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She doesn’t comment, just strides over to the suitcases that have arrived, opens one of them and takes out the clothes that Dom was smart enough to have delivered. She pulls out a pair of tan hiking boots and studies them up close. Satisfied, she begins to smack the bottom sole on her open palm.
Color me curious. “What are you doing?”
“Testing how I could use it as a weapon.”
Well, at least she has an imagination. I lift my glass. “You’d be better off using one of these.” Harriet nods in agreement.
“I’m going to have a shower.” She heads toward the bathroom with her new change of clothes, pausing in the open entryway that’s supposed to be romantic. “Don’t come in,” she demands and points her finger at me like a schoolteacher.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I mumble and return to my drink.
The shower begins to run, and I distract myself by scrolling through my phone, replying to a few emails and texts, setting up meetings and forwarding information to Dom. A text interrupts my work and when I open it, I almost choke on the gin in my mouth. It’s Ford, his face painted with makeup, pouting like a teenager.
Ford:You never told me I looked pretty.
Odin:Is that your definition?
Ford:I’d like to put in a formal complaint.
Odin:For what?
Ford:Failure to state the obvious.
Dom:Martise just sent me Etta’s itinerary; I’ve forwarded it to you all.
Ford:I’m going to need time to look it over.
Dom:Fine. But be quick about it. Odin? Will you be attending any trips?
Odin:No.
Ford:Wrong answer.
Dom:I’ve put you down for the three-day safari.
Odin:Fine.
Ford:The correct response is Yes, Daddy.
I groan, pocketing my phone, as Harriet emerges from the shower, fresh and clean. The shorts she wears show off her smooth legs, made lean from working on her feet for excessive hours. Since the day we met—when she was shaking in her scrubs—I’ve only seen her baggy, loose things. Comfortable, cute things that make her look like a freaking teddy bear.
The t-shirt she wears now is a size too big for her but provides enough of a view of her upper body that I can make out her full breasts, rounded hips and straight shoulders.
Christ.
Now I really regret coming here.
She grabs her sunglasses out of her pocket and places them over her eyes, fixing her appearance so that the ends of her black cropped hair kisses the bottom of her jaw. There’s a slight curl to it that I never noticed before, just a wave.
A hand presses on my chest, making it hard to swallow the last of my gin. Harriet shifts so that she’s staring out at the river and to the flat land that stretches toward the horizon beyond it.
And I… I can’t stop staring at her.
I have to physically shake myself out of my stupor. I place the glass down and head toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Harriet asks, stopping me.
“Need to clear some things up with Dom.” I can’t see her eyes beyond the sunglasses, but I notice the crinkle in her brow. To amplify her displeasure, she crosses her arms.
