Chapter 8 He Admits I Was Right
HE ADMITS I WAS RIGHT
Most embarrassing thing in your suitcase?
Bridget: Definitely that ruffly bikini Carly tossed in.
Cole: Hand cream. I sometimes get contact dermatitis from that stuff in hotels.
brIDGET
Cole was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride back from dinner. It was late, and the black car sped silently along the uncrowded San José highway toward our hotel, palm trees alternating with city lights on the roadside.
“Still sulking because I canceled your deal?” I asked, tugging my suit jacket over my chest to block the chilly air-conditioning.
“No.” He stared out the window.
“Then what is it? Back home, you can’t stop talking.”
That made him turn toward me. “You should talk. I get no peace when you’re in our office.”
“I guess you shouldn’t have insisted on sharing then.” I met his intense blue gaze with a challenge of my own.
“Fine. I was reflecting about the office. Paula and her team know what they’re doing. They’re very competent.”
Something warm and bright ignited in my chest. I’d been so proud of them. And only a little miffed when Cole spoke to them in Spanish and I’d had to ask Paula to translate for me. “And cost-effective?” I pressed.
“I haven’t looked into the numbers as closely as I’d like, but I suspect they could be.” He shifted to face me. “I admit it. You were right.”
“Wait, say that again?” I teased.
“You were right,” he said it louder this time. “The San José office deserves to remain open.”
I laughed. “I didn’t expect you to actually say it again but thank you. It means a lot coming from you.” Maybe it was the sunshine that had blessed our journey so far or the rum cocktails we’d had at dinner with the San José management team, but he was softer than he’d been for the last two weeks.
“Watch out.” He leaned back against the leather seat. “That sounds dangerously like respect.”
“I respect you. You’re my colleague. You have qualifications.” Not as many as I did, but that was the fact of being a woman in tech. We had to work twice as hard to earn our positions. Much like the Costa Rican team had to prove themselves again and again to the American leadership.
The town car pulled into the circular drive in front of our hotel. Cole got out, then extended a hand to help me out.
No way was I accepting his help. I slid across the seat. “No thanks. I’ve got it.” My suit skirt rode up to the middle of my thighs as I silently cursed my short legs again. Finally, I touched the ground and levered myself out of the car.
Cole’s gaze burned across my legs before he hustled to the trunk. “Déjeme ayudarle con eso,” he said.
For the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours, I wished I’d had time for more than a few lessons in my language tutor app.
Then I could say more than “Gracias” as the driver hauled my suitcase from the back.
I’d taken Carly’s advice and lugged a larger-than-purely necessary wardrobe to Costa Rica.
My bag was twice the size of Cole’s, despite the fact that it required a lot less fabric to cover my frame than his.
The kicker had been when I’d read online that it was the rainy season, and I needed rain gear and spare outfits in case we got caught in any storms.
He gave my bag the same mildly disgusted look he’d given it when it came off the belt at the airport. He reached for its handle, just as he had at the airport. I’d let him heave it off the belt for me, but I couldn’t let him do it now, when I only had to wheel it into the hotel and up to my room.
I waved his hand away. “I’ve got it.”
He scoffed, “That bag is heavier than you are. I’ll handle it.”
“No, it’s not. It was under the fifty-pound limit.”
He raised disbelieving eyebrows and set his hand firmly on the handle. With his other hand, he grasped the handle of his more reasonably sized bag. Then he led the way into the hotel. After we checked in, he took charge of both bags again. I scurried past him and pressed the elevator button.
“Okay,” I said. “We’re meeting the van tomorrow at ten. We’ll pick up the rest of the team at the airport and then head to the resort.”
The elevator doors opened, and he gestured me in ahead of him.
I continued reciting the itinerary. “Tomorrow, we settle in and enjoy the resort. They have a golf course, a spa, and…hot springs.” Though I wasn’t yet convinced I had the courage to appear in front of the executive team in a swimsuit.
“Sunday is a hike, then Monday kayaking. Tuesday is another leisure day and our farewell dinner. Wednesday morning, we go home. Everyone will be back with their families in time for Thanksgiving.” I was cutting it close by scheduling the retreat right before the holiday, but our first thirty days were almost up, and I needed to show the board that I followed through on my commitments.
No one had complained, not even Cole (much), so I must not have disrupted anyone’s plans.
Our rooms weren’t too far from the elevators. “Thank you,” I said as Cole wheeled my case in front of my door. “I’ll see you in the morning. Breakfast at eight?”
“I want to go for a run first. I’ll meet you out front at ten.”
“That works,” I said, my voice too chipper. Of course he was a runner. You didn’t get a physique like Cole Campion’s by sitting around drinking Costa Rican coffee and eating torta chilena. I resolved to walk a few miles on the hotel gym’s treadmill.
“Goodnight.”
I awkwardly muscled my suitcase into my room and shut the door. The Costa Rican team made me look great today. But for the rest of the retreat, I’d have to win on my own. I was confident that I was up to the challenge.