31. Nikki
Our weekend at the Monks’private island was fast approaching. It was the last weekend of December before the holidays started, and lots had happened. Bonnie had made up with Arlo in a dramatic stand-off that, coincidentally, happened on the ground floor of the Blakely building. I missed the whole thing because I was in the bathroom when everything went down, which was becoming a more frequent occurrence. I told myself I was drinking more water on account of all the energy I expended during sex, but I was still mad to have missed Arlo engaging in a bout of fisticuffs with a ghost from Bonnie’s past. Besides that drama, things were good. Work ramped up, and I’d gotten to know most of Blakely’s most important clients.
With some careful spending, I was inching closer to repaying my debts. Blasphemous as it might be, I eyed my closet full of beautiful clothes and wondered if I could sell some of the more valuable pieces to be rid of my mistake.
Because I was a new woman. One who was chosen, who was worthy. Someone who wasn’t just a placeholder or a stand-in while the main character waited for a better thing to come along. I was me, and that felt great.
I was a woman who’d get her first ride in a private jet. I whistled as our car slid to a stop at the bottom of the stairs on the tarmac, and Rome grinned at me.
“I’m glad I can still give you a few novel experiences,” he said.
“You’ve given me more than a few.” I laughed at the twinkle in his eye and turned toward the door that Keith opened for me.
“Enjoy your weekend away,” the driver told me quietly, and I smiled at him and squeezed his arm in response. Beyond Keith was the airplane crew including a number of hostesses waiting for us at the top of the stairs. I had a moment of near panic at the sight of the jet, suddenly feeling like an impostor who didn’t belong here at all, but Rome’s presence at my back steadied me. We climbed the steps and entered the jet, and I delighted in the welcome drinks, the snacks, and the gigantic seats and lounge area.
Rome watched my reaction to everything, his lips kicking at the corners. I arched my brows at him, and he shrugged in response. I settled in my seat, and happiness spread through me like warm honey on a slice of toast. It was rare that I was able to read someone else’s expression that way, that I could have whole conversations without uttering a word. But with Rome, it was possible. Sometimes, I could tell the moment he woke up beside me just by the cadence of his breath over my skin.
On the side table beside my seat waited a glass of champagne, some fresh fruit, and a couple of truffles the air crew had brought over. The snacks looked delicious when they set them down, and they were fabulous, but the longer I looked at them, the less I wanted to eat them.
“Still queasy?” Rome asked quietly, his knee nudging mine.
“A little.”
I hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning—or yesterday, come to think of it. It wasn’t entirely rare. I sometimes skipped breakfast and had huge lunches. Or skipped dinner and woke up ravenous. I’d never been set in my routines.
I tried a tiny sip of champagne and grimaced before setting the glass down.
“That bad, huh,” Rome asked sardonically, watching me. “That’s not poor-quality stuff, you know.”
“No, it’s not that,” I said, then tilted my head. “Well, maybe a little. I don’t know.”
Rome’s hand landed on my leg, and he stroked softly. “Try to have some fruit, at least.”
The warmth and worry in his voice made my insides melt to goo. I nodded and nibbled on a strawberry and was glad when it didn’t upset my stomach. Then our glasses and dishes were being whisked away, and we were getting ready for takeoff.
“I’ll tell you what, this is a whole lot better than cattle class,” I said as we reached a cruising altitude, and the cabin crew came through with more menus and snacks. There was a full-size TV across from us, and I discovered my seat had massage features.
Rome grinned at me and nodded at a few items on the menu that the flight attendant hurried to bring to us. I found myself snuggled into his side while he fed me little bits of food, feeling cherished and warm and safe.
“I wish I could tell my girlfriends about this,” I said, wiggling my toes. “Not that it would be anything new for them at this point, but at least I could share it with them.”
Rome went still beside me, then his fingers began to make shapes over my waist and hip. “What have you told them about us?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’ve signed an NDA, remember?”
“You haven’t even told them we’re seeing each other?”
I sat up and frowned at him. “I wasn’t going to lie to them. They’re my friends!”
He answered my frown with one of his own. “But it’s not a lie.”
“Not now. But it would have been before. And now… How would I explain?”
“You’d tell them you work for me and are also sleeping with me, and you’re deliriously happy about it all.”
I pursed my lips and gave him a flat look, which made him grin.
“Is that a lie?”
“Not technically, no.”
“What about untechnically?”
“Then yes, it is a lie. Because there’s still… I still am your companion, Rome. Officially.”
“Unofficially too,” he noted.
I nodded. This whole thing was confusing. “I just haven’t spoken to them about it yet, is all.”
“Are you embarrassed of me?” There was a note in Rome’s voice—a hesitation I’d never heard before. An edge of vulnerability that was completely at odds with the confident man he was.
“What? No!” I cupped his cheek and kissed him. “Not once. How could I be? It would make more sense for you to be embarrassed of me.”
His gaze flicked between my eyes for a long moment, then his shoulders softened. “Never, Nikki.”
I smiled and leaned my head against his shoulder. “Good.”
His soft touch returned to my hip and waist, and drowsiness overtook me. By the time we landed just under five hours later, my stomach was settled and my heart was happy. A few times during the flight, I caught Rome frowning as he stared off into the middle distance, but his expression always cleared when he caught me watching him. He kissed me gently as the cabin crew prepared the doors, leaning his forehead against mine in a tender touch.
Then bright light streamed in through the open hatch, and we both stood up to go meet the Caribbean sun. I breathed in the salt-scented air and descended the steps, a smile stretching over my lips. Winter in the city had been dreary and slushy, with intermittent bouts of snow. I was glad to see the sun, at least for a weekend.
From the airport, we were driven to a jetty where we boarded a sleek white yacht. The captain greeted us, dressed in a crisp uniform and a bright smile. He ushered us on board, where we were plied with more snacks and drinks. I stood near the bow of the boat as we left the jetty and cut through the turquoise water, the sounds of the engine drowning out the delicate rush of the sea.
“What do you think?” Rome asked, leaning against the railing beside me.
I smiled. “Not bad.”
His grin made my heart turn over. The wind ruffled his hair, and there were fewer lines around his eyes. His shoulders were relaxed as he gazed out at the horizon. I watched white sand pass us, palm trees waving in the wind. Sea birds circled overhead.
It was easy to forget that this was work. I tried to remind myself of it, but Rome caged me against the railing, nuzzling at my neck as we made a sweeping turn toward a little patch of land that was quickly growing in size. Curiosity burrowed into me as the island grew; I’d never been to a private island before.
Roseanne had called it small, but it looked big enough as the captain brought the yacht to bump gently against the dock. Staff members called out to each other and worked with an easy kind of confidence, most of them barefoot as they tied the yacht off to the dock. A walkway was set up, and Rome guided me onto solid land.
White sand stretched in both directions, with lush greenery lining it. Once on land, the dock met a paved road where two golf carts waited.
Wilbur and Roseanne exited from one of them, greeting us with wide smiles. I thanked the man who carried my bag to the other golf cart, then turned to our hosts with a smile. Roseanne greeted me warmly, with kisses on both cheeks and a squeeze of my shoulders. She wore a gauzy white outfit with loose white pants and a fabulous wide-brimmed hat. I felt like a sweaty, travel-weary mess next to her, even though I was wearing my favorite wrap dress and cute sandals.
Her voice was warm when she asked, “How was the trip? Not too choppy, I hope?”
“It was fantastic. I love your yacht.”
“One of Wil’s toys,” she replied with an indulgent smile.
Wilbur pumped my hand and smacked a kiss on my cheek. “Welcome! We’re so glad to have you. Do you trust your man to drive a cart, or do you want to take the wheel?”
I grinned. “I trust him.”
The older man winked at me, then waved us onto the golf carts and we were away. Birds flitted from tree to tree as we wound along the paved path. The air smelled fresh and clean, but it felt dense and humid on my skin. Rome kept one arm on the golf cart wheel and the other along the back of the seat behind me, his fingers stroking the back of my arm.
I’d entered another universe. I’d taken vacations before, including a week-long stay at an all-inclusive in Mexico in my twenties, but nothing compared to this. Everything was so easy. There were no long lineups. No waiting. No inconvenience. Rome and I were whisked along to our destination with an army of people there to make every step of it as easy as possible.
“Relax,” Rome said quietly, cheeks creasing as he smiled at me. “Just enjoy yourself, Nikki. You’ve already won them over. The hard work is done.”
“Everything is so beautiful,” I said, which was a bit preemptive because I hadn’t even seen the house yet. And once it came into view, I was proven right.
“House” was probably the wrong word for it. The place was huge. The sprawling building revealed itself to us as we turned the final corner, its terracotta roof a beautiful contrast against the lush greenery. The walls were painted a buttery yellow, and it would have been cute if it’d been about a tenth of the size. Balconies lined both stories, with another building poking through the trees to the left. An infinity pool gurgled over its edge and cascaded into a water feature on the ground floor. We drove around the side, where more staff members were waiting to help us disembark. They wore pastel-blue uniforms and presented us with trays of refreshments.
“We’ll show you to your room, and then you can meet us on the balcony once you’ve freshened up,” Roseanne announced.
The interior was homier than I expected, with comfortable-looking furniture interspersed with antiques. It was welcoming while also giving off the impression of extreme wealth, with beautiful finishes and tasteful artwork. We were led along wide hallways to a gigantic suite. It was the Garcia house all over again, but with huge sliding glass doors that opened onto a private patio.
Roseanne left us with more words of welcome, and as soon as the door was closed, I threw myself on the bed and sank into the comforter with a satisfied groan. The bed dipped as Rome crawled over me, his lips curled into a smile.
“I see I should have taken you on vacation earlier.”
“I don’t know how I’ll ever go back to my regular life after all this,” I said.
“You won’t have to.” He planted a kiss on my forehead then got up and moved to the bathroom. I heard the shower turn on and busied myself unpacking the small bag I’d brought for our weekend. There was a little welcome tray with more chocolates and goodies on the nightstand, and I had one while I waited for Rome to finish. Once I’d showered and changed into a loose sundress, we went off in search of our hosts.
We found them on the balcony they’d pointed out before, relaxing on lounge chairs as they watched the sun dip closer to the horizon. Wilbur smiled at the two of us and offered us drinks, and Roseanne jumped up to uncover plates of chopped vegetables and other finger foods.
Rome sank into a two-seater couch and brought me down along with him, and I couldn’t resist the urge to rest my head against his shoulder.
“Your home—your island—is unbelievably beautiful.”
“That’s all Roseanne,” Wilbur said affectionately.
“If it were up to Wil, we’d be living in some box in New York City.”
I laughed awkwardly, thinking of my own box back home. The one that had felt like impossible luxury compared to my older, dingier box.
“I know enough to listen to you when you insist,” Wilbur said, smiling, “and you insisted on this place.”
“When we bought it, there was just the guest house.” Roseanne waved a hand toward the roof that poked out through the trees, the one I’d spotted on the way up. “Building the main house, the docks, and the landscaping has been the work of a decade.”
“Looks like it’s worth it,” I said, smiling.
“Watch out, Blakely,” Wilbur warned. “You’ll be buying an island next door before the weekend is out.”
Rome glanced at me, grinning. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”
I laughed, giddy. Who casually talked about buying islands and building lavish residences on them? How was this real life?
But I was here, and all I could do was enjoy the weekend. My brief for this trip was to be myself, and to make sure the Monks couldn’t find fault in myself or Rome. Rome would work on closing the deal with Wilbur and finally secure the older man’s business.
Over the weeks I’d been working at Blakely, I learned this deal was important. A lot of the huge clients had cut their advertising budgets and moved to smaller campaigns for social media. The Blakely Advertising Agency could offer those services, but landing a huge, multi-year, multi-campaign client like Wilbur Monk, whose company had many subsidiaries, would sustain the business through the next half decade.
It was a huge deal. But as I watched the sun go down and chatted with the other couple, it didn’t feel like we were here to close a deal worth nine figures. It felt like we were visiting old friends.
After a delicious dinner of grilled fish, Rome and I retired to bed. He wrapped me in his arms and tugged me close, smiling at me in the darkness of the bedroom.
“They love you,” he said quietly.
“I think they love you too.” I brushed my lips against his. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
His chest rumbled in agreement, and he returned my gentle kiss with a more demanding one of his own. We didn’t talk for a while after that, other than whispered praise and desperate urgings. Later, just before falling asleep, I felt him stroke my hair to push it off my temple. His touch was gentle—loving. I never would’ve guessed that my gruff, arrogant boss could be so tender, or that I’d be the woman who brought it out in him.
This was shaping up to be the best weekend ever.