15. Emma
15
Emma
I n my haste to book this trip, I forgot about a few things. Like all the names I made up for Garrett, and the fact that I splurged on a glamping tent for myself during surf camp.
Okay, technically Garrett splurged on it – unknowingly. It’s the least he can do to make up for springing this trip on me out of nowhere.
I practically squeal with delight when the glamping tent comes into view. It looks like it belongs on the cover of a travel magazine. The cream-colored canvas tent is cozy but still big enough to walk around in, even for someone as tall as Garrett. Not that I want him inside my tent, especially after last night. I think it’s best if we both stay far, far away from each other’s rooms from now on.
The flaps of the tent are folded open, held in place by a colorful braid of tasseled rope on each side. Inside the tent, there’s a queen-sized bed with white linens and an obscene number of pillows. An elaborate chandelier hangs above the bed and a wooden dresser sits on the far side of the room next to a cozy armchair. Pillows and lanterns are carefully scattered on the front porch to give it a cozy woodsy vibe, even though the rest of it more closely resembles a luxury cabin than a campsite.
While I’m literally and figuratively basking in the glow of the decorative lanterns, Garrett is grumping it up in my peripheral vision.
Surprise, surprise.
“You have to be kidding,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. He shakes his head disapprovingly, but there’s an amused smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I booked one of those little tents by the beach for you.”
Katie makes a noise of objection that draws our attention. “Actually, I only see one tent booked for your party.”
Garrett and I exchange the briefest of horrified glances before I blurt out, “That’s a mistake. I booked two tents when I made the reservation. I’m sure of it.”
Trust me – I may have forgotten a few of the finer details after booking this trip, but I quadruple checked that Garrett and I had separate rooms (or tents, in this case) at every stop.
Katie’s smile fades as she flips through the papers on her clipboard. Garrett and I both hold our breath as we wait for her to speak.
When Katie flinches and looks up at me, I know it’s game over. My stomach tumbles and my pulse quickens. This cannot be happening.
“I’m sorry,” Katie says. “The tents are all double occupancy, so our reservations team must have cancelled your second tent. Did you get an email?”
“No,” I say, unable to mask the panic in my voice.
Katie gives me a sympathetic look and repeats, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Garrett says.
Like hell it’s fine. Even on the best of days, I’d rather share a room with a yeti than with Garrett. And today is definitely not the best of days for the two of us.
“Can we pay extra to book a second tent now?” he asks a little too calmly for my taste.
Katie shakes her head. “We’re all booked up for the week.”
“Do you have extra sleeping bags? I don’t mind sleeping on the beach,” he counters.
“We do have extra sleeping bags, but beach camping is prohibited in this county. We have a special permit that allows us a certain number of tents, but guests aren’t permitted to sleep outside.”
Garrett runs his hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. Now he’s starting to panic. Welcome to the club, boss.
An awkward silence falls over the three of us. It appears that we are officially out of options. Garrett and I look everywhere but at each other, glancing around as if maybe a stray tent will magically wash ashore.
“I’m just going to go grab that extra sleeping bag,” Katie says as she scrambles to remove herself from this situation.
Once she’s gone, Garrett sinks into a mood. His jaw ticks. I swear I can actually hear his molars grinding together over the sound of the ocean. He plants his hands on his hips and his chest expands with a deep breath.
This is the Garrett I know, the Garrett I’m used to. An annoyed, grumpy jerk who barely looks in my direction. Right now, he’s staring at the extravagant tent like he’s hoping to suddenly develop pyrokinesis. I can practically hear him chanting burst into flames, burst into flames . Still, I’ll take this any day over the version of Garrett who stands up for me against evil Todds and kisses me in dark hotel rooms. This is the version of Garrett I know how to handle.
I don’t have a cookie, so I give him the next best thing, even though it kills me to say it out loud. “You can have the bed,” I grit out. “I’ll take the floor.”
“You should have booked two regular tents,” he snaps back, ignoring my very generous offer completely.
I’m taken aback by his harsh tone. I’ve heard it before, but it’s never been directed at me. I’m always the bystander in these situations. Sure, Garrett and I get under each other’s skin. I drive him crazy sometimes, but I always manage to toe the line between annoying him and genuinely pissing him off. Until now.
I draw a deep, fortifying breath and speak as calmly as I can manage given the circumstances. “She said that the tents are double occupancy. Aside from the fact that we’d be sharing a much smaller space, I doubt it would have made any difference. If you want to blame someone, blame the tour company for changing the reservation without notifying me.”
Garrett peels his gaze away from the tent and glares at me. This time, there’s no imaginary plexiglass to protect me. He looks like he could breathe fire, and I already feel its effects in my veins. Unfortunately, I feel the effects of his stare elsewhere, too. It’s the same look he gave me last night in the elevator. A tiny aftershock of our encounter shoots straight to my core and makes my thighs clench ever so slightly.
“We should leave,” Garrett says abruptly.
“And go where?” I ask, motioning to the ocean to my right and the forest to my left.
“Back to Denver. I’ll fly out to Oregon in a few days and finish up the trip on my own.”
He turns to walk away as if that’s the end of the discussion. As if I have no say in what happens next. This may be a work trip, but I’m more than just Garrett’s employee. There’s more to my life than being bossed around by him. If I want to stay here and spend the next four days learning to surf, then that’s what I’m going to do. The trip is nonrefundable anyway, and when else will I have an opportunity like this?
“I’m staying,” I say defiantly.
Apparently, the hill I’m prepared to die on comes equipped with a glamping tent.
Garrett stops abruptly and turns around. “What?”
“I’m staying.”
My resolve falters a little as Garrett stalks back over to me. The man has two moods: sort of pissed and really pissed. Right now, he’s really, really pissed .
“This isn’t a vacation; it’s a business trip,” he says. “And as your boss, I say when it’s over.”
Maybe Garrett has a knack for pyrokinesis after all, because I swear I’m on fire right now. My blood is lava pulsing through my veins. Garrett’s eyes are fixed on mine, daring me to keep arguing with him. Part of me wants to kick him in the shin. Part of me wants to drag him into that tent and finish what he started last night.
He's the devil incarnate, I remind myself. I should count myself lucky that I escaped his clutches unscathed last night.
Well, mostly unscathed. My pride is still scraped and bruised from the moment when I begged my boss to have sex with me and he walked away instead.
“I’ll use my vacation time. I have more than enough saved up to cover the next four days. Plus, I could really use a vacation from this business trip ,” I tell him, making air quotes around the last two words.
Garrett scoffs and looks off into the distance as he ponders something. Whatever conclusion he seems to reach makes his shoulders sag just enough for me to notice. He pinches the bridge of his nose then runs his hand down his face and over his beard. When he finally speaks, his voice is still filled with irritation, but lacks the hard edge it had a minute ago.
“Well, I’m not just going to leave you out here to be washed away at sea or eaten by a shark on the company’s dime.”
“Fine,” I say, “Stay then. It doesn’t matter to me. But if you do, I’m not using my vacation time. Putting up with you is more than a full-time job.”
Garrett brushes this off and stares over my shoulder. His chin juts out to motion toward the tent. “What are we going to do about the sleeping arrangements?”
“Like I said, one of us takes the bed, the other takes the floor. We can alternate.”
Okay, so this isn’t exactly what I said a minute ago, but the thought of spending the next four nights on the floor has me second-guessing my offer. Taking turns seems like a fair compromise.
“This is a bad idea,” he mutters under his breath. Some emotion that I don’t quite recognize flickers over his face.
“Do you have a better one?”
“I guess not.”
“Then we’ll just have to make it work,” I say.
That’s easier said than done. Even now, when we’re hours away from having to deal with the single bed situation, neither of us moves toward the tent. We just stand there, fuming in each other’s general vicinity. The sound of footsteps approaching a few seconds later is a welcome distraction.
“Here’s that sleeping bag,” Katie says as she rounds the corner.
“Thanks,” Garrett says, stepping forward and taking the navy blue sleeping bag from Katie’s hands.
“Lunch is almost ready,” she says. “Are you guys hungry?”
“Yeah, we’ll be there in a minute,” Garrett tells her.
I don’t miss the way Katie’s eyes linger on him for a second too long, or the way she smiles a little wider at him than at me before turning around to head back to the beach.
Garrett makes a beeline for the tent. I follow behind him, keeping a respectable distance even after we step inside. He sets the sleeping bag and his pack down in the corner. I shrug off my pack and set it in the opposite corner. Neither of us so much as glances at the bed before making a quick exit.
“Ready?” Garrett asks impatiently as I step outside.
I nod, and we walk silently down the long path to the beach.
There’s a crowd of a dozen or so people gathered around a picnic table. The salty sea air mixes with the smell of burgers on the nearby grill. The circle opens up to make room for us as we approach, and we all fumble through introductions.
This crowd is different than the past two tours groups. Unlike the Grand Canyon rafting trip, the median age hovers somewhere closer to my own. And unlike the short-lived bike tour in Moab, these people all look relatively normal. No one here has calf muscles that look like bricks. More importantly, no one here seems to be taking this too seriously. Everyone is giving off fun, easy-going vibes.
Well, everyone but Garrett. He looks like he just arrived at a funeral instead of surf camp.
Katie hollers that lunch is ready, and everyone lines up by the grill. A guy wearing the same light blue shirt as Katie starts transferring burger patties to a plate. I’m drooling over the smell of warm food since I skipped breakfast, but most of the other women seem to be drooling over the cook.
“This is TJ,” Katie announces, motioning toward the guy. He gives everyone a big smile and a lazy salute with the spatula. “He’s the other surf instructor, and our grill master.”
TJ looks like the leading man in a rom-com about a woman who has to be rescued from the sea by a hot lifeguard, only to fall madly in love mid-CPR. He’s got blondish hair that frames his face in overgrown curls, sun-kissed skin, and lean muscles. He looks like someone who would say the word ‘cowabunga’ in casual conversation. He greets all the women with a coy smile and calls all the men ‘my dude.’
Even Garrett.
That’s a fun exchange to eavesdrop on while I assemble my burger.
The group arranges themselves around the oversized picnic table, idly chatting as we start to eat. I’m surprised when Garrett chooses the seat next to me, but it makes sense, I guess. He isn’t exactly skilled in small talk. But it doesn’t prepare me for the little flip my stomach does when his arm brushes against mine.
Bad stomach.
The only reaction it should have toward Garrett North is a faint but unrelenting sense of nausea.
He takes a big bite of his plain burger and stares off at the ocean while he chews. Obviously, he’s still pissed. When Katie takes a seat across from us, he doesn’t seem to notice or care. She gives me a tight, nervous smile. I’m not sure if she’s worried that I’m annoyed with her about the tent situation, or if she’s nervous to approach Garrett. Most people are. It’s a wonder that he gets laid at all. He must know how to lay on the charm when the mood strikes him.
My mind flashes back to the elevator last night. The sensitive patch of skin just below my ear tingles with the ghost of his fingertips. My lips buzz with the memory of this kiss. He wasn’t charming; he was primal. Needy. Growly.
“So, um, how do you two know each other?” Katie asks with a nervous crescendo in her tone.
Crap.
We forgot to come up with a new story.
Garrett’s eyes cut to mine, conveying the message: don’t you dare say dog trainer.
“We’re cousins,” I blurt out at the same time that Garrett says, “We work together.”
Well, at least I didn’t say anything about dog training.