Chapter 4
BERNADETTE
“Let’s start with the danger of falling coconuts,” I said, flipping to the marked section in the binder.
He stared at me like I’d just announced we’d be starting with advanced calculus with a test at the end of dinner.
“That’s insane,” he said. “Why the hell would we start there?”
“Because I’ve looked over the locations you sent for the different shots, and falling coconuts are a legitimate hazard.
” I pulled out the supplementary documentation I’d prepared.
“Approximately a hundred and fifty people die from falling coconuts every year worldwide. They’re statistically deadlier than sharks. ”
He started laughing. Actually laughing, like I’d told a joke instead of citing verified mortality statistics.
“Stop,” I said, feeling heat creep up my neck. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” he managed between chuckles, those blue eyes crinkling at the corners, proving he was all natural. No Botox on that sculpted face. “I mean, come on. Death by coconut? If that’s how I go out, you have my permission to giggle about it at my funeral.”
“That’s exactly why I’m here,” I said, snapping the binder shut. “My job is to make sure no one on your production ends up at their funeral. I’m sure your pretty little dresses are very important, but they’re not worth someone getting hurt.”
The laughter died on his face. His jaw tightened, and for the first time since I’d met him, I saw something other than casual charm in his expression.
“They’re not ‘pretty little dresses.’ This campaign represents months of work, millions of dollars, and the reputation of a company my family has built from the ground up. We take this very seriously.”
I sat back slightly, surprised by the anger in his voice.
“And we take safety seriously,” he continued.
“I’ve been on hundreds of shoots. People don’t get hurt because we’re professionals.
Just because I like to have fun doesn’t mean I’m careless.
Contrary to your apparent opinion, I’m not an idiot.
This is my job. I don’t screw around when it comes to my job. ”
“Could have fooled me,” I muttered.
His nostrils flared in a sure sign of anger. I braced myself for a big man-tantrum.
Our waiter chose that moment to reappear, cheerfully oblivious to the tension crackling across the table. “Have we decided on our entrees?”
I ordered my grilled chicken salad without looking at the menu. Sebastian got grilled chicken with no butter or oil and steamed veggies.
Once the waiter left, Sebastian picked up his coffee cup, took a long sip, and looked at me over the rim. His cocky attitude was back in place.
“You don’t take anything seriously, do you?” I said, trying to regain my footing in this conversation.
“There’s nothing wrong with having fun while you work,” he countered. “You should try it sometime. Might make that permanent frown line between your eyebrows less pronounced.”
I resisted the urge to touch my forehead. “There’s nothing fun about insurance. I usually deal with people when they’re going through a bad time. Otherwise, they wouldn’t need insurance in the first place.”
“What kind of ghoul goes into insurance?” he asked with another cocky smirk. “Bunch of thieves who refuse to pay for medical procedures and find loopholes to screw over people when they need help most.”
“Well, I don’t work with that kind of insurance,” I said, keeping my voice level despite the defensive edge creeping in. “We do specialty coverage. Unique situations. And I was born into it. My father runs the company.”
That seemed to lower his hackles a bit. “That, I can understand. I went into the family business too.”
We looked at each other across the table, and something almost like understanding passed between us. Two people carrying the weight of family expectations, trying to prove themselves in businesses they’d inherited rather than chosen.
I still didn’t like him, but I felt like I understood him just a little better. Not that he was a deep well, but I could at least relate to him in some small way.
The food came out and we started eating.
Sebastian smirked at me. “Are you ready to spend two weeks on a tropical island?”
He was turning on the charm, and I didn’t like it. “It’s not a vacation.”
His eyes met mine. “What are you planning to wear?”
I blinked at the question, not sure why he was asking. “The same thing I’m wearing right now. Obviously.”
He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Yes, you’re all about total coverage at Simmons Surety. God forbid you wear a bikini.”
“I’ll be working,” I said, drawing my shoulders back and giving him a stern look. “So I’ll be wearing my work wardrobe. Pantsuits. Professional attire. You should try it sometime.”
He actually laughed again, though this time it sounded more incredulous than amused. “You have no idea what you’re getting into, do you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Miratoa isn’t Manhattan. It’s humid. It’s hot. It’s beaches and jungle and you’ll be outside all day, every day. You show up in those wool pantsuits and you’ll have heatstroke by noon on the first day.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” I said stiffly, though doubt was already creeping in. I had done my research of Miratoa, obviously. I knew it was tropical. But somehow, I’d still been picturing myself in my usual clothing, just sweating more.
“Do you even own anything that isn’t a pantsuit?” he asked.
“Of course I do. I have casual clothes.”
“Like what?”
“Like… khakis. And polo shirts.”
He looked at me as if I’d just described my wardrobe as consisting entirely of burlap sacks. “When was the last time you went on vacation?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“When, Bernadette?”
The use of my first name caught me off guard. So did the genuine curiosity in his voice, like he actually wanted to know.
“I don’t really take vacations,” I admitted. “I work. A lot.”
“Of course you do.” He shook his head. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. Come to the Blackwell offices tomorrow. Ask for Annika. She’s our head dressmaker, head seamstress, and Jill of all trades. Tell her I sent you and that you need clothes for the island.”
“I’m not taking charity,” I said, my brows drawing together. “I don’t need to wear couture to a tropical island.”
“It’s not charity. Consider it part of the production. We can’t have our insurance pitbull collapsing from heat exhaustion because she insisted on wearing wool in ninety-degree weather. That would definitely void some clause somewhere, right?”
“Pitbull?!”
Sebastian grinned and waved dismissively. “I’m trying to save you from passing out on the beach. Please don’t get your panties in a twist. Your presumably very practical and very beige panties.”
“Don’t talk about my panties,” I hissed quietly, looking around to make sure no one had heard him.
“Then go see Annika,” he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
We finished dinner, and by the time we left the restaurant, I realized we hadn’t talked about the binder at all.
The next morning, I arrived at Blackwell Couture with a sense of impending doom. I should have just ordered some practical clothing online. I didn’t need Sebastian Blackwell’s help dressing myself.
The receptionist directed me to the workshop. I followed signs down a hallway until I found a large, airy space filled with dress forms, fabric bolts, and the hum of sewing machines. Several people worked at various stations, but one woman looked up immediately when I entered.
She was probably in her fifties, with hair pulled back in an elegant twist and the kind of effortless style that suggested she could make a paper bag look couture.
She smiled at me while she looked me up and down.
“You must be Bernadette,” she said in a Swedish accent that made my name sound like music. “I’m Annika. Sebastian told me you’d be coming.”
“I’m sorry to put you out. I don’t need to be here.” I looked around the room, feeling like I didn’t belong.
“It’s no trouble. He was very insistent I take good care of you.” She led me to a section of the workshop where racks of clothing stood waiting. Sundresses, linen pants, light blouses and swimsuit cover-ups that were very glamorous. Nothing like what I usually wore.
“Now,” Annika said, running her hand along the rack. “Miratoa is beautiful but unforgiving. You’ll need breathable fabrics, loose fits, and sun protection. And you’re going to be there for two weeks, so we need enough variety that you don’t feel like you’re wearing a uniform.”
“I like uniforms,” I said weakly.
“We don’t,” the woman said firmly.
For the next hour, Annika pulled pieces from the racks. I tried them on in a small dressing room off to the side. Linen pants in neutral colors that felt very beachy. Loose cotton blouses. A few sundresses that I initially rejected before she convinced me I needed at least two.
“You might have an evening event,” she explained. “Or dinner out. You can’t wear work clothes every moment of the day. Show off those legs, lady.”
Each time I emerged from the dressing room, Annika would assess, adjust, and either approve or veto. She had an eye for what worked and what didn’t, and despite my initial resistance, I found myself trusting her judgment.
Fashion had never been my forte. I might as well leave it up to the expert.
“You have a lovely figure,” she said as I tried on a sleeveless linen dress in a soft sage green.
The dress was simple but flattering, cinched at the waist and falling to just below my knees. I barely recognized myself in the mirror.
We had accumulated a small pile of approved clothing when Annika suggested I try another piece—a sundress in a soft pink color with small white flowers.
It was feminine and soft and absolutely nothing I would ever pick for myself.
It resembled the dresses I had seen in the pictures on the walls in the lobby upstairs.
In fact, I was pretty sure the dress I had on was the one the leggy blonde was wearing.
“I don’t know,” I said, holding it up skeptically.
“Just try it. Humor me.”
I changed in the dressing room, pulling the dress on and immediately felt exposed.
It was sleeveless, with a fitted bodice and a flowy skirt that moved when I walked.
On impulse, I pulled the pins from my bun and let my hair fall down around my shoulders.
It reached halfway down my back, copper waves that I usually kept ruthlessly controlled.
I stepped out of the dressing room to show Annika.
And froze.
Sebastian Blackwell was walking in.