Chapter 1
Eight Months Later
Nate Farnsworth bothers me.
Even now, as he pretends the garbage can is his basketball hoop, I can’t stand him.
It’s the time-wasting when he should be working that gets me.
Not that I don’t indulge in the occasional chit-chat or Instagram scroll during office hours, but Nate takes laziness to an infuriating level yet still manages to be praised for being invaluable to the company. Make it make sense.
“Nate, you’re so great!”
“Nate, the guests love you. You make trips fun!”
“Nate, you’re so funny!”
“We couldn’t do it without you, Nate!”
Blah. Blah. Blah.
I peek up at him from my laptop.
“Farnsworth drives down the court, five seconds left,” he says, impersonating an NBA announcer. His body dances and spins around the conference table, crashing into chairs like they’re defenders. He pauses, pulls up, and sends the crumpled-up paper soaring. “He shoots and scores!” I roll my eyes as the paper sinks perfectly into the garbage can. “Farnsworth wins the game! The crowd goes wild!” Now he’s high-fiving pretend fans.
I can’t take any more of his ridiculousness. I draw in a curt breath and focus on the work in front of me. We leave for New Zealand in four days. I know it’s not a vacation, but I’m excited to cross another country off my list—work trip or not. Traveling around the world is what I love. It’s a way to escape real life and experience new things. And after working on this trip with Nate for the last six months, I definitely need an escape. I mean, he’ll be there too, schmoozing the executives, but thankfully, I won’t have to deal with him much.
“Okay, where were we?” He pulls his chair out and sits like he’s finally ready to work.
“Was your break long enough, or do you need to come off the bench for overtime?” My pointed glare flicks to him. Under any other circumstances, I would enjoy the view across from me. Dark, stylistically mussed hair. Day-two stubble. Dark, glittering eyes. Easy smile. Chris Hemsworth's shoulders—actually, they’re narrower, like Liam's, but Hemsworth shoulders, nonetheless. But none of that matters because I don’t enjoy the view.
“Overtime,” he scoffs, knocking me out of my reverie. “Weren’t you listening? I just made the winning shot.”
“It’s pathetic that you have to live out your unrealized sports fantasies in the conference room. Maybe someday you’ll become an adult.”
Okay, let’s pause here for a second and explain my animosity toward the guy, besides the fact that he’s unmotivated and the worst employee to work with.
My dislike for Nate Farnsworth began on my first day at Voyager Travel Events. But on day one, I was annoyed at him for all the wrong reasons.
He was too attractive.
Too charismatic.
Too funny.
Too athletic.
Too charming.
And too much like my ex-boyfriend, Isaac—the man who’d just decimated my heart.
An instant attraction to my new coworker was the worst-case scenario since I had just vowed to myself that I would never indulge in another office romance again. And then, BAM! Nate Farnsworth greets me with the kind of charm and cockiness I have never been able to resist. What kind of cruel test was the universe sending me? I had just left a job where I fell for my coworker and crashed and burned. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake at my fresh start. So my walls went up, and to protect my heart and my job, Nate became my nemesis.
I know it sounds superficial and harsh, but once I got to know him better, I can assure you my dislike wasn’t misplaced.
Nate has the work ethic of a twelve-year-old. Actually, that might be too generous. My little brother, who is twelve, could outwork him.
His lips spread into one of his charming smiles. “Do you know what your problem is, Carly?”
“I have to work with you?” I say dryly.
He leans back, interlocking his fingers behind his head, unfazed by my affront. “You’re too much of an adult. Scheduled and controlling is how I would describe you.”
“Too much of an adult? That’s not the insult you think it is,” I bluff, pretending comments like that don’t pierce my soul to the core, especially after what went down with Isaac.
I’ve spent the last nine months since the breakup trying to come across as chill, a tough task for someone who believes if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. But part of being chill is not controlling everything. Therefore, his words unknowingly hit me at my weak spot.
“If I were trying to insult you, you’d know.” His smile is too extra to be genuine. But that’s Nate—too extra at everything.
Now is probably a good time to mention that Nate doesn’t like me either. Maybe he could have if I hadn’t been standoffish with him from the start. Or maybe we’re just too different to ever get along. Either way, we’ve come to an understanding of mutual tolerance. It’s best this way. I keep my promise to myself not to date a coworker, and he… well, he gets to be his arrogant self. It’s a win-win for everyone.
I rest my folded arms on the conference table in front of me. “You don’t seem to mind how scheduled and controlling I am when you take credit for my work.”
“You really need to get over that. It was one time, and what was I supposed to do, not say thank you to the VIP when he complimented me on a successful trip?”
“How about saying, ‘Yeah, didn’t Carly and the team do a great job organizing the event?’”
“You’re always seeking the I Need to be Told I’m Doing a Good Job or I’ll Die award. Maybe someday you’ll get it. Until then, I’m sure the CEO of a Fortune 500 company doesn’t care who ‘Carly and the team’ are.”
“Right, because company VIPs only want to pal around with sales executives like yourself.”
“I am pretty important.” I can see the rest of his unsaid thought lingering on the tip of his tongue: ‘ Unlike you, a travel event coordinator nobody cares about.’ His pompous view that a sales executive is superior to an event coordinator aggravates me. We’re equals, working in tandem, even if he’s too prideful to admit it.
Nate’s lips lift into an infuriating smile, as if he believes he’s won this round of sparring. With his hands behind his head, the threat level of his good looks goes up a notch or two, making me also think he’s won. But despite his goading, I clamp my mouth shut in the name of professionalism and turn my focus back to work.
I refuse to let him get to me. I have a job to do.
“I talked to Charlotte, and she said we’re all set for?—”
“Who’s Charlotte?” Nate’s brows drop at the same time his hands do.
“Are you serious?” I roll my eyes in annoyance. “Charlotte is the head of the hospitality team at the hotel in New Zealand, remember?”
“Why would I remember that when I have you?” A devious grin draws out on his lips. It’s annoying how handsome he can make a cutting smile look. I prefer all the Satans in my life to be ugly.
Bored with my lack of response, Nate leans forward and sorts through the scattered papers on the table in front of him.
My eyes sweep over the mess. “The chaos that is your life gives me hives.” Where I’m organized and tidy, Nate is a tornado of mayhem. His pile of disorganization reminds me of my childhood home and makes my skin crawl.
“I’ve always said we’re chaos coordinators, not travel coordinators.”
“Is that how you justify your incompetence?”
A cheeky smile appears. “I assure you, there’s nothing incompetent about me.”
My mouth opens to reply with a quip, but nothing worthy comes to mind.
“Found it.” Nate holds up a tiny piece of paper fit for a Lego man. “I forgot to tell you that while all the women are at their work conference during the day, the husbands want to go”—his eyes drop to the scrap, reading his notes—“rucking, so you’ll need to figure that out.”
“Rucking?”
“Yeah, you know, walking and hiking with weighted backpacks like they do in the military.” The nonchalance behind his words makes me want to punch him in the face. “You’ll need to find a trail near the hotel and, of course, the weighted vests.”
“For fifty-four men?”
“Fifty-five, including me.”
I stare back, contemplating strangling him.
“What? Rucking sounds fun. Obviously, I’m going to go with them.”
“No.”
“I can go rucking if I want to.”
“No, I won’t do it. The trip is in four days, and this request is ridiculous.”
“Whatever the client wants, it’s our job to figure it out.”
Nate says our job as if he’s the one that will spend hours making phone calls to a different time zone, searching for weighted backpacks that probably don’t exist in that part of the world, and then spend another few hours brainstorming what can be used instead. Not to mention getting enough for fifty-four— no, fifty-five —men. I shake my head, refusing to add something this big to the trip this last minute. There are reasons we finalize the project timeline thirty days out from departure.
My chin lifts to hold my ground. “The client is Sassy Scrapbooking. This is an incentive trip for their employees, not the husbands. Rucking is out of the question.”
“So you want me to go back to the owner’s husband and tell him his request can’t be met because you’re a killer of fun? I thought our job was to cater to the clients.” Nate looks at me expectantly, arrogantly. I hate that look. It means I’m going to lose this battle, and we both know it.
“Fine.” My lungs deflate as I write down rucking on my to-do list. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
Three months ago, Nate’s last-minute client request nearly did me in. The CEO’s wife was worried the presidential suite at the hotel in Morocco wouldn’t be nice enough for her, so we had to rent decor and refurnish the entire suite the day of her arrival. Rucking is easy compared to that. But if I’m honest, accomplishing the impossible gives me a huge adrenaline rush, so I’m not complaining. I just know ninety-nine percent of these last-minute problems could be avoided if Nate Farnsworth weren’t in the equation.
His mere existence makes my life harder.
He’s the work rival that complicates everything day in and day out, and he does it for sport.
I hand him a stapled packet of papers. “Here’s the most recent copy of the event checklist.”
Immediately, he flips to the back and laughs in his mocking way. “Seventy-eight items. I didn’t think it was possible, but you’ve upped it by twenty from the last trip checklist you gave me.”
“You can make fun of my lists all you want. It won’t change the fact that you rely on them.”
“ Rely is too generous of a word. Endure is a better choice.” He flashes me a lovable smile that does nothing to soften my dislike for him.
“Now that I have to add rucking to my checklist, you’ll receive an updated copy before we leave for New Zealand.” My expression drips with fake kindness. “Or maybe I should pack your copy in my suitcase so you don’t lose it before we even land.”
“Didn’t Lyle tell you?” His face fills with discomfort, or is it pity? Please don’t let it be pity. Nothing is worse than getting Nate’s pity.
“Tell me what?”
“You’re no longer coming to New Zealand.”
“What? Why?” I spit out the words, desperate for answers.
“The New Zealand trip is small, and we don’t need much help. I prefer to run the whole event on a skeleton staff.”
At this moment, my dislike for Nate Farnsworth has escalated to hatred. And I’m not using the term lightly, like someone who flippantly claims they hate olives or the black gunk that gathers in the corners of your eyes from cheap mascara. The feeling in my chest is pure hate—the kind that elicits a visceral reaction. A heart-racing, stomach-tightening, blood-boiling, thought-consuming reaction.
“ You prefer to run on a skeleton staff?” A bitter laugh puffs out as I slam my laptop shut. “I should have known this was your idea.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Nate sits back with lifted palms, signaling innocence. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
“Don’t give me your I-didn’t-do-anything-wrong look.”
“Seriously. I don’t know why you’re so upset. I don’t think it’s your time of the month, so this level of anger isn’t making sense.”
“How sexist of you to accuse a woman of only being upset when she’s on her period.” I smack the table with both hands and rise to my feet. “I’m upset because you kicked me off my trip so you can pad your pockets.”
“Yes, I get a bigger sales commission if you’re not there.” My gaze turns hostile. “ But ”—his palms stay raised like two stop signs, in case I leap across the table and gouge his eyes with my pen—“that’s not why you’re off the trip.”
“Yes, it is. You wanted me gone to get a bigger commission. Just admit it. It’s the Bali trip all over again.”
“Oh, please!” It’s his turn to roll his eyes. “We’re back to the Bali trip? That was seven months ago.”
“It doesn’t matter. When Lyle hired me, he promised I could go. But then you inserted yourself and got me kicked off.”
Nate stands and walks over to my side of the conference table. “Do you know what your problem is?”
“ Too scheduled and controlling. I heard you the first time.” I look into his condescending brown eyes.
“Besides that.” He takes a step forward, and I can smell his intoxicating cologne—which shouldn’t come as a surprise. Nate Farnsworth looks like he’d smell good. His chin dips, and his glare bores down on me. “You act entitled. You think just because you’ve worked on a trip, you deserve to go. And once there, you treat these incentive trips like they’re your own personal vacations.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh, but it is.”
Another step brings him even closer. I’m tempted to move back but can’t give him the upper hand, so I stay put—wild heartbeats and all. Tension crackles between us, thickening the air with resentment.
“Remember the tantrum you threw in Egypt, all because you had to take one of the guests to the emergency room and miss out on the pyramids?”
I lift my chin, matching his intensity. “That was hardly a tantrum. I asked if you could take her instead since you’ve already been to Egypt and have seen the pyramids. Any gentleman would’ve offered to go, but I’ve learned from experience you’re no gentleman.”
“You had the least seniority there, plus no relationship with the VIPs. Naturally, you’d be the one to leave and go to the emergency center. But that’s a perfect example of how you expect trips to be fun for you.”
“I work harder on events than anyone else there.”
“Well, you can work hard in Cabo, because that’s where Lyle is sending you instead of New Zealand.”
Disappointment drags my heart to despair.
Cabo?
I’ve been to Cabo multiple times. I hate Cabo. Mexico incentive trips are basically glorified frat parties. Running an event with twelve hundred drunk people who are only there for the freebies and the all-you-can-drink alcohol does not sound better than New Zealand with one hundred and eight guests.
This feels personal, like Nate is purposely kicking me off another exotic trip so he doesn’t have to travel with me. It’s Isaac all over again. I’m being held back in my career because of a man. The realization nails me in the gut. I need to get out of here before the hurt reaches my eyes.
I’d rather die than have Nate Farnsworth see me cry.
I begin aggressively gathering up my papers. “Fine, I’ll go to Cabo, and we’ll see how good you do on the trip that you know nothing about.” Whipping my body around, I march out of the room.
I would slam the door, but this is my livelihood.
And although I don’t care what Nate thinks about me, I do care about everyone else in the office.