Rub It In. Kira Sinclair
lessen the impact … and her anger.
“I wouldn’t bother. I think you’ll find everyone is booked.”
Her phone dangled from her loose fingers as she stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Just that I’ve paid them more not to come than you could pay them to come.”
And it had been worth every frickin’ penny.
She raked him with prickly blue eyes, making him feel as if ice was melting down his spine. She really did know how to use that gaze to intimidate. But he was a master himself, so it just wouldn’t work.
“You have no respect for anyone but yourself, do you?” she asked in a low voice that scared him even more than if she’d started yelling.
Time for the platitudes.
“Look, I’ll make it up to you. Name your price. A raise? An all-expenses-paid vacation? Diamonds? What will it cost me to keep you here for the next two weeks?”
“Not everything is for sale, Simon. Do I look like I care about diamonds?”
He couldn’t help it—his eyes traveled down Marcy’s body, from the tip of her blond head to the pale pink toenails that peeked out from her sandals. Really, she’d almost begged him to. And he had to admit that she didn’t look like the kind of woman who cared about jewels.
Oh, Marcy was stylish in a put-together businesswoman sort of way. But she didn’t drape herself in jewelry like some of the women he’d been known to associate with. In fact, the only jewelry she wore was a pair of small diamond studs and a single gold ring that looked suspiciously like a wedding band, only it was on her right hand.
“I had plans. Important plans. You can’t manipulate everyone and everything to get your way, Simon. You are not God and no one gave you the right to meddle in my life.”
His own anger was starting to kindle deep in his belly. He needed her here, damn it.
“I’m your boss, Marcy. I said I need you here. That should have been the end of the discussion. You’re valuable to me. Any other boss would have given you an ultimatum.”
“Right. Instead, you canceled the ferry and didn’t give me any choice in the matter.”
“Everyone has a choice.”
Her eyes sharpened before narrowing to tiny slits that reminded him of the arrow slots he’d seen in medieval castles—deadly depending on what lay behind.
“You know what—you’re right. I do have a choice. You can keep me prisoner here, Simon, but you can’t make me work. You can’t force me to lift a finger.”
“I’ll fire you.”
She threw her arms up in the air, letting them fall back down, the motion disturbing the cloud of hair around her face. The laugh that accompanied the motion was far from humorous. “Go ahead. I’m tired of busting my ass for you. I’m tired of going above and beyond to make this place run smoothly, be successful and high quality. I’m tired of having to fight you every step of the way when I try to do the job you hired me for.”
“Sounds like you just need a nap.”
“No, what I need is a vacation, part of the reason I was leaving for two weeks.”
“Only part?”
Marcy tipped her head sideways and studied him for several seconds before answering. “Yep, part. I also had a job interview in New York in two days.”
Simon didn’t understand. Sure, he needled her on a regular basis—it was fun to watch the steam pour out of her ears. And he often questioned her tactics and thought she bothered him with details that he didn’t give a damn about.
But she worked in paradise.
“Why the hell would you want to leave here—” he threw his arms wide to indicate the beach, jungle and gleaming water that surrounded them “—for the rat race of New York? Here you have a perpetual vacation outside your door.”
“One I don’t ever get to take because I’m too damned busy taking care of everyone else. Just once I’d like to sit in one of those lounge chairs on the beach and sip a fruity drink and think frothy thoughts. Or get a massage.”
Her eyes turned wistful for the barest moment, but he caught it before it disappeared. He’d never realized she hadn’t used Tiffany’s services. God, she had the most amazing hands.
Shaking his head, Simon realized he needed to keep focused on the little spitfire in front of him or risk getting singed.
“Please,” he scoffed. They both knew Marcy wouldn’t last fifteen minutes in that lounge chair before her body would start twitching with the need to do something. “You could have done that any time you wanted. You make me sound like a slave driver. I didn’t ask you to come into the office at five o’clock every morning. Or work until seven at night. You did that all on your own.”
“Because someone had to do it.”
Had he really been that blind? He didn’t think so. He might have his nose stuck in the Word program on his computer, but he did pay attention to what was happening around him. It was just that his idea of what was important and Marcy’s seemed to be diametrically opposed. Had she needed help at some point and he hadn’t realized it?
“Do you need an assistant? Is that it?”
“No, that’s not it,” she exclaimed, frustration pulling down the corners of her mouth. “You don’t get it, Simon, and I don’t think you ever will. All I wanted was for you to give a damn about this place.”
“I do!” he shouted.
“Not from where I’m sitting. New York is home and I want to go back. It’s where I came from and where I belong. Working here is frustrating and I can’t take it anymore.”
“Bullshit. You belong here. You’re wonderful at your job.” Hadn’t he said that over and over again? Hell, he’d basically kidnapped her because he couldn’t survive two weeks without her. Wasn’t that demonstration enough?
“Nice to know you realize it.”
“Of course I do.”
Shaking her head, Marcy gathered her bags and pushed past him up the path.
“Where are you going?”
“To see if there’s another way off this island.”
A churning sensation started deep in his belly and quickly swirled out to overwhelm him. He knew there wasn’t—he’d made sure of that—but that didn’t seem to stop the nerves. Marcy couldn’t leave, not today, not ever. As if he didn’t already have enough reasons for keeping her here, knowing she wanted to interview for a position that would take her away permanently only made him more determined.
Over his dead body.
“There isn’t. I even called the tourist helicopter services. I’ve covered all the bases.”
Marcy whirled to face him again, framed by the thick foliage that surrounded the path. The vibrant green only seemed to emphasize the blue of her eyes, the pale blond of her hair and the deep tan of her long legs. Her fist gripped the handles of her luggage, the knuckles turning white with the force of her hold and the exertion of her control over her own temper.
Was he perverse to want to see what she’d do if she really let that temper fly? Oh, he knew she had it, but he also realized he’d never once seen the full brunt of it. He’d often thought passionate women made the best lovers because they rarely held back in life or in bed.
Marcy was the exception to that rule. He had no doubt there was passion beneath the controlled, tight, competent facade that she showed the world, despite the fact that he’d never seen it.
“Don’t think you’ve won, Simon.”
A