Page 62 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Gemma

Casablanca, Morocco

The more I enjoyed Enzo and Brian, the faster our time on the boat went. In Heraklion, Crete, the vibrant energy of the city wrapped around us like a warm embrace. We wandered through the labyrinthine alleys of the old town, while Brian lectured us on the Venetian and Ottoman influences.

We saw a beautiful mosque in Turkey, and in Egypt, we stopped to explore Alexandria, I was captivated by the city's rich history and stunning architecture. As we wandered the grand corridors of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina, the atmosphere felt almost magical. Amidst the towering columns, Brian pulled Enzo and me into a quiet alcove, where a stolen kiss felt like a secret shared only with the ancient city itself.

In Tunis, we escaped the lively bustle of the city for the serene beauty of its beaches. The soft, golden sands stretched out before us, kissed by the gentle waves of the Mediterranean, and we shared a private moment, splashing and kissing in the warm water.

Casablanca was one of our last stops, and one of my favorites. The maze of Casablanca's old medina assaulted my senses in the most delicious way—leather and spices and that particular dusty sweetness of North African air that made me think of adventure novels and forbidden romance. I walked between Brian and Enzo through narrow passages barely wide enough for three people, my shoulders brushing against ancient stone walls that had witnessed centuries of secrets. The morning sun filtered through fabric canopies stretched overhead, casting everything in amber light that made Enzo's skin look like molten bronze and caught the silver threads in Brian's hair.

"The Hassan II Mosque we passed earlier was completed in 1993."

Brian was speaking in that professor tone that made me want to do wonderfully inappropriate things to him. Why was his geeking out so sexy.

"It's the third-largest mosque in the world, with a minaret that's over five hundred feet tall."

I found myself studying his profile as he spoke, noting the way his eyes lit up when he shared knowledge, the precise way he gestured with his hands.

"Fascinating,"

Enzo said with good-natured sarcasm, though his grin took any sting out of the words, as did the kiss he planted on Brian’s cheek.

My phone buzzed against my hip, and I felt that familiar spike of anxiety that had become my constant companion over the past few years. The rational part of my mind knew it was probably nothing urgent—the hotel group's various crises could usually wait a few hours. But my body reacted anyway, muscles tensing as I pulled the device from my bag.

Three missed calls from Andrew Morrison, my COO. Five text messages, each one more urgent than the last. My stomach dropped as I scanned the preview text.

"London property crisis. Contractors walked off the job. Need to discuss immediately—"

"Shit,"

I breathed, then louder.

"Excuse me, I need to take this."

Brian looked up from where he'd been examining a display of traditional ceramics, his blue eyes immediately alert to my distress.

"Everything okay?"

"Work emergency. I'll be a minute."

The words came out clipped and professional, my CEO voice automatically engaging as I stepped away from the stall.

But even as I moved to a quieter corner of the market, putting distance between myself and the men who'd become my entire world, I could feel the familiar transformation beginning. My spine straightened, my shoulders squared, and the warm, sensual woman who'd been exploring Morocco with her lovers disappeared, replaced by the sharp-edged executive who'd built an empire from inherited property.

I hit Andrew's number and he answered on the first ring.

"Gemma, thank God. We have a situation."

"Talk to me,"

I said, my voice taking on the cool authority that had cowed shareholders and intimidated competitors for years. I began pacing, my designer flats clicking against the uneven stones as my mind shifted into crisis management mode.

"The renovation contractors at the London property walked off the job this morning. Something about delayed payments and contract disputes. The entire project is dead in the water, and we've got the soft opening scheduled for next month."

I felt the familiar surge of adrenaline that came with a genuine crisis, my analytical mind immediately sorting through solutions and contingencies.

"What's the real issue? Are we actually behind on payments?"

"No, but there's some confusion about the change orders from last week. The project manager is claiming we approved modifications that weren't in the original scope, and now they want an additional two hundred thousand pounds before they'll continue."

My free hand clenched into a fist, and I found myself gesturing emphatically despite being on a phone call.

"I reviewed every change order personally, and nothing was approved outside the original budget parameters."

"I know, but they're claiming they have documentation. I've got the legal team reviewing the contracts, but in the meantime, we're hemorrhaging money every day the project sits idle."

I closed my eyes, mentally reviewing the project timeline and budget constraints.

"Right,"

I said, my voice becoming sharper, more decisive as I quickly formulated a plan. I spent the next twenty minutes walking Andrew through detailed action items, my voice growing more commanding with each decision. It was intoxicating in a way, the familiar rush of solving complex problems and asserting control over chaotic situations. This was who I was—not just the woman who'd discovered her capacity for pleasure in the arms of two incredible men, but the CEO who had a meaningful impact in her industry.

When I finally ended the call, I realized I'd walked nearly two blocks away from the market, my feet carrying me through narrow streets without conscious direction. The crisis was contained, at least for now, but I felt the familiar aftermath of high-stakes decision-making—the slight tremor in my hands, the residual adrenaline making my heart race.

I made my way back through the labyrinthine streets, following the sound of merchants calling their wares and the distant murmur of tourists. When I finally spotted Brian and Enzo, they were sitting at a small café tucked into an alcove between two shops, mint tea steaming in glasses before them. They looked perfectly relaxed, Brian reading something on his phone while Enzo people-watched with characteristic interest.

The sight of them waiting patiently for me, not frustrated or abandoned but simply present, made something twist in my chest. How many times had Jake rolled his eyes when work calls interrupted our plans? How many dinners had been ruined by his sulking when I needed to handle business emergencies?

"I'm so sorry,"

I said as I approached their table, sliding into the empty chair they'd saved for me.

"That took much longer than expected. There was an emergency with our London property."

"It’s fine. We understand. Mint tea?"

Brian said gently, pushing a glass toward me.

"The server recommended it. Said it was good for stress."

I stared at him, momentarily speechless. No reproach, no passive-aggressive comments about my priorities. Just mint tea and genuine concern in his blue eyes.

"Thank you,"

I managed, wrapping my hands around the warm glass.

"You didn't have to wait for me."

"Of course we did,"

Enzo said, leaning back in his chair with that easy smile that made my heart skip.

"We're not going anywhere without you."

The simple statement shouldn't have meant as much as it did, but I felt tears prick at my eyes.

"I really am sorry. I know this is a vacation, and I shouldn't be distracted by work stuff."

"Gemma,"

Brian said.

"You don't need to apologize for being good at your job. We think you’re a badass. And we know you love it and it’s important to you. That’s okay. We wouldn’t change that part of you for the world."

I looked between them, searching for signs of the irritation I'd grown accustomed to from Jake. Instead, I found genuine interest and something that looked remarkably like pride.

"What was the emergency?"

Enzo asked, leaning forward with curiosity.

"If you don't mind talking about it."

I hesitated, old habits making me want to deflect or minimize. Jake had always made it clear that my work problems were exactly that—my problems, not suitable for discussion during personal time. But looking at these two men, I felt something shift inside me.

"Contractors walked off a renovation job at our London property,"

I said carefully.

"They're claiming we owe them additional money for work that was never approved. It's likely an extortion attempt, but it could delay our opening by weeks if we don't handle it properly."

“I bet you handled it perfectly."

Brian kept his tone matter-of-fact rather than patronizing.

"I've never been good at separating work from my personal life,"

I admitted, the words coming out more vulnerable than I'd intended.

"Jake used to hate that about me. He said I cared more about the hotels than I did about him."

Brian's hand found mine across the table, his fingers warm and steady.

“It’s okay to be passionate about your job. About your company. It’s something to be proud of.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. These weren't men who would see my professional success as competition or view my passion for my work as a personal failing. They were offering something I'd never dared to hope for—acceptance of who I was, all of me, including the parts that were driven and ambitious and sometimes difficult.

"Yeah,"

Enzo added, his grin turning positively sinful.

"It's hot watching you be all boss lady. The way you handled that call—fuck, Gem, you were incredible. All controlled and confident. I want to spend the rest of the afternoon on my knees, worshiping you."

I felt heat flood my cheeks, not from embarrassment but from the realization that they weren't just tolerating my professional side—they were turned on by it. The idea that my strength could be seen as attractive rather than threatening was so foreign it took my breath away.

"Really?"

I asked, my voice smaller than I'd intended.

"Really,"

Brian said, bringing my hand to his lips for a soft kiss.

"You do amazing work. You employ hundreds of people, create experiences that make people happy. Why would we want you to apologize for that?"

The tears I'd been fighting finally spilled over. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to come home late from a difficult day at work and find my partners there—not resentful or frustrated, but understanding. Maybe even proud.

I reached for his hand with my free one, connecting the three of us across the small table. The mint tea was growing cold, the Moroccan sun was climbing higher, and somewhere in London, contractors were probably plotting their next move. But for the first time in my adult life, I felt like I could handle anything as long as these two men were beside me.

"So,"

I said, my voice steadier now.

"what did I miss while I was saving the London property?"

Brian's smile was warm and proud.

"Enzo got us a twenty percent discount on some leather bags and managed to charm the vendor into throwing in a set of traditional tea glasses."

"And Brian gave me a complete historical overview of Moroccan architecture,"

Enzo added with fond exasperation.

"I now know more about Islamic geometric patterns than I ever thought possible."

I laughed, the sound bright and genuine.

"Perfect. My brilliant strategist and my charming negotiator. I couldn't ask for better partners."

The word hung in the air between us, loaded with promise and possibility. Partners. They weren’t just temporary lovers, and this wasn’t a fleeting vacation romance, but something real and lasting and complex enough to weather the storms of real life.

"Partners,"

Brian repeated, testing the word.

"I like that."

"Me too,"

Enzo said.