Bad for Business (Pembroke Hills, #2)

by Kat Singleton

It’s embarrassing to be told you need a babysitter. It’s even worse to be told that a woman you had a very heated, passionate night with months ago is the one assigned to do it.

“Rule number one,” she begins, pausing to jab a finger against my chest. “You will listen to everything that I say and not ask any questions about it.”

“I feel like listening to everything you say and not asking any questions should count as two rules.”

“And rule number two…” She pauses, emphasizing the two as her eyes stay directly pointed at me, “is you will not bring up what tragically ...

“You can lie to me all you want, but I remember your screams and moans of pleasure. There were a lot of them.”

“You’re already breaking rule number two,” she points out with an annoyed tone.

I shrug before tucking my hands into my pockets. “To be fair, I never told you I was going to follow the rules.”

“You think I’m good-looking?”

“Oh, stop it, Ryker; you know that you’re good-looking. Please don’t come fishing for compliments.”

“It’s good to know you say please. I was worried you might...

“Remember, Ryker, two rules. We’ll help each other out and try to tolerate each other. Sound good?”

“I don’t know. I’m just trying to figure out what you do like. Your frequent scowl and slight attitude,” he whispers under his breath, “make me wonder if you like anything.”

If I get you to smile, will you let me buy you a drink?

“Just so I can prepare myself, are you always this stubborn?”

“I’m not stubborn. I just don’t need your help.”

I compare the woman standing here to the one I met at the party. I remember thinking she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on—and that was before I finally earned a smile from her.

I swallow, wondering why it even matters to me that the woman I haven’t stopped thinking about isn’t the same one standing in front of me.

“I remember you being more fun,” he tosses out with a smirk.

My eyes go wide at his remark. “You’re breaking rule number two,” I hurriedly get out.

Ryker laughs. “Camille, I never actually agreed...

“But unlike you, I enjoyed myself that night we had together. Maybe I want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, well, he’s doing his best to ditch me. Unluckily for him, I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. Tell me, do you plan every single second of your day? Or do you just get off on planning mine?”

“I don’t get off on anything that has to do with you, thank you very much.”

“Really? I remember you loving the thing I did ...

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.

“Martini, extra dirty, just a splash of vermouth, and six olives instead of three. That’s your order, is it not?”

“As much as you’d like to forget about it, we shared a night together. You told me all about your love of olives and how you sometimes have to sweet-talk bartenders into giving you an extra spear of them.”

“Aw, look, she listens,”

“Good girl,” he adds, his voice low.

I’d do anything she asked of me right now. I don’t tell her that.

I can’t quite figure out why something about tonight has felt different. Maybe it’s not just tonight. Maybe it really has been since that afternoon on the boat. We both came back a little less mean to one another. Maybe it’s because we’ve both accepted that we work well together. Or maybe it’s something else. Either way, I hate to admit how good it feels for him to tell me his mom would’ve liked me. I just don’t know if I believe him.

God, I’ve wanted to wipe a smirk from his mouth so many times in the weeks since we’ve been here. Now, the only way I want to get rid of that smirk is by pressing my lips to it. I close my eyes for a moment. What is happening to me? I need to get inside. This is Ryker Davenport. My client. The bane of my existence. The reason I think I found my very first gray hair the other day at the ripe age of twenty-four. I shouldn’t want to kiss him. But I absolutely want to kiss him. It’s the only thing I can think about right now. I open my eyes to find his gaze locked on my lips.

You can lie to yourself, you can even lie to the rest of the world, but you can’t lie to me. You don’t always have to be defensive. You’re just choosing to be.”

“I can’t leave you alone,”

She turns me into someone I don’t recognize. I never fight with anybody, yet all I do is fight with her. I never think twice about a woman, yet all I think about is her. I never let anyone get under my skin, yet she’s carved herself down to my bones.

Camille Vaughn is the first person to drive me crazy in two very different ways—in how much I want her and how much I wish I’d never even met her.

I try to keep my gaze in a safe spot. I try to look at those aquamarine eyes that have haunted my dreams for weeks. I really do try. But like a fucking moth to a flame, my gaze drops. I can’t resist it. I look at her tan thighs and where the hem of the nightgown cuts dangerously high, and I remember kissing that very skin on display. I remember the way her thighs shook when my lips kissed the soft skin at the apex of her legs. I remember the way she moaned my name. And that’s the fucking problem.

I remember every single thing when it comes to her. And every moment I find myself hoping that the moments stuck with her the same way they’ve stuck with me, she makes it a point to let me know that she wants nothing more than to forget I even exist.

“Guess you don’t have to like me to want to kiss me, then,”

“Tell me you didn’t want to kiss me out there.”

“I didn’t want to kiss you,”

“Lie to my face again,” I demand, coming to a stop in front of her. “Except this time, make it more convincing. You don’t even sound like you believe it.”

“What makes you think I’d ever want to kiss you again?”

“For one,” I begin, feeling bold enough to reach out and press my thumb to her bottom lip, “you can’t stop staring at my mouth.”

“I’m only staring at that smug grin of yours and dreaming of slapping it away.”

“You can get rid of it by kissing me instead.”

“Are you that dense? Didn’t you go to expensive schools and receive the best education money can buy? What do you not understand about me saying I don’t want to kiss you? Not even a little bit.”

“Your nipples are getting harder with each passing second, princess.”

“Hey, Camille?” I ask, my voice tight and hoarse. “What?” she whispers. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.” “Want what?” “This.” And before either one of us can say anything else, I grab the back of her neck and yank her face to mine. All of the fighting and hot and cold of the last few weeks feels worth it the moment my lips crash against hers.