Page 76 of Banter & Blushes #1
“Branding. Messaging. A cohesive online presence. And a revised town motto which doesn’t rhyme ‘clam bake’ with ‘land quake.’ ”
“You’re kidding.”
“I am absolutely not.”
He chuckled and shook his head.
“Alright, Hollis. Let’s get to work.”
Five hours later, the binder was half the size it had been (thanks to a ruthless purge), and Beck had contributed twelve sarcastic sticky notes and one potential tagline which made her snort coffee out of her nose.
“ Bluebell Bay: We’ve Got Good Vibes and Adequate Parking. You think that’s the slogan we need, Beck?”
He flashed her a mischievous smile. “Tell me that wouldn’t bring in millennials.”
“You’re deranged.”
“You’re welcome.”
She had slipped off her heels, and they rested carelessly beneath the desk.
He enjoyed seeing Caroline like this. Her hair cascaded from its bun, a pen gently tapping her cheek, her cheeks flushed a soft pink from their spirited debate about fonts.
She was the perfect blend of passion, elegance, and chaos wrapped in a blazer.
He was getting in way deeper than he planned.
As she flexed her toes, it stirred something in him he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Something deeply inconvenient. Beck, in a split second, found himself unreasonably distracted.
The delicate arch, the polished red nails, the way her foot moved as if keeping tempo with her ambition.
He shifted, uncomfortable with the sudden tension in the room and what it stirred in him.
“Get to the good stuff,” he said, turning his attention to the binder instead of the ridiculous and distracting effect of her toes.
“Focus,” she quipped, as if reading his mind.
“Trying,” he muttered. His head should not be spinning, and he shouldn’t be trying to catch glimpses under her desk.
It was exhaustion, he told himself.
From a long afternoon.
And a woman who was more infuriating and more fascinating than he’d ever considered.
The paper cup he had picked up crumpled in his hand, and Caroline’s head snapped up.
“What?” she asked, suddenly alert. “That face you just made?”
“What face?” He tried to sound casual and failed miserably.
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “The one which says something bit you.”
“Just remembering what I’ve signed up for.”
“Regrets already?” She arched a brow, challenging him in a way which made him want to take the dare.
“Some of us are smart enough to know when to run.”
Her smile was a dangerous thing. Confident. All-knowing. “Not smart enough to say no in time.”
“Point taken,” he conceded, rubbing the back of his neck like it might ease the tension. He pushed back from the desk and tossed the paper cup in the trash can.
“You okay?” she asked, noticing his quiet.
“Yeah. Just…” He trailed off, eyes drifting to her binder. “Wondering what else you’ve got in there QQ.”
“Don’t tempt me. I haven’t even shown you the flowcharts.”
He held up his hands.
“Mercy.”
“Coward.”
“Flatterer.”
She laughed. Really laughed. He wasn’t prepared for the way it punched him right in the chest. He’d been avoiding this for months. People, plans, the pull of something bigger than quiet porch mornings.
But now … the binder wasn’t the only thing getting under his skin.
There was something invigorating about sparring with her.
It was like she threw small sparks in the air whenever they talked, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the heat.
He reached over, deftly flipping her page of marketing ideas.
“Or … you could let me handle this, which was the whole point of me being here?”
She narrowed her eyes, but there was a mischievous light behind them. “And wasn’t your idea to plaster boards along the beach saying, ‘Please Stop Here and Spend Money’?”
“Hey, who gave you a right to use my copyrighted material. Don’t go stealing my genius. Let’s wrap this up.”
“Giving up on me so soon?” The teasing lilt in her voice was another surprise he wasn’t prepared for. She stood, her bare toes curling against the thin carpet as she stretched, arms over her head. Her sweater crept up, a hint of skin showing. He was worse off than he thought.
Just then, the door creaked open.
Gigi swept in holding a casserole dish like it was a peace offering and a weapon all in one. “I come bearing fuel,” she announced.
“We’re not hungry,” Caroline said automatically.
“You’re always hungry when you’re plotting,” Gigi countered.
“I’m hungry.” Beck took the dish. “Please tell me this is the chicken thing with the cracker topping.”
“With extra cheese,” Gigi winked, patting his cheek. “You’re welcome, darling.”
Caroline stood, visibly flustered. “You were just walking by?”
“Of course not,” Gigi sniffed. “I was in the neighborhood. And I had a hunch.”
“Let me guess. We’re both on the bingo card now?” Beck grinned as he put the bright yellow dish embellished with daisies on the desk.
“Absolutely,” Gigi said, already pulling one out. “Right next to ‘Collaborative Project’ and ‘Unexpected Chemistry.’”
Caroline looked like she wanted the floor to open and swallow her. “Out. Now.” She pointed to the door.
“I’m going,” Gigi sang. “But don’t work too late. Sparks are a fire hazard.”
She headed out of the office, her caftan fluttering behind her. Beck turned to Caroline. “Are you okay?”
She exhaled. “Do you ever feel you’re the only sane one in a town full of chaos?”
“Every single day.”
“I’m glad we’re aligned. Now, get away from my binder.”
He grinned and scooted the dish to the corner of the desk. “You have paper plates and utensils here?”
“No. We’ve not had a need.” She slid back into her chair.
“How about we take this back to my place, and we can eat it there?” He looked at his watch. “I need to let Quint out.”
“Quint?”
“My dog.”
“Why’s he called Quint?”
“After the boat captain in Jaws.” Beck scooped his jacket from the back of the chair. “I’m taking this home. I will never turn away one of Gigi’s chicken casseroles.”
“With buttered crackers.”
“Especially with buttered crackers on top.”
“Part of the casserole is mine, Beckett.” Caroline stood and slipped back into her heels, filing papers into the worn binder. “Never knew a wild man to have such a hard time resisting.”
His eyes went back to those shoes. Clearing his throat, he ignored the way his pulse tripped over itself. He needed to get out of the office. Now .
As he picked up the casserole dish and headed for the door, he called over his shoulder, “Which is why you’re invited.”