Page 71 of Have To Be Mine

“We can’t have that.” He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers barely grazing my skin. “How are you feeling, my little lobster?”

“Like my skin is too tight.”

“You look better than last night,” he said, looking me up and down.

“That’s a low bar.”

“True.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead, one of the few places that wasn’t completely fried. “Take some more Advil. I ordered breakfast. It should be here soon.”

“You ordered breakfast?”

“Protein, carbs, hydration. Everything you need to recover.” He pulled back and looked at me seriously. “You worried me last night, Krista. You were in bad shape. It’s like you were so worried about fixing everyone else’s issues while ignoring your own.”

“It was no big deal. I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” He meant it. He’d actually been worried about me.

“I’m fine,” I said softly. “Thanks to you.”

I wanted to kiss him and finish what we’d started last night. But my skin hurt too much, and we had work to do. And I was not going to start something I couldn’t finish. Not again. The poor man would not survive. I still felt bad that he had been left in such a bad way.

“You need backup?” I asked.

“I need a witness.” He grinned. “Someone to confirm I didn’t murder anyone when this is over.”

A couple hours later, after breakfast and a lukewarm shower, I followed Dash to the ground floor. Dash had reserved one of the conference rooms. There was a long table that could seat about twenty people. Dash had arranged the chairs so that all the talent would be sitting on one side facing him. Power move.

And damn, I was seriously thinking about sucking up the pain and just jumping him. I wanted the man. And I hated that I hadn’t taken my chance.

I took a seat in the back corner where I could observe without being part of the show. My sunburn had calmed down slightly after more aloe, but I still felt like my clothes were made of sandpaper. I’d changed into clean khaki pants and a white button-down that didn’t touch my shoulders too much, but it was still torture.

The talent started trickling in. They looked rough. Hungover, tired, some of them wearing sunglasses indoors. A few tried to joke around, but Dash’s expression shut that down immediately.

By two o’clock, everyone was seated. They all looked nervous. I had a feeling I was going to be downright orgasmic by the end of the browbeating he was about to give them. He stood at the head of the table, hands in his pockets, and waited until the room was completely silent.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I know some of you are probably wondering why you’re here. Let me explain.”

He pulled out his phone and opened Instagram. Then he started reading.

Even I cringed as he read some of the posts they had made. A few people shifted uncomfortably in their seats. He set his phone down and looked at every person in the room. They were all doing their best to look two inches tall.

“Do you know what those posts have in common?” he asked.

No one answered.

“They make my family’s brand look bad. Really bad. Sloppy. Unprofessional. You’re all here on our dime. You represent us.” Dash paused to look around. “This is not the behavior the Blackwells expect from anyone we do business with. You have a direct impact on our brand, which impacts my family. I won’t tolerate anyone hurting my family. Anyone that pulls that shit again, you can consider yourself in breach of contract. Technically you’ve already broken them. Consider this your first and last warning, and be thankful I’m giving you that. Anything else and there will be no more chances from me.”

I watched the reactions. There were some quiet apologies and looks of shame. None of them looked defiant or resentful.

“I’ll be watching you from now on,” he said, shaking his head. “Act like professionals or hit the road. It’s that simple. Now, I’ll see all of you in Santorini, assuming you don’t fuck up because I will not hesitate to put you on the first plane out of here.”

I watched them file out of the room with heads hanging in shame. Dash walked up to me and I couldn’t resist. I fanned my face and smiled. “Man, that was hot.”

“Does the whole authoritarian thing really do it for you?” he asked.

“Oh no, sexy. I’m just hot from my sunburn.”

“Good to know.” Dash nodded. “Come on. Now that I’ve got you all hot and bothered, I want to show you the little surprise I got for you.”