Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(13)

Good lord, I was a bossy little girl. I wonder if he hated it and I didn’t notice.

When I’m ready, I walk carefully down the aisle of the jet, past the seat where Eric slept. I felt a little guilty crawling into the bed while he was snoozing in the chair.

But not guilty enough not to do it.

All our bags have been loaded into the car already, which means Eric took care of everything while I was sleeping.

I wonder if I’ll ever stop embarrassing myself in front of Eric Bayer.





Signs point to no, as my old Magic 8 Ball would have said. Because I pass out in the car, too. I don’t wake up until it stops. And then I discover I’m sleeping with my face propped against Eric’s muscular shoulder.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” I sit up straight, as if that might help him forget. There’s a little spot of drool near the collar of his polo.

Shoot me.

“It’s fine,” he grumbles. “Just another part of the job description nobody ever gave me. Bodyguard, and pillow to the rich and famous.”

He slides out of the car, and I follow, finding myself blinking up at the entrance to one of Hawaii’s chicest spa resorts. I’m too tired to appreciate the asymmetrical stone facade and the carefully lit water features. But it will be promising tomorrow in the daylight.

Eric already has our two suitcases in hand and it’s all I can do to grab my own carryon bag and follow him inside the lobby. Luckily, there’s no wait at the check in desk, and all I have to do is hand over my credit card and remain vertical while the desk agent makes two key cards and small talk with Eric.

“There are three pools on the property. The dolphin experience is located down in the cove.”

“Great. Can you tell me where to find the gym?” he asks.

“On the lower level, sir. We have personal trainers, as well. Touch two on your in-room phone to schedule an appointment or a spa treatment.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I show you to your suite?” the woman asks.

“We’d rather just go on up ourselves,” Eric says, holding out a hand for the key cards.

“Certainly. Your suitcases are already on their way.”

“Thank you,” I whisper as soon as the elevator doors close on us. “I can’t handle people right now.”

“I noticed that,” he chuckles.

“Usually I’m a great traveler. Another symptom of pregnancy is extreme exhaustion. Apparently growing an entire human takes a lot of extra energy.”

“Ah,” he says. “Yeah, I’ve never tried that myself, so…” He runs a hand through his hair.

I don’t know why I feel the need to explain myself. It’s the middle of the night back at home. I’m asleep on my feet right now, but anyone would be

Luckily, moments later Eric opens the door to a plush suite. I drag myself inside. And because this is a very nice hotel, our luggage is already waiting for us. I unzip my suitcase and pull out a nightgown along with my toiletry bag. Then I disappear into the marble clad bathroom ahead of Eric. But somebody has to go first, right?

After I’ve changed and brushed my teeth, I take a look in the mirror. My eyes are red, and my hair is messed. I look like a disaster. And when I turn my head, I catch sight of a red indentation on my jaw. Good lord. There’s a Lacoste alligator molded into my face from sleeping on Eric.

There is really no end to today’s mortifications.

After brushing my hair forward to hide the mark, I put on a brave face and leave the bathroom. Eric is in the bedroom, hanging his suit jacket in the closet. My sleep addled brain spends a few seconds remembering how fabulous he looks in a tux. In Florida, when I was trying to figure out why he kept glancing at me, I allowed myself a few glances of my own.

My old friend is seriously hot. As fake boyfriends go, he’s an A-lister.

“You should get some sleep,” he says with a glance over his shoulder. I’m obviously not the only one who thinks I look like a zombie right now.

“So should you,” I point out. Then I turn around and count the beds.

There’s only one.

Oh, dear. I should have seen this wrinkle coming.

But Eric isn’t the only one caught off guard today by Max Bayer’s security arrangements. I expected The Company would send a bodyguard with me to Hawaii. But I didn’t anticipate the ruse of a pretend boyfriend, so it hadn’t occurred to me to ask my assistant to change my travel accommodations. She always books a one-bedroom suite.

Oops.

Eric watches me with a smirk. “Maybe the living room couch folds out.”

I pad back into that room to check. The couch is a sleek, modern thing that’s low to the floor. I try to lift a cushion, but you can’t. The sofa is a monolith.

Well, this is awkward.

“It doesn’t fold,” I say when I return to the bedroom. “But it’s okay. We’ll share the bed.” And suddenly I don’t know where to put my eyes. I meant platonically, of course. But sharing a bed with Eric—under different circumstances, of course—isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever heard. “It’s large enough,” I mumble.

We both turn to glance at it at the same time. If possible, even more awkwardness sets in.

“I could call downstairs and ask them to send us up a cot,” he says, closing the closet door.