The Bikini Diaries (31 page)

Likewise, when they stepped off the elevator and into his expansive office where Joanna

stood talking with Charles, he greeted them both with big smiles. "Sorry I'm late, gang."

"Um—me, too," Wendy added, feeling a bit like a puppy trailing after him.

A big tray of scrumptious-looking danishes sat in the center of the conference table,

clearly prompting Brandon to say, "Joanna, you're perfect. Will you marry me?"

The older woman laughed good-naturedly, and said, "Oh,

now, you know my Hank would be jealous," and Wendy could tell this wasn't the first time he'd teased her this way.

He shook hands with Charles and, all in all, seemed delighted with everyone—except her.

Her stomach tightened with what felt like a sudden, strange rejection. Which made no

sense. You couldn't be rejected by a guy you didn't want to keep—right?

But still, they'd... they'd shared things. Good things, intimate things. So this sudden, rude about-face simply hurt.

When the meeting started, however, he began behaving more pleasantly to her. In a

professional way. Same as he had at their last meeting. Indeed, just as no one would

know he'd fucked her, no one would know he'd spent the last fifteen minutes being cold

and distant to her, either.

One by one, Charles went over the demands she'd made for improvements, and both he

and Brandon addressed the issues thoroughly. On most they conceded and agreed. A few

they suggested be postponed for a year or two to prevent having so many expenditures at

once. A few more they declined, explaining to her why they didn't feel they were

important or feasible.

Wendy listened, made notes, and weighed the situation. She'd pretty much decided to

give Emerald Shores a thumbs-up to Walter, but they didn't know that, and
she
was willing to drive a hard bargain if she had to—for Walter's sake. She truly felt Emerald

Shores had to be nearly flawless for her to advise Walter to risk so much money here.

"Gentlemen, we'll need a commitment in writing as to when the deferred items will be completed," she told them. 'And we'll also need to reach an agreement about the items you're declining. I feel strongly about them, and if you will simply add them to the list of deferred items, put on the schedule for no later than two years from now, I can gladly

give Mr. Carlisle my recommendation that he invest in Emerald Shores."

Both guys wore poker faces and she could see they were skilled at such games. She,

conversely, had little experience, but maybe her other "games" earlier in the week had helped prepare her for this.

"Ms. Carnes," Brandon said, meeting her gaze with smooth professionalism, as if nothing of note had ever passed between them, "what I think you fail to understand is that money doesn't grow on trees and even a tropical paradise has bills to pay. We've been very

reasonable in meeting your demands and we would ask that you show us the same

courtesy."

Okay, now he was just being condescending. Which plain pissed her off, regardless of the feet that they'd been curled up in bed together a little while ago, kissing, snuggling, and touching each other.
"And
perhaps what
you
fail to understand, Mr. Worth, is that it will be a lot easier for this tropical paradise to pay its bills if it has Mr. Carlisle's money to do it with. I'm not sure you're in a bargaining position here," she added. Two could play at being cold and rude.

Brandon's eyes on hers were shaded with anger now—pure and clear. He didn't like being

pushed around or having her point out that she had the ability to do it. The sad truth was, if he'd continued acting normal this morning, maybe she would have given in on those

last items, or at least discussed them in a more flexible manner. But she didn't like being treated poorly, either, so he'd brought this on himself.

Across the table, she watched Brandon and Charles exchange glances and knew she had

them between a rock and a hard place. She pushed the issue. "Do we have a deal,

gentlemen?" They all knew that her "recommendation" to Walter was mostly just a formality—if she agreed to give it, the deal was as good as done.

She was pretty sure Brandon's teeth were clenched when he finally said, "Fine. It's done."

A sure but cold satisfaction ran through Wendy's veins as she said, "Very good. I'm glad we could work it out. I'm on my way to the airport within the hour, but you can draw up

the aforementioned document and fax it to the Carlisle offices. After which I'll talk with Walter, and if all is in order, we'll be in touch to finalize the investment."

With that, she stood up and reached across the table to shake first Charles' hand, then

Brandon's. 'A pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen," she said, trying not to feel the word pleasure at her core, trying to forget what the word had meant to her when it

came to Brandon.

• "We're happy we can do business together, too. Can I walk you down?" Charles asked politely.

Wendy waited for Brandon to intercede, to say
he'd
walk her down. After all, despite the animosity that had just passed between them, this was
it
—this was goodbye.

When he didn't, her heart dropped. But she said to Charles, "Would you mind if Mr.

Worth escorted me down? I need to speak to him in private." It was clear that Brandon still hadn't told Charles about their relationship, but she didn't care if this seemed odd—

Brandon could answer Charles' questions later.

"Um, sure," Charles said, then looked to his business partner, still seated at the conference table. "Brandon?"

"All right," Brandon said in a tone she couldn't read, then pushed to his feet and followed her to the elevator as Wendy struggled to understand what had just happened, what was

still
happening. She had to
ask
him to say goodbye to her? She'd never imagined things ending this way. .

As soon as the elevator doors closed, locking them together in privacy, she said, "You weren't even going to say goodbye?"

He looked solemn, paler than usual, as he raised his eyes to hers. "I guess I thought we'd already said everything we needed to say."

She felt her eyes widen in shock.
"Brandon."
Was he serious? What had she missed?

When had he gone from being her lover to being her adversary? "Is this because of the way the meeting went? Because I know I was kind of a hardass, but you were, too.

Besides which, I thought we'd agreed to keep business out of... us."

"The fact is, even if I think your demands are...
uninformed,
I'm relieved you're going to give Walter your recommendation and I appreciate your confidence in the resort. But as

for
us,
well... it was a casual fling, a few nights of fucking. I didn't see any reason to make a big deal out of you leaving. It was fun, but now it's over."

Wendy simply blinked in disbelief. What had happened to the man who'd been saying

such sweet things to her in the pool last night? "This isn't you," she said simply. "I realize we haven't known each other long, but... this just isn't you. What's wrong, Brandon?

What did I do?"

Brandon drew in a deep breath in reply, then answered, still speaking in a calm,

professional voice. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then what happened? What's going on?"

Next to her, he sighed, looked put-upon. 'All right—here it is. While you were in the

shower, I found your diary. And I know I shouldn't have read it, but I did. So now I
get
that the stuff we did together was some kind of game to you. And that's fine—it's your

prerogative—like I said, it was casual fun. But I'm not accustomed to being used, so

you'll have to forgive me if it makes me feel a little less warmly toward you."

Wendy felt like she'd been punched in the gut. He'd read her journal.

Oh God, what had she written? She couldn't even remember. Just arbitrary—and perhaps

brutally honest—thoughts about the things that were happening to her. Some about "the game" she was playing with herself, but surely other, deeper thoughts, too—about the intimacies they'd shared, about the world he'd opened to her, the amazing freedom he'd

shown her.

"Well, you couldn't have read all of it or you'd know it was way more than a game."

"Didn't sound that way," he said, his voice going cold.

Just then the elevator dinged, indicating they'd reached the lobby. The doors parted and they were no longer alone. Two men stood outside, waiting to get on, so she and Brandon

were forced to step out.

When the elevator doors closed again, they stood by themselves in the airy lobby—the

receptionist's desk sat a good distance away and she was on the phone anyway.

"Brandon," Wendy said softly, "I don't want things to end this way."

"From what I read, you already got what you wanted. How it ends doesn't really matter."

She gasped. "How can you say that? We had an amazing time together."

He looked incredulous. 'And then you went back to your room and wrote about how

meaningless it was. And like I said, that's your choice—it's not like we were making

promises to each other. But don't expect me to act heartbroken to see you go."

She remained dumbfounded, unable to believe this. His voice still sounded calm,

analytical—but underneath it she felt the anger just seething from him. She tried to

rationalize, be calm
herself.
"Can we go somewhere and talk?"

"You have a plane to catch," he reminded her. 'And I have documents to draw up for Mr.

Carlisle."

When a second elevator arrived just then, Brandon stunned her further by stepping onto

it. She simply stood staring at him, dumbfounded. And just before the doors closed,

separating them forever, his expression shifted to one of... sadness. "Bye, bunny," he said. Then he was gone. And she was all alone.

Oh God.
That was all she kept thinking, the only words that floated through her brain.
Oh
God.

Even as her plane lifted off from Okaloosa Regional Airport, Wendy still couldn't quite

fathom how things had turned out. She hadn't seen it coming, and when it had, she could

barely gather her wits enough to react.

That jerk. Reading words that she'd spilled recklessly onto the page, words never meant

for any eyes but her own.

Sitting in the airport waiting to board, she'd dug the journal from her carry-on bag to

thumb through it, wondering which parts he'd read. Much of it, she supposed, was

damning—if read by a guy who thought they were developing a caring relationship.

She'd just never thought Brandon was that sort of guy or that that's what they were

developing. She'd worked so hard
not
to develop that.

Now that she was in the air, though, flying away from him, able to start putting the past few hours in a little perspective, she couldn't help but wonder how much of his anger

related to ego. After all, a guy like Brandon Worth didn't have to fight for women. And it wasn't until that moment in the pool last night that she'd had much indication from him

that he
did
care for her in any sort of romantic way. By writing the things she wrote in her journal, she'd only been protecting her heart.

So even if she could understand someone being hurt by the things she'd written, what she
couldn't
abide was his cold reticence, his unwillingness to let her explain—that was something that
hadn't
changed in retrospect. Again, she could only chalk it up to his wounded ego. Beautiful people like him didn't get wounded very often, she'd bet—all this meant was that Brandon had never had his feelings hurt before, and he didn't like it.

Nothing more. She was sure of it. Because if he truly felt something for her, wouldn't he have cared enough to let her explain the journal, the whole "experiment," from beginning to end?

The worst part of this, she couldn't deny, peering out the window into the fluffy white

clouds passing by, was that this whole upsetting event had forced her to realize how she
really
felt. She
cared for
him.

She was crazy about him.

She'd tried and tried to lie to herself about it all week, but now she couldn't anymore.

The way he'd treated her this morning hurt way too much— it made her feel, even now,

like her heart was crumbling in her chest. At the moment, it was all she could do not to cry. She had to shut her eyes, in fact, to keep from it, and she only hoped the older

woman sitting next to her wouldn't realize she was upset.

So she
still
hadn't succeeded in having sex without emotion. She'd been so bent on living that particular dream that she'd lied to herself about it, over and over, just to make it okay, just to feel strong, just to protect herself because she'd known the affair was

temporary.

Proving that her experiment, in the end, was actually an abysmal failure.

Two weeks later, Wendy stood in a busy, popular downtown Chicago bar watching a cute

guy across the room. Early thirties, she'd bet—no tie, but a nice shirt and jacket that told her he probably worked in a business-casual office nearby. She'd come for an after-work

drink with her friend, Kayla, but Kayla had had to leave to meet her husband for dinner.

She'd invited Wendy along with them, but Wendy had declined, deciding to stay here

instead. Deciding to ... see if she could resurrect her experiment, figure out how to make it a success.

She'd had some time to think through what had happened with Brandon, to get over that

initial crush of heartbreak, to analyze it all. In Florida, she'd tried so hard
not
to analyze the situation, but now she'd faced the facts: She was a person who analyzed, plain and