt—nice and firm and toned like the rest of him. Hard, but not square. No, it’s round, but not a bubble butt either. I think those on guys are kind of nasty. Adam’s butt? It’s perfect. And in jeans, which I’ve rarely ever seen him in, it’s delicious. Not delicious delicious, just delicious.
Right now, after unpacking the tent from the car by himself, Adam is bent over, staring at the layers of canvas and approximately eighteen million poles of all different sizes.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket. I hardly ever wear jeans. Even when I’m at home, it’s usually casual shorts, comfy maxi skirts, sweats, leggings, or yoga pants. The jeans I’m wearing right now almost don’t count as jeans because they’re so stretchy and comfortable, and they have the added benefit of pockets.
“What’s the name of it? I can probably look it up. Or maybe there’s a video tutorial we can find. I’m sure there is. That would make this all easier. Does it come with instructions? What’s that white booklet over there?”
Adam grabs it and passes it over with the typical wounded male bravado. So he’s okay with me getting his laundry done and his house cleaned and everything else, but he’s not okay with me looking at the instructions manual?
