Page 13 of Bad for Business (Pembroke Hills #2)

THIRTEEN

RYKER

An intense banging sound wakes me up from my dream. One moment, I’m fast asleep, deep into a dream about soft lips and hushed moans, and the next, the clank of something hitting against metal is pulling me from my slumber.

“What the fuck,” I mutter, my mind trying to wake up fully and make sense of what the horrible noise is.

“Get up,” a familiar voice demands from the end of my bed.

I rub the heels of my palms against my eyes before opening them.

Once open, I find Camille standing at the foot of the bed with a pot and a wooden spoon, her gaze smugly pointed at me.

It’s been almost two weeks since we first got to the Hamptons, and never once has she barged into my room like this.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” I spit, sitting up in bed.

“You kept snoozing your alarm, and you’re supposed to be at Pembroke in an hour. I had to find a way to wake you up.” She shrugs innocently, letting her hand holding the wooden spoon fall to her side.

Nothing about her is innocent. She knew exactly what she was doing by waking me up in the loudest, most abrupt way possible.

“I was going to wake up soon,” I argue, clearing my throat to rid my voice of sleepiness.

Camille ignores me. Instead, she chooses to walk over to the large bedroom windows and pull the curtains open. In one quick movement, the blackout shades are moved to the side, and the early morning sun washes the entire room in bright light.

I hiss, covering my eyes and falling into my pillow. “Camille!” I yell. “Give me a second to finish waking up before blinding me.”

“Blinding you? Really ? That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

I let out a disapproving grunt. “You shouldn’t be allowed in my room.”

She sets the pot and spoon down on the dresser before propping against it. I watch her through a small crack in my fingers, not ready to fully embrace the bright room quite yet. “If you didn’t want me in here, then you should’ve locked your door.”

I let out a displeased laugh and shake my head. “Seriously? Just because I didn’t lock my door doesn’t mean you have the right to come barging in before the sun’s even up.”

“The sun is up. And I wouldn’t have to come in here if you would just wake up the first time your alarm goes off. I mean, seriously, Ryker, are you a teenager? What thirty-year-old man sleeps through seven alarms?”

I finally pull my hands from my face and really look at her.

She stands in the same spot as before, her hip pressed into the corner of the dresser as it supports some of her weight.

She wears a light blue sundress today, and I can’t help but let my eyes wander for a fraction of a second, traveling over the spot on her thigh where the hem of the dress dances against her tan skin.

“It wasn’t seven alarms,” I grumble, pulling my body into a sitting position. I press my back against the bed’s headboard, adjusting myself until I’m comfortable.

“It was seven alarms. I counted.”

I clench my jaw. Of course she counted.

“Well, I’m awake. You can leave me alone now.”

Camille clicks her tongue. “Can I? I trusted you to wake up to your alarms, but here we are…”

“I was going to get up. I still have plenty of time to get ready. But I can’t start unless you leave.”

“Why?” Camille asks immediately, her face pinching together in confusion.

I can’t help but smirk, my gaze moving to my lap. “I don’t like to sleep in clothes. I thought you’d remember that.”

Camille’s eyes go wide, and I love that despite how much I’m sure she hates it, her cheeks begin to turn pink.

“Ryker.” The way she says my name lets me know I’m in trouble. She basically spits it out, her eyes immediately going to the ceiling to avoid looking at my body.

“What? You’re the one in my room. If I knew you were going to barge in, I would’ve put on clothes.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters, her hands rising to slap against her eyes. “You broke rule number two, by the way!”

“I could argue that you’re breaking a rule by letting yourself into my room without an invitation. It’s an invasion of privacy.”

She attempts to take a step toward the door, but she’s still too close to the dresser. Her hip ends up clipping the corner, and the noise that leaves her mouth sounds a little too close to the moans I was just dreaming about.

My entire body tightens as I try to ignore the sound she just made. It’s the morning, and my body’s reaction to things could give her the wrong idea.

“I’m leaving,” she speaks up, risking taking a peek through her fingers to ensure she doesn’t run into the dresser again.

I smile as I make sure the sheet stays around my waist. I slept in my boxer briefs, but she doesn’t need to know that. It’s kind of fun watching her squirm as I’m confident the memories of our night together are probably flooding her mind like they are mine.

“Took you long enough,” I quip. I can’t help but laugh when her hands drop from her face for a fraction of a second for her to shoot a dirty look in my direction.

She stops in the doorway, her back to me as she keeps her gaze pinned safely in front of her. “You have twenty minutes, Ryker. Meet me in the kitchen then.”

“Twenty minutes? We don’t have to be at Pembroke for an hour.”

She lets out a groan of disapproval. “We’ve been over this. We have to be early. That shows them that you’re taking things seriously.”

I stifle an eye roll. Camille is early to everything. Even if it’s something casual with my friends, she’s insistent that we’re early.

“Camille, they know I’m taking this seriously. All I’ve done recently is be serious. Rounds of golf with only one drink. Late nights in the cigar lounge centered around boring-as-fuck discussions.”

She’s quiet for a moment, but after over a week of spending way too much time with her, I know there’s something she wants to say.

“What?” I ask with a sigh.

“Nothing,” she responds immediately. The word comes out too quickly. Now I know for a fact she’s holding back.

I rub my temples, already looking forward to the cup of coffee I desperately need, thanks to Camille’s wake-up call. “Since when do you keep your thoughts to yourself? Spit it out.”

Camille spins on her heel, her body now facing mine as she glares at me. To her credit, she keeps her angry stare aimed right at my face and doesn’t let it move any lower. “Trust me, Ryker. I keep most thoughts I have of you to myself. I’m not trying to hurt your delicate feelings.”

My jaw pops open. Delicate feelings? What the fuck?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I counter, crossing my arms over my chest.

Her lips press into a thin line. “You’re a little sensitive, and you don’t like constructive criticism.”

“I take criticism just fine,” I argue.

Her head tilts to the side. “Do you?”

I can’t help but frown. The slightly higher pitch to her voice at the end of her question tells me she has other ideas. “Of course I do.”

Camille picks at an invisible piece of lint from the skirt of her dress. “Mmm. Remember dinner last night?”

I scoff and throw my head back in frustration. “That doesn’t count.”

One of her dark eyebrows lifts. “Sure it does.”

I shake my head. “You were telling me I wasn’t doing a good job at making small talk, and no offense, but you’re not exactly the poster child for being chatty.

It’s not that I couldn’t take criticism.

I just don’t think I need a lecture from you, of all people, on how to have a casual conversation. ”

“ Me, of all people ? What’s that supposed to mean?”

I laugh. “C’mon, Camille. You know you’re not the friendliest person. Making small talk isn’t really your thing.”

She huffs, her hands finding her hips. “The clock is ticking, Ryker.” I can’t help but smile at her avoidance of the topic.

Her personality is a bit…prickly. I know it’s something she’s got to be aware of.

I don’t think she wants to be known as friendly.

If I had to guess, she wants people to leave her alone.

“Goodbye, Camille,” I respond, waving my hand in the air to dismiss her.

The moment she closes the door behind her, I pull the comforter over my head and allow myself five more minutes in bed before having to get up.

There’s no reason I need to be fully ready in twenty minutes.

There’s a formal brunch at Pembroke that happens every year.

It’s another celebration to mark the start of the summer season.

Almost everyone attends. It’s the perfect opportunity to talk with the Davenport Media members casually.

If you asked me, I thought the last week had been going well in winning them over, but Camille seems to think otherwise.

I make a mental note to ask her about that. I got lost in talking about her lack of small-talk skills and her belief that I can’t take criticism.

With a sigh, I close my eyes and pull the cover farther over my head. With my eyes shut, the memories of my dream come crashing back.

I’d been dreaming about Camille—about our night together. It’s been the same dream every night since we arrived in the Hamptons.

I hate that she’s here and keeps invading my thoughts. She annoys me and gets under my skin—something few people can do.

And yet, I can’t stop dreaming about her. It’s a major problem. One that I don’t know how to solve because as much as I’d like to, I don’t think I’ll be getting rid of her anytime soon.

Something else I don’t think I’ll be ditching anytime soon?

The dirty dreams I’m having about my publicist.