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Cory blinked at me like he didn't quite believe that. I forced myself not to flinch.
"Fine. Miranda, your wife, just told us she is planning to take her story to the press if you don't get back to Boston. Immediately." Cory looked back to Brandon, who was now tensed and approximately the color of a tomato. "Basically, I've been dealing with a public relations shit show since you left, and I've been trying to call you for the last five days. Five days, man. I finally had to steal your itinerary off Margie's computer and come hunting for you."
Brandon sighed and rubbed a big hand over his forehead. The movement made the muscles in his chest and shoulder ripple.
"Do we need to go back?" I asked in a small voice, although my heart sank at the thought of it. I didn't want our vacation to end.
"No," Brandon mumbled through his fingers. He sent me a small smile. I was unconvinced.
"Boss," Cory said, but was quickly cut off.
"I said no," Brandon barked. He exhaled a long, slow breath, then looked at Cory. "Miranda's not going to say shit about what happened with Ricky O'Neill. Not about anything that matters. Otherwise she'd be in as much trouble as I would."
I gaped. I wasn't aware that anyone knew about that besides me, Miranda Sterling, and her deceased father. Sixteen years ago, Brandon had been a twenty-one-year-old financial wunderkind still spending half his time hustling pool halls with a group of friends in Dorchester, his old neighborhood. One night, they'd hustled the wrong people and found themselves in a fight that ended with the other group's ringleader, Ricky O'Neill, shot and killed. Brandon hadn't shot the gun, but he had been a target of the prosecution, only to be saved by Miranda's (false) alibi in exchange for a ten-year contract at her father's investment firm. That lie had eventually led to his romantic involvement with Miranda and their essentially loveless marriage. At least, loveless from his perspective.
Cory blew a raspberry through his thin lips and scratched his cropped hair. The actions made him look like a grumpy chimpanzee.
"Not that story," he said with another look my way.
Brandon cleared his throat. "You don't have to talk in euphemisms. Skylar knows everything."
Cory blinked with obvious surprise, then wiped another layer of sweat off his brow.
"Christ, it's hot," he complained. "How can you be sitting out here all day like this? It's fuckin' maniacal."
"Spit it out, Cory," Brandon said as he reached into his bag and pulled out a few bottles of water.
He opened one, took a sip, then offered it to me before tossing the other to Cory, who drank from it like a dying man in the desert.
"She wants to tell the story of you and your friend here," Cory continued after he had drained half the bottle. "Cause a fuckin' public relations nightmare, that's what she wants to do. Turn herself into the wronged woman. Listen, your little stunt at that benefit last month really fucked things up. I thought you were going to keep things quiet until the papers had been signed, man. Instead you turn around and flaunt your sidepiece all over Boston. Did you really think your wife was going to let her humiliate her like that and get awa––Hey!"
He wasn't able to finish his sentence before he was lifted bodily off the beach and hurled into the water. Brandon stood at the water's edge, chest heaving with the sudden effort.
"What the fuck, man!" Cory yowled from where he sat chest-deep in the water. He stood up with another big splash. "This is Armani! What the fuck was that for?"
Behind Brandon, I couldn't help but laugh, although I tried to cover it as a cough. I wasn't successful.
"I told you, Cory. Respect," Brandon said as he stood to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest.
"You don't pay me for respect, boss," Cory retorted as he swished back to the beach. "Ah! What the fuck is that!"
He scrambled the rest of the way out, and I had to hide my face behind my hand to stop from laughing as he circled around his body, looking for signs of sea life that might be stuck to him. Brandon didn't even bother to hide his laughter, carved abs flexing with every loud hoot. Then he pressed a brief kiss to my head before sitting easily with his arms lounged over his knees.
"Skylar's off-limits," he said to Cory, who had finally calmed down enough to accept the extra towel as he sat down next to Brandon. "You're the best at what you do, Cory, but I pay you to tell me like it is and fix shit. The insults are done if you want to keep your job."
Silently, Cory nodded, although his jaw clenched as water dripped off his chin.
"And remember that one of these days, she might be your boss too," Brandon said.
My stomach flipped. What did that mean?
Cory's soaked, rodent-like gaze flickered between the two of us before he cleared his throat.
"I apologize," he said through clenched teeth, although he was barely able to make eye contact with me.
"It's fine," I said. I looked back to Brandon. "It sounds like you guys have a lot to sort through. Should we start hiking back?"
"Fuck no, we're not hiking. Not if you want me out of here by tomorrow." Cory stood up, brushed the tiny pebbles off his pants, and jerked his head toward the boat.
