Page 40 of Manhattan Bossholes

I pretended to rub my eyes and gawk at him. “What? Vincent Forde knows how to kick back and relax?”

“It’s not like I have much choice,” he retorted, his voice a lazy drawl that sent a shiver up my spine. “I need to embrace this whole ‘island time’ vibe if I want to get the contract signed. You should too.”

He pointed at the hammock next to his, and I gingerly started to lower myself into it. There was something about the way he watched me. Maybe it was the tropical heat, or maybe it was just him—but my heart thudded in my chest.

“Careful, they’re tippy,” Vincent said.

The warning came too late. I didn’t calculate how to counterbalance my body weight, and the thing flipped me onto my ass with a thump.

“Shit!” Vincent exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

He leaned over abruptly, and his hammock jiggled dangerously. For a split second, I was certain he was going to tumble down on top of me. I was half hoping for it.

I was facing the ground on my hands and one knee with my shoulders shaking from laughter. My other foot dangled in the air, caught in the hammock’s tassels.

“Piper?” Vincent demanded, probably because he couldn’t tell I was laughing. “Are you hurt?”

“No kidding they’re tippy,” I said through my tears of laughter.

He reached out to help me up. When I took his hand, I gave it a yank. His hammock nearly did a three-sixty before it dumped him on the ground next to me.

“Piper,” he growled, flat on his ass. The way he said my name—low, almost dangerous—made my stomach flip.

I bit my lip to hold back more laughter, but the sight of him sprawled there, hair slightly mussed, had me losing it again. He tried to keep his scowl, but eventually he cracked. Vincent Forde knew how to laugh, apparently.

And damn it, it did something to me. I’d promised myself to be on my best behavior given the whole work trip, future-of-the-company aspect, but this new and adorable version of Vincent was weakening my defenses.

We finally managed to collect ourselves, still grinning like idiots. He stood up first, offering me his hand again, and when he pulled me up, he drew me so close I could smell the faint scent of his cologne, clean and woodsy and utterly unnerving.

“You’re overtired and punch drunk,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over my temple. “It’s going to be a long night.”

My laughter subsided as reality hit. I glanced toward the bungalow, and there it was—a single bed down the hall.

Yup. It sure was going to be a very long night.

If I was grading our performance as a couple, I’d give us an A+. We were so adorable over dinner that even I started believing we were the real deal.

As expected, the meal was an impeccable selection of local fruits and vegetables, paired with seafood Joe told us had been caught just hours before. We were finally finishing dessert, and thanks to all the food, champagne, and jet lag, I could hardly keep my eyes open.

But I was having the best time ever.

“Before you head out for the night, I want to confirm our itinerary for tomorrow,” Jean said. “You can have breakfast whenever you like, either here in the main house or down in your bungalow. Just call the house line on the phone in your room and let our manager know your preference.”

“Then, horses at eleven,” Joe said.

Vincent flinched almost imperceptibly. “I was thinking…”

I held my breath. For my part, I was more than happy to drop the idea of riding now that I knew it was a touchy issue for Vincent, but Jean loved her itinerary. Was she going to be offended if he asked to change it?

“You might know my Piper is quite the golfer,” he continued, flashing a look at me, “and I was thinking it might be fun if the four of us went out for a quick nine holes? Assuming you still play.”

I started to say something. After all, where Vincent had baggage with horses, I had baggage with golf. Prentiss had almost ruined my love of the game. But I stopped myself. Golf was a good solution to get us away from horses. And I’d heard the courses out here were gorgeous. Did golfing have to be a bad thing? Maybe this would be a chance to reclaim the game for myself. Instead of it being a bone of contention between me and Prentiss, I could use it to help close a deal.

I met Vincent’s eyes. He was looking at me hopefully. I mustered a smile and gave him a nod. If Joe and Jean agreed to change the plans, I was on board.

Joe raised an eyebrow. “We do indeed, but Jean had her heart set on you two going out riding…”

“No, no, no,” Jean said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure we had plenty for you to do, but if you prefer golf, then golf it is. And what’s this business about nine holes? If we’re playing, we’re going for the full eighteen.”