Relapse In Paradise. Roxanne Smith
She didn’t even bother to disguise the dry response as a real question.
However, had he been pressed for an answer, he’d have to say it was probably the high-flying CEO costume she had on. Who dressed like that for a vacation to the tropics? It wouldn’t surprise him if she had pantyhose on under that calf-length skirt or owned a pair of shoes that weren’t sensible lady loafers in every shade of boring.
“Point taken,” he conceded. “On North Shore, which is where we’re headed, there’s a damn good chance we’ll run into one this time of year. The waters are too rough for swimming but ideal for surfing. Obviously, this brings a lot of folks out, but nothing like the crowds you’ll find at Waikiki.”
Judging by her studious expression—brow drawn, lips pursed while she nibbled the inside of one cheek—he might have an easier time with Emily if he kept her mentally occupied with island trivia. “Did you know Hawaii outlawed billboards? Don’t want ads funkin’ up the view, you know? Kinda wish the Internet would take a hint. Also, it snows here. How’s that for incredible? Hawaii’s elevation is through the roof, so some of our highest peaks get snowfall when it gets cold enough.” Was it working?
She faced him at the same time he chanced a peek her way, and he was caught again by her countenance. She was like a wise old owl, intelligent and watchful. “How far to North Shore?”
“With traffic? An hour, maybe. We’re going clear across the island. See here.” He pointed toward her window and the towering buildings blocking a full view of the ocean. “That’s south. We’re heading east. If we keep going, we’ll eventually run smack into the Waikiki area, but we’re going north. Hence the name. North Shore.”
Emily aimed her pointer finger at his face. “Let’s make one thing clear.” Her voice had the same quality Boston had used on his students once upon a time, back when…
Never mind that. He imagined Emily used it on executive blah-blahs or slow interns, or whatever context it might be needed doing whatever the hell her job was. He’d throw money down on anything involving PowerPoint presentations and strongly worded interoffice memos.
“I’m the only one of us who gets to be a sarcastic jerk, got it? Because it’s my vacation, and I didn’t come here to put up with a surly guide talking down to me because I don’t know which way is up. Do I appear to be in possession of a compass? A smidge of respect will go a long way toward you keeping your job, Mr. Rondibett. I may not know the great underbelly of the island, whatever that is, but I can drive around and get lost with the best of them.”
Well, hot damn. Color him chastised.
He tried to hide his grin. “While we’re doling out the complaints, I might as well mention I don’t much care for the mister and missus, polite as it may be. I’m Boston. You’re Emily.”
“I’m sticky. Is that normal?”
“The humidity. You don’t get much of that in southern Cali, do you? Sometimes it’s like drowning in air. It can be hard to get used to, and it’s a lot like sauerkraut—people either love it or hate it. But I understand it’s good for the skin.” Personally, he didn’t mind it.
“So, you’re a health guru, too?”
Boston stole another peek at his passenger. Arms crossed over her chest, frowning while she gazed out the window. Either the scenery displeased her or he did, and it was easy enough to guess which. His grinned slipped away.
This lady was going to be trouble. He’d known it the moment Quinn texted him a photo of Emily with her severe business bun and the flat, no-nonsense expression. He’d like nothing better than to drop her at the Hilton and let her have her cookie-cutter vacation, but Hani was counting on him.
It’d taken nearly every penny Quinn had paid him to replace The Canopy’s busted oven. If Boston was going to scrounge up bail money for this Ryder guy, he needed Emily. Somehow, he’d have to impress her enough to make her want to extend her stay so he could hit Quinn up for another advance. Gas wasn’t cheap on the island, either. He was taking a risk on this impromptu trip to North Shore.
“I can be whatever you need,” he said in an effort to lighten her dour mood. “Papayas are plentiful on the island and an excellent source of vitamin C. Avocados are also abundant—”
“Tell me more about North Shore.” Even the sigh that followed the demand sounded bored.
That sealed it. Emily definitely wasn’t getting the number for his emergency phone. She’d be calling every five minutes to complain in that tired, blasé tone and end up costing him his job. “Or I could give you the deets on your accommodations.”
That got her attention. She sat up from her slumped position and uncrossed her arms. “Great idea. Maybe we’ll be friends after all, Boston. You’re starting to figure me out.”
He smirked. She didn’t know the half of it. By the time her vacation was over, he’d have her strutting around in a bikini with her hair loose around her shoulders, nary a sensible lady loafer in sight.
Some people adapted quickly. Like Quinn and her husband, Jack. They’d danced to the beat of the tropics like they’d been born under a coconut frond. Someone with Emily’s particular hang-ups took a little more finesse and time.
And a pinch of rough handling to get the gears moving. After all, you couldn’t surf a calm sea. “You ready for this? I’m taking you to a tree house. Isn’t that nuts? You’re gonna love it.”
“Turn around.”
He almost pulled over again for the sake of another look at her face. He kept driving instead and ignored her.
“I’ve changed my mind. Turn around, take me to the Hilton. You’re clearly insane. Quinn, that…. Ugh. She waited three years to get payback, but she sure did choose her moment.”
Payback, huh? Sounded like the sisters had some not-so-sisterly history between them. It didn’t surprise him. Oil and water, those two, and in more ways than one. “Calm down. Let me explain before you make any executive demands. I’m not talking about a wooden plank construct some Joe Nobody nailed to a tree.”
“Funny, because that’s the precise image tree house tends to bring to mind.”
“This one is special. It’s built up high on the side of a mountain. A stone staircase leads you up to an A-frame-style house with a wrap-around balcony on both levels. The view of the beach is outstanding. You’re practically chilling in the treetops. The house itself isn’t anything special. It’s maybe even a little rustic.”
The breath rushing in and out through Emily’s nostrils made more sound than the air conditioner. “How rustic? Is there at least running water, or do I stand on the balcony and hope for rain?”
The outburst both annoyed and amused him. Since he was used to clients like Emily, he gave in to amusement. Plus, he liked annoying her right back. It beat getting angry. “You’d probably have to walk down to the beach to get enough water for a good scrub down. The canopy’s too thick that high on the mountainside. I’d recommend the shower, personally. You do yoga? You look like you do yoga. That’s probably a better activity for the balcony. I don’t yoga, so I’d sit and have coffee, but whatever.”
Emily appeared to turn speculative and chewed her lip while staring forward at the winding road. Traffic lightened as they turned north and away from the hectic motion of Honolulu’s morning commuters.
“Sounds kind of nice.”
Boston let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It wasn’t much, but from Emily it was as good as he’d likely get. “It is. Trust the seasoned guide.”
“Not as nice as the Hilton,” she murmured.
“Well, it’s not the Hilton, okay? Don’t worry, though. I’ll accept your gratitude, apology, and plea for another two weeks in my company when the time comes. No hard feelings. It’s