Page 11 of Knot Your Sunshine (Snugverse Romcom #2)

Chapter ten

Mia

Sunlight warms my face, pulling me from dreams of beaches and strong hands.

I stretch, and the silk sheets slide against my skin. My body melts deeper into the mattress as memories from yesterday flood back unbidden. Josh's sweet brown eyes. Keanu walking out of the water. Noa's mouth...

Heat pools low in my belly. I press my thighs together and force myself to sit up, shaking my head hard enough to make my curls bounce.

Focus, Mia. Business trip. Not a romantic getaway.

I reach for my phone on the nightstand, squinting at the too-bright screen. 11:03 AM. When was the last time I slept in?

Three texts from Elena wait:

The ocean was glowing last night?? Like actual bioluminescence? I can't believe I missed it

Sorry I crashed so early... jet lag hit me like a truck

Brunch at the resort terrace in 30? The guys are already drooling over the menu.

The last text was sent twenty minutes ago.

I type back quickly: Yes! Might be a tad late, so feel free to start without me.

I pad into the marble bathroom and head straight for the impressive rainfall shower. I step inside and twist the handle, testing the temperature before going under the generous spray. Steam immediately fogs the glass walls, creating a private cocoon.

The resort's shampoo comes in a heavy glass bottle, the label reading "locally sourced kukui nut oil and Hawaiian white ginger.

" I work it through my hair, the scent reminding me of tropical gardens.

Rinse. The matching conditioner is just as luxurious, making my curls slip through my fingers like silk. Rinse again.

By the time I shut off the water, I feel fully relaxed and ready to start the day.

I towel dry quickly, slip into a white sundress, and twist my damp hair up into a loose knot, securing it with a clip that should hold until it dries.

I'm about to leave the room when I spot a cream envelope on the floor, partially slipped under the door, my name flowing across the front in elegant script.

I snatch it up, my fingers trembling slightly as I open it.

Mia,

Thank you for accepting my invitation to Hawaii.

I'm back now and would very much like to meet you to talk business.

Would you join me in the Orchid Conference Room today at 2:00 PM?

Looking forward to finally meeting in person.

- AlphaMagnate808

The letter slips from my fingers and floats to the marble floor like a falling leaf.

Josh's boss is back? Already? Josh said he'd be gone for days, not just one. I thought I'd have time to prepare, to practice my pitch, to—

My chest tightens like someone's sitting on it. Each breath takes conscious effort.

Today, 2 PM. The meeting I flew halfway across the world for… the one that could change everything.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

* * *

The resort terrace steals what's left of my breath.

Open-air dining stretches across three sides facing the Pacific, with billowing white canvas providing shelter from the sun.

Chefs in pristine whites work at live stations, one flipping omelets, another slicing paper-thin sashimi, a third carving Wagyu beef, and several more whose specialties I can't see from this distance.

Elena waves from a table right at the railing.

"I got the note!" The words burst out before I even sit down. "The meeting with the owner is happening today."

Elena's mimosa freezes halfway to her lips. "Today? When?"

"Two o'clock." I collapse into the chair beside her. A waiter materializes instantly with coffee, which I accept gratefully. "I have less than three hours to transform into someone who can pitch to a billionaire."

Cole looks up from a plate that appears to contain half a cow's worth of prime rib, eggs, and what might be an entire loaf of French toast. "You'll do fine. You know your stuff."

"Easy for you to say." I flag down a passing server with the desperation of someone signaling a rescue helicopter. "Can I get French toast please? Extra whipped cream? And maybe a side of those macadamia nut pancakes? And bacon. Lots of bacon."

Elena's eyebrow climbs toward her hairline. "Hungry?"

"Terrified." I grab a chocolate croissant from the basket on the table, and the buttery pastry dissolves on my tongue. "God, these Beaumont pastries are always incredible."

Dorian smiles with quiet pride. "They're definitely fresh from this morning. The resort must have arranged delivery from one of our locations."

James grins with mischief in his eyes. "Speaking of morning, I'm surprised you didn't text Elena for an early breakfast, Mia. Must have been quite the evening for you to sleep in."

My croissant goes down the wrong way. Elena pounds my back while I cough.

"You okay?" she asks, though her eyes sparkle with suspicion.

"Fine. Wrong pipe." My face burns hotter than the coffee. "So where's your mom? Did she have a late breakfast?"

"Early breakfast actually. With Julian," Elena says, her smirk growing. "They're having lunch together too. Apparently he's teaching her to paddleboard."

"The silver fox from yesterday?" I whistle low. "Your mom doesn't waste time."

"Tell me about it." Elena shakes her head, but she's fighting a smile.

My French toast arrives, a tower of bread drowning in cream and crowned with what appears to be half a pineapple. I attack it like it personally offended me.

"You're going to give yourself a stomachache," Elena observes as I shovel in my third massive bite.

"Need energy. Have to be perfect." Another bite disappears. Syrup drips down my chin. "Have to convince the owner I'm not just some small-town hairdresser with delusions of grandeur when I pitch my idea."

James leans forward as my serving of bacon and pancakes arrives, snagging one of the fluffy rounds from my plate. "You know what you should do? Walk in there like you're doing them a favor by showing up. Rich people eat that shit up."

"James," Elena warns.

"What? I'm serious. Confidence is currency with these types." He drowns his stolen pancake in syrup. "Besides, they literally flew you here first class. You have something they want."

Cole sets down his fork after demolishing his third helping of eggs. "Look, I don't know business, but I know pressure. When we're heading into a fire, you can't think about what might go wrong. You focus on your training, trust your preparation, and execute."

"Easier said than done," I mumble through a mouthful of bacon.

"He's right though," Dorian says thoughtfully. "And so is James. Don't go in asking permission to exist in that room. You belong there. The owner invited you."

"But they're probably a billionaire—"

"Who need what you have," Elena interrupts, reaching across to squeeze my sticky fingers. "Whatever that is. Focus on that."

I set down my fork, finally full to bursting. Take one breath. Then another. The knot in my stomach loosens just a fraction.

"You're right," I say finally, sitting up straighter. "All of you. I can… I can do this."

* * *

Back in my suite, my cream blazer and matching pencil skirt hang on my closet. I pull them out carefully, laying them on the bed.

This is it. The outfit that needs to transform me from small-town hairstylist to someone who belongs in that conference room.

I slip the blazer on. The first button fights me, my fingers suddenly clumsy, before finally sliding through. The second goes easier. The third practically buttons itself. Each one pulls my shoulders back a little more.

I sit at the vanity and face my reflection.

Wild curls spring in every direction, still damp from this morning's shower.

I pick up a section near my temple and wind it tight around my finger.

When I release it, it springs back immediately.

I try again, twisting tighter, holding longer.

This time it stays for a second before bouncing free.

Deep breath. I divide the section smaller, twist again, and secure it with a bobby pin before it can escape.

Why my ideas matter. Why this isn't just about hair.

Another section. Twist, pull, pin. My fingers find their rhythm.

The vision. The dream. What Grandma built and what I can expand.

Section by section, my hair submits to my will. My left hand gathers while my right hand pins. The stubborn piece at my crown takes three tries, but finally stays put.

Make them see it. Make them believe.

I take the last rebellious curl, wind it tight, and tuck it into the growing structure at my nape. Three more bobby pins create the scaffolding that will hold everything in place. I shake my head gently, nothing moves.

I lean back and inspect my work. My wild curls have transformed into a sleek, low bun that sits perfectly at the nape of my neck, complementing my business outfit perfectly.

Now you look like someone who belongs in a boardroom.

My phone shows 1:13 PM.

I push back from the vanity and pace to the window. "Thank you for this opportunity. Let me tell you why this matters..." The words tumble out too fast, running together.

Stop. Reset.

I walk to the opposite wall and turn. "Thank you for this opportunity." Pause. Count to two. "Let me tell you why this matters."

Better. I continue pacing, finding my rhythm. "My grandmother started with nothing but a chair and a pair of scissors. She built trust, one client at a time."

The words flow smoother with each pass across the room. By 1:45, I'm ready.

I slide my feet into my three-inch heels, and, in the full-length mirror, I barely recognize myself. I roll my shoulders back until they stack over my hips and lift my chin.

Let's do this.