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I prided myself on maintaining my composure at all times, but Xavier was the only person who could make me lose my cool.
“Seriously, you have enough money to step back and let your staff take the reins,” he said. “Why kill yourself at your job?”
Don’t take the bait.
“I like my job.” For the most part. But between Xavier and Asher, who had a penchant for fast cars and reckless driving, I was pushing my friends’ therapy skills to the limit.
I used to have a professional (non-massage) therapist, but she retired and I’ve hated every new one I tried after her. Maybe I should resume my search. God knew I needed one.
“What do you like about it?” Xavier must’ve missed the memo that massages were meant to besilent.
“Everything.”
“Bullshit. You don’t like me.”
His response was so frank and unexpected, I almost smiled.
Almost.
“Fine. I like fixing things. Solving problems no one else can solve.” Crisis management was only part of my job, but it gave me the biggest thrill. Writing press releases and managing media relations was fine, but I could do those things in my sleep.
“So you like to be needed.”
I turned my head before my therapist could stop me. Xavier met my gaze with a knowing one of his own, and…there it was again. A little skip in my chest, followed by the unnerving sense that he could see right past the shields I’d painstakingly built over the years.
Then I blinked, and the moment was gone.
I faced forward again and waited for my heartbeat to normalize before I spoke. “Don’t you get bored of doing nothing?”
I didn’t touch on the keenness of his observation or the truth behind it.
I expected Xavier to brush off my question with his usual flippancy, but he answered with surprising honesty.
“Sometimes,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically subdued. “But I’m good at doing nothing, so I stick to it. It’s better than fucking things up.”
I closed my eyes, listening to the faint crash of waves outside the window and the deep, steady breaths of the man next to me.
We didn’t talk again after that.
* * *
Three hours, one facial, one lunch, and one extremely awkward aromatherapy soak for two later, I emerged from the spa marginally less stressed than when I walked in.
I hated to admit it, but the day had helped. I even stopped worrying about my neglected inbox halfway through ignoring Xavier while we floated in a lavender-scented tub together.
Neither of us brought up anything substantial after our massage talk, but I kept thinking about what he’d said.
I’m good at doing nothing, so I stick to it. It’s better than fucking things up.
Xavier was unmotivated, but he wasn’t dumb. If he tried, he could probably run circles around the people sitting in the Castillo Group’s boardroom. Plus, he had an ample cushion of money and connections.
Why would he be so afraid of screwing up that hedidn’ttry? I cast a sideways glance at him. He didn’t make any quips on our walk back to the villa, but my concern over his silence gave way to horror when we reached our home for the week. “What…?” My mouth parted as I stared at the sprawling building.
When we left that morning, it’d been a peaceful oasis of pale stone and floor-to-ceiling windows. Now, it resembled a frat house. Spanish music blasted from deep within the interior, and the scent of booze overpowered the wildflowers surrounding the entrance.
A pretty brunette in a bikini raced through the half-open door and shrieked as a Chris Hemsworth lookalike doused her in champagne. Squeals and laughter echoed from deeper in the villa, followed by the splash of someone jumping into the pool.
“Xavi! There you are!” the Hemsworth lookalike called out. “Hope you don’t mind that we started the party without you.”
