Chapter Eight #2
Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Well, it is one of my tasks. I don’t like firing people.”
His shoulders snapped back in defense. “I don’t either, but that’s what running a successful business requires. Not all of us can live without responsibility.”
“And not all of us can live with a clear conscience,” she said cheerfully.
His fists clenched. Then slowly uncurled.
The air between them stretched and tightened.
The scent of his cologne—a rich woodsmoke—drifted to her nostrils.
He shifted his weight and the floorboards creaked under his expensive shoes.
How were they still immaculate despite the sand?
Everett picked up a bar of surf wax from the display, turning it over in his palm like he was examining evidence.
“You’re supposed to rub it on the board. Not evaluate its molecular structure.”
His mouth twitched. “I know what it’s for.”
“Do you?”
“I’ve been to a beach before.”
“In a suit?”
“Once or twice.” He set the wax down with deliberate care, lining it up with the others. “You organize these by scent or by price point?”
“By whatever makes Tino happy.” She was lying—she was relentless in her inventory and display skills, but he’d never believe her. Not that she cared.
“So, no system.”
“We have a system. You just don’t recognize it.”
Everett’s gaze slid to her, dark and assessing. Her stomach did a tiny dip as she was trapped by his sudden intense interest. “I’m starting to realize that about a lot of things here.”
The words landed with more weight than they should have. She picked up a leash from the counter and began coiling it. “Must be hard for you, not having everything labeled and color coded.”
“Must be nice for you,” he countered, “not being accountable to anyone.”
Her hands stilled. “Excuse me?”
He gestured around the shop. “This. The whole beachside minimalist thing you’ve got going. No boss. No schedule. No pressure to actually build something.”
Heat flared in her chest. “I help Tino build boards. Custom work. Each one takes weeks.”
“For what? A few hundred dollars?”
“For someone’s dream,” she shot back. “Not everything’s about profit margins.”
“No,” he agreed. “Some things are about hiding.”
The words hit like a slap. Rowan straightened, the leash forgotten in her hands. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Everett took a step closer. Then another. The shop was small and he made it smaller—broad shoulders blocking the light, the scent of his smoky cologne drifting to her nostrils. Something expensive and wrong for this place. Wrong for her.
“Kelsey told me you were ranked in the top ten. Sponsorships. Magazine covers. And now you’re what? Stocking sunscreen.”
Her throat went tight. “I got injured.”
“A year ago.”
Rowan’s hands fisted. She wanted to shove him.
Wanted to tell him to get the hell out of her shop, her space, her life.
But he was standing close enough now that she could see the clean line of his jaw; the sharp slash of his nose; the small scar near his eyebrow that kept him from being too perfect.
The way his pulse jumped in his throat when she lifted her chin.
What was happening here?
Her voice iced over. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you gave up.”
She gave a laugh then, back in control. He’d pushed as far as she’d allow.
“I know when to let go.” She took a step forward, closing the gap until they were nearly chest to chest. “You hold on too tight. Must be exhausting building your empire. Controlling every detail. Firing people for being five minutes late. What happens when something breaks that you can’t fix? ”
His teeth ground together. “I don’t let things break.”
The line hit her full force, the heat of his words sinking into her skin. “Everyone breaks.”
“Not me.”
“Especially you,” she said softly. “You’re one wave away from it, Suit.”
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. His hand came up—not touching her, but close enough she felt the heat of his skin near her arm. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Tell you the truth? You’re wound so tight I’m surprised you can breathe.”
“And you’re so loose you’re barely tethered to the ground.”
“At least I can still feel things.”
“Oh, I’m feeling plenty.” His voice dropped, rough at the edges.
Her breath caught. Anger swirled, but underneath was something worse. Want. The kind that didn’t care about logic or compatibility or the fact this man represented everything she hated.
For a stunning brief moment, Rowan felt it from him, too. The way his gaze dipped to her mouth. The tension in his shoulders like he was fighting the urge to reach for her. She couldn’t help pushing back in challenge. “You don’t even like me,” she said.
“No,” he agreed. “I don’t.”
“I think you’re everything wrong with the world. Greed. Ambition. Caring more about bottom lines than people or community.”
“And I think you’re wasting your life playing in the sand.”
The words should have hurt. Instead, they sparked something feral in her chest. She tilted her head. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
Recklessness spurred her on, though Rowan was sure she’d regret it. “Like you want to kiss me just to shut me up.”
His breath hitched. For a moment—one reckless, impossible moment—she thought he might actually do it. His hand lifted another inch. His gaze dropped to her mouth again, lingering. Was that a growl from his throat or her imagination?
They were locked in a battle stare worthy of Bagel, but she refused to surrender.
Kelsey’s voice rang from the back. “Coming! Sorry, Dad.”
Everett stepped back like he’d been shocked. He dragged a hand through his hair.
Rowan turned away, pulse hammering, and made herself busy with the leash again.
Kelsey burst through the door, hair wet, wearing a dry pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “Ready! Sorry, let’s go, Dad. See you tomorrow, Rowan!”
She said goodbye and nodded at Everett.
When they finally left, Rowan slumped behind the counter with a groan. What the hell had just happened? Was it a weird hate thing that caused that sexual tension? Or was she finally, officially, losing her damn mind?
There was only one thing left to do. Push the entire episode from her mind and go sand some boards.
Hopefully he wouldn’t show up tomorrow and she could forget the whole thing.