Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(18)

“Sure!” I chirp like a crazy person. “Carry on.” The truth is that I need Eric as my smokescreen. It’s a perfectly good plan.

I just didn’t expect to experience a hormone spike every time he got near me.

We’re silent in the elevator until Eric says, “Whenever you spot him, I want you to nudge me. I’m positive I can keep this prick away from you. But the first time he approaches you, I may not be subtle.”

“Okay,” I agree as some long-dormant portion of my heart flutters. I’ve never wanted to be anyone’s damsel in distress. But the idea of Eric getting into Jared’s face is pretty hot.

“What’s he like, anyway?” Eric asks. “Is he the kind of guy who’ll beat on his chest and make a big scene?”

“No,” I say as the elevator doors open into the lobby. “I take him for a coward. He’s the kind to choose his fights very carefully.”

“And this man hit you?” he asks under his breath. We’re crossing the lobby toward the doors to the beach restaurant.

“Only once,” I confirm, and Eric growls immediately. “I think he scared himself.” But he scared me even more. The menace on his face was actually more terrifying than the blow itself.

“Even once is too often,” Eric says darkly.

I don’t disagree. “I can’t see him taking a swing at you, though. He’s cunning. He won’t start a fight he can’t win.”

Eric glowers, and my attitude toward him softens even more. But then he ruins it by opening his mouth. “After lunch can we go to the beach? After the conference starts, I’ll be trapped in boring meeting rooms with you for hours on end.”

“Right,” I agree with a sigh. The beach is probably just another excuse for him to take off his shirt again. I mentally catalogue my bikini choices. I’m definitely wearing the smallest one, while I still have the body for it. This might be my bikini collection’s last hurrah.

The hotel restaurant is a sleek Asian fusion place that’s half inside, half outside. “Where would you like to sit?” the hostess asks us.

“Outside,” I say at the exact moment Eric says, “Inside.”

The hostess freezes, glancing from one of us to the other.

“The lady has chosen,” Eric says tightly. “Outside it is.”

“Afraid to mess up your hair?” I ask after she leaves us at a lovely table near the railing, with an unobstructed view of the ocean.

“Not at all,” he says, opening the menu. “But outside tables always leave one person in the shade, and one facing into the sun. And chivalry demands that I’m the one who squints.”

I look him up and down. “You’re not squinting at all.”

“Not yet,” he says with a sigh.

“Are you always such a grump?” I ask him. “Or are you usually a pleasant, happy-go-lucky guy who just hates his life this week?”

“Little of both,” he says. “My buddies are hiking in Vermont right now.”

“I’m sorry. You’ll just have to have freshly caught seafood and a tropical drink instead. The horror.”

He gives me a smirk, and then lifts his sunglasses from the collar of his too-tight tee and slips them on.

Sure enough, not more than ten minutes later, I notice that the angle of the sun has shifted. A beam of sunlight is now hitting him square in the forehead. “Oh, dear.”

“Right. One hundred percent predictable.” He lifts his iced tea and sighs.

“I never noticed that before. I guess I don’t eat outside very often.”

“Maybe the men you’re dining with always give you the shady side,” he suggests.

“There aren’t a lot of men. Well, there hadn’t been in a long time. But after I turned thirty, I realized that I was married to my job. And I think I went a little crazy. Such a cliché, but…” I let the sentence die. “You’re still single, though. So I guess you understand.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m married to my job, too. But I like it that way. When I was in college I had this semester where I got all bent out of shape over a girl And that’s when a coach gave me the best advice I’ve ever gotten in my life.” He sips his tea slowly.

Very slowly. And then it occurs to me that he might not actually finish that thought. “Well?” What an infuriating man.

He levels me with one of those sexy smirks that I am starting to hate. “He said, Eric, you can do anything. But you can’t do everything.”

“Really?” I yelp. “What a cliché. I saw that printed on a notebook just last week.”

He shrugs. “So I have it hanging on my wall at home, too. Because it’s true. To compete at the highest level you need to commit. And once I really owned that idea, everything got easier for me.”

The waiter picks this moment to deposit our lunches in front of us. I thank him, but my mind is still chewing over Eric’s words.

“You know, women are told that they can have it all,” I point out. “A fulfilling career. A husband and children. And the message is that maybe there’s something wrong with us if we don’t at least try.”

He shrugs. “I don’t believe that at all. Life is all about hard choices. I made my peace with that a long time ago.”